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The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she. Exit |
Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE |
CORIN. And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone? |
TOUCHSTONE. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good |
life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is nought. |
In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in |
respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now in |
respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect |
it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life, |
look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty |
in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in |
thee, shepherd? |
CORIN. No more but that I know the more one sickens the worse at |
ease he is; and that he that wants money, means, and content, is |
without three good friends; that the property of rain is to wet, |
and fire to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep; and that a |
great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that he that hath |
learned no wit by nature nor art may complain of good breeding, |
or comes of a very dull kindred. |
TOUCHSTONE. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in |
court, shepherd? |
CORIN. No, truly. |
TOUCHSTONE. Then thou art damn'd. |
CORIN. Nay, I hope. |
TOUCHSTONE. Truly, thou art damn'd, like an ill-roasted egg, all on |
one side. |
CORIN. For not being at court? Your reason. |
TOUCHSTONE. Why, if thou never wast at court thou never saw'st good |
manners; if thou never saw'st good manners, then thy manners must |
be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art |
in a parlous state, shepherd. |
CORIN. Not a whit, Touchstone. Those that are good manners at the |
court are as ridiculous in the country as the behaviour of the |
country is most mockable at the court. You told me you salute not |
at the court, but you kiss your hands; that courtesy would be |
uncleanly if courtiers were shepherds. |
TOUCHSTONE. Instance, briefly; come, instance. |
CORIN. Why, we are still handling our ewes; and their fells, you |
know, are greasy. |
TOUCHSTONE. Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? And is not the |
grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, |
shallow. A better instance, I say; come. |
CORIN. Besides, our hands are hard. |
TOUCHSTONE. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again. A |
more sounder instance; come. |
CORIN. And they are often tarr'd over with the surgery of our |
sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are |
perfum'd with civet. |
TOUCHSTONE. Most shallow man! thou worm's meat in respect of a good |
piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and perpend: civet is |
of a baser birth than tar- the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend |
the instance, shepherd. |
CORIN. You have too courtly a wit for me; I'll rest. |
TOUCHSTONE. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God help thee, shallow man! God |
make incision in thee! thou art raw. |
CORIN. Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get that I |
wear; owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness; glad of other |
men's good, content with my harm; and the greatest of my pride is |
to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck. |
TOUCHSTONE. That is another simple sin in you: to bring the ewes |
and the rams together, and to offer to get your living by the |
copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a bell-wether, and to betray |
a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, |
out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not damn'd for this, |
the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else how |
thou shouldst scape. |
CORIN. Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother. |
Enter ROSALIND, reading a paper |
ROSALIND. 'From the east to western Inde, |
No jewel is like Rosalinde. |
Her worth, being mounted on the wind, |
Through all the world bears Rosalinde. |
All the pictures fairest lin'd |
Are but black to Rosalinde. |
Let no face be kept in mind |
But the fair of Rosalinde.' |
TOUCHSTONE. I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners, and |
suppers, and sleeping hours, excepted. It is the right |
butter-women's rank to market. |
ROSALIND. Out, fool! |
TOUCHSTONE. For a taste: |
If a hart do lack a hind, |
Let him seek out Rosalinde. |
If the cat will after kind, |
So be sure will Rosalinde. |
Winter garments must be lin'd, |
So must slender Rosalinde. |
They that reap must sheaf and bind, |
Then to cart with Rosalinde. |
Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, |
Such a nut is Rosalinde. |
He that sweetest rose will find |
Must find love's prick and Rosalinde. |
This is the very false gallop of verses; why do you infect |
yourself with them? |
ROSALIND. Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree. |
TOUCHSTONE. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. |
ROSALIND. I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a |
medlar. Then it will be the earliest fruit i' th' country; for |
you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's the right |
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