hrowing off her
feminine sweetness! How her wit flutters free as air over every subject!
With what a careless grace, yet with what exquisite propriety!

For innocence hath a privilege in her
To dignify arch jests and laughing eyes.

And if the freedom of some of the expressions used by Rosalind or
Beatrice be objected to, let it be remembered that this was not the
fault of Shakspeare or the women, but generally of the age. Portia,
Beatrice, Rosalind, and the rest lived in times when more importance was
attached to things than to words; now we think more of words than of
things; and happy are we in these later days of super-refinement, if we
are to be saved by our verbal morality. But this is meddling with the
province of the melancholy Jaques, and our argument is Rosalind.

The impression left upon our hearts and minds by the character of
Rosalind--by the mixture of playfulness, sensibility, and what the
French (and we for lack of a better expression) call _naivete_--is like
a delicious strain of music. There is a depth of delight, and a subtlety
of words to express that delight, which is enchanting. Yet when we call
to mind particular speeches and passages, we find that they have a
relative beauty and propriety, which renders it difficult to separate
them from the context without injuring their effect She says some of the
most charming things in the world, and some of the most humorous: but we
apply them as phrases rather than as maxims, and remember them rather
for their pointed felicity of expression and fanciful application, than
for their general truth and depth of meaning. I will give a few
instances:--

I was never so be-rhymed since Pythagoras' time--that I was
an Irish rat--which I can hardly remember.[15]

Good, my complexion! Dost thou think, though I am
caparisoned like a man, that I have a doublet and hose in my
disposition?

We dwell here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon
a petticoat.

Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well
a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why
they are not so punished and cured is, that the lunacy is so
ordinary that the whippers are in love too.

A traveller! By my faith you have great reason to be sad. I
fear you have sold your own lands to see other men's; then
to have seen much and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes
and poor hands.