Phe. Ile write it strait: The matter's in my head, and in my heart, I will be bitter with him, and passing short; Goe with me Siluius. Exeunt. Actus Quartus. Scena Prima. Enter Rosalind, and Celia, and Iaques. Iaq. I prethee, pretty youth, let me better acquainted with thee Ros They say you are a melancholly fellow Iaq. I am so: I doe loue it better then laughing Ros. Those that are in extremity of either, are abhominable fellowes, and betray themselues to euery moderne censure, worse then drunkards Iaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing Ros. Why then 'tis good to be a poste Iaq. I haue neither the Schollers melancholy, which is emulation: nor the Musitians, which is fantasticall; nor the Courtiers, which is proud: nor the Souldiers, which is ambitious: nor the Lawiers, which is politick: nor the Ladies, which is nice: nor the Louers, which is all these: but it is a melancholy of mine owne, compounded of many simples, extracted from many obiects, and indeed the sundrie contemplation of my trauells, in which by often rumination, wraps me in a most humorous sadnesse Ros. A Traueller: by my faith you haue great reason to be sad: I feare you haue sold your owne Lands, to see other mens; then to haue seene much, and to haue nothing, is to haue rich eyes and poore hands Iaq. Yes, I haue gain'd my experience. Enter Orlando. Ros. And your experience makes you sad: I had rather haue a foole to make me merrie, then experience to make me sad, and to trauaile for it too Orl. Good day, and happinesse, deere Rosalind Iaq. Nay then God buy you, and you talke in blanke verse Ros. Farewell Mounsieur Trauellor: looke you lispe, and weare strange suites; disable all the benefits of your owne Countrie: be out of loue with your natiuitie, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are; or I will scarce thinke you haue swam in a Gundello. Why how now Orlando, where haue you bin all this while? you a louer? and you serue me such another tricke, neuer come in my sight more Orl. My faire Rosalind, I come within an houre of my promise Ros. Breake an houres promise in loue? hee that will diuide a minute into a thousand parts, and breake but a part of the thousand part of a minute in the affairs of loue, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapt him oth' shoulder, but Ile warrant him heart hole Orl. Pardon me deere Rosalind Ros. Nay, and you be so tardie, come no more in my sight, I had as liefe be woo'd of a Snaile Orl. Of a Snaile? Ros. I, of a Snaile: for though he comes slowly, hee carries his house on his head; a better ioyncture I thinke then you make a woman: besides, he brings his destinie with him Orl. What's that? Ros. Why hornes: w such as you are faine to be beholding to your wiues for: but he comes armed in his fortune, and preuents the slander of his wife Orl. Vertue is no horne-maker: and my Rosalind is vertuous Ros. And I am your Rosalind