_Rosalind._ Me believe it? You may as soon make her that you love believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do than to confess she does. That is one of the points in the which women still give the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired? _Orlando._ I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he. _Rosalind._ But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak? _Orlando._ Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much. _Rosalind._ Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do. And the reason why they are not so punished and cured is, that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too. Yet I profess curing it by counsel. _Orlando._ Did you ever cure any so? _Rosalind._ Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress, and I set him every day to woo me: at which time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and liking; proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles; for every passion something, and for no passion truly anything, as boys and women are, for the most part, cattle of this colour: would now like him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love, to a living humour of madness, which was, to forswear the full stream of the world, and to live in a nook merely monastic. And thus I cured him; and in this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep’s heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in’t. _Orlando._ I would not be cured, youth. _Rosalind._ I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, and come every day to my cote, and woo me. _Orlando._ Now, by the faith of my love, I will. Tell me where it is. _Rosalind._ Go with me to it, and I’ll show it you; and, by the way, you shall tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go? _Orlando._ With all my heart, good youth. * * * * * Francis, Lord Bacon, gave us much wise writing, and, incidentally much of the wit of wisdom, but we look to him in vain for laughable humor. A few epigrammatic selections from his essays are given. * * * * * All colours will agree in the dark. * * * * * This is certain, that a man that studieth revenge keepeth his own wounds green, which otherwise would heal and do well. * * * * * Whosoever esteemeth too much of an amourous affection, quitteth both riches and wisdom. Money is like muck: not good except it be spread. * * * * * Princes are like to heavenly bodies, which cause good or evil times, and which have much veneration, and no rest.