pleasant party. I hope you will consider that, Lady Mabel, and forgive
me for the little alarm I have given you."

"Not to-night," said she. "My nerves are quite too much shaken. But
if I sleep well, and feel like myself again, I may possibly forgive
you to-morrow."




CHAPTER XVI.


(_Rosalind reading a paper_.)

From the east to western Ind,
No jewel is like Rosalind,
Her worth being mounted on the wind,
Through all the world bears Rosalind,
All the pictures fairest lined,
Are but black to Rosalind,
Let no face be kept in mind,
But the face of Rosalind.

_Touchstone_.--I'll rhyme you so, eight years together; dinners and
suppers, and sleeping hours excepted; it is the right butter-woman's
rank to market.

As You Like It.