Page 1945 - Shakespeare - Vol. 2

Must find love’s prick, and Rosalind.
This is the very false gallop of verses; why do you infect [110] 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’ [115] country; for you’ll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and
that’s the right virtue of the medlar.

TOUCHSTONE
You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest judge.

ROSALIND
Peace! Here comes my sister, reading. Stand [120] aside.

Enter Celia with a writing.

CELIA
(reads)

Why should this desert be,
For it is unpeopled? No.
Tongues I’ll hang on every tree,

That shall civil sayings show. [125]
Some, how brief the life of man
Runs his erring pilgrimage,
That the stretching of a span
Buckles in his sum of age.

Some of violated vows, [130]
’Twixt the souls of friend and friend.
But upon the fairest boughs,

Or at every sentence end,