How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night
Become the touches of sweet harmony,
Sit, Jessica; look how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold;
There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st,
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins,
Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.
Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn:
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear,
And draw her home with sweet music.
JESSICA.
I'm never merry when I hear sweet music.
Alas the day! What did he, when thou saw'st him? What said he? How look'd he? Wherein went he? What makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How parted he with thee? When shalt thou see him again?... Looks he as fresh as he did the day he wrestled?
.... Do you not know I am a woman? When I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on.
ROSALIND.
Why, how now, Orlando, where have you been all this while? You a lover?