ROSALIND.
As the coney that you see dwell where she is kindled.
ORLANDO.
Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling.
ROSALIND.
I have been told so of many. But indeed an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inland man, one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures against it, and I thank God I am not a woman, to be touched with so many giddy offences as he hath generally taxed their whole sex withal.
ORLANDO.
Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid to the charge of women?
ROSALIND.
There were none principal. They were all like one another as halfpence are, every one fault seeming monstrous till his fellow fault came to match it.
ORLANDO.
I prithee recount some of them.
ROSALIND.
No. I will not cast away my physic but on those that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest that abuses our young plants with carving “Rosalind” on their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind. If I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him.
ORLANDO.
I am he that is so love-shaked. I pray you tell me your remedy.
ROSALIND.
There is none of my uncle’s marks upon you. He taught me how to know a man in love, in which cage of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner.
ORLANDO.
What were his marks?