better leer than you. Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humour and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind? I would kiss before I spoke. Nay, you were better speak first, and when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking--God warn us!--matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss. How if the kiss be denied? Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress? Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit. What, of my suit? Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind? I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of her. Well in her person I say I will not have you. Then in mine own person I die. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicit, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed out with a Grecian club; yet he did what he could to die before, and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have lived many a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont and being taken with the cramp was drowned and the foolish coroners of that age found it was 'Hero of Sestos.' But these are all lies: men have died from time to time and worms have eaten them, but not for love. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind, for, I protest, her frown might kill me. By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition, and ask me what you will. I will grant it. Then love me, Rosalind. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all. And wilt thou have me? Ay, and twenty such. What sayest thou? Are you not good? I hope so. Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing? Come, sister, you shall be the priest and marry us. Give me your hand