Act 3 - Scene 2
Enter ORLANDO, with a paper
Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love:
And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey
chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above,
Thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway.
O Rosalind! these
trees shall be my books
And in their barks my thoughts I'll character;
That every eye which in this forest
Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where.
Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree
The fair, the chaste
and unexpressive she.
Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE
And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone?
Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good
life, but in respect that it is a shepherd's life,
it is naught.
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
is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in
respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As
is it a
spare life, look you, it fits my humour well;
but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much
stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd?
No more but that I know the more one sickens the
worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money,
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.
Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in
Then thou art damned.
Nay, I hope.
Truly, thou art damned like an ill-roasted egg, all
on one side.
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