AUDREY.

Touchstone. Come apace, good Audrey: I will fetch up your goats, Audrey and how, Audrey? am I the man yet? Doth my simple feature content you?

Audrey. Your features! Lord warrant us! what features?

Touchstone. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths. Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical.

Audrey. I do not know what poetical is: Is it honest in deed, and word? Is it a true thing?

Touchstone. No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry; and what they swear in poetry, may be said, as lovers, they do feign.

Audrey. Do you wish then, that the gods had made me poetical? Touchstone. I do, truly: for thou swear'st to me thou art honest; now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst feign. Audrey. Would you not have me honest?

Touchstone. No truly, unless thou wert hard favour'd: for honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a sauce to sugar.

Jaques. A material fool!

[Aside.

Audrey. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods make me honest!

Touchstone. Truly; and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut, were to put good meat into an unclean dish.

Audrey. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul.

Touchstone. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness! sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will marry thee: and to that end, I have been with Sir Oliver Mar-text, the vicar of the next village; who hath promised to meet me in this place of the forest, and to couple us.

Audrey. Well, the gods give us joy!

AS YOU LIKE IT. —Act. III. Scene III.