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Cor. Here comes young Master Ganymed, my new mistress’s brother.

Enter Rosalind [with a paper, reading].

Ros.

“From the east to western Inde,

No jewel is like Rosalind.

Her worth, being mounted on the wind,

Through all the world bears Rosalind.

All the pictures fairest lin’d

Are but black to Rosalind.

Let no face be kept in mind

But the fair of Rosalind.”

Touch. 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.

Ros. Out, fool!

Touch. For a taste:

If a hart do lack a hind,

Let him seek out Rosalind.

If the cat will after kind,

So be sure will Rosalind.

Wint’red garments must be lin’d,

So must slender Rosalind.

They that reap must sheaf and bind,

Then to cart with Rosalind.

Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,

Such a nut is Rosalind.

He that sweetest rose will find,

Must find love’s prick and Rosalind.

This is the very false gallop of verses; why do you infect yourself with them?

Ros. Peace, you dull fool, I found them on a tree.