Ref. Well, time is the old Justice that examines all such offenders, and let time try. Adieu! [Exit Orla.

Cel. You have fimply misus'd our sex in your loveprate: we must have your doublet and hose pluck'd over your head, and shew the world what the bird hath done to her own nest.

Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didft know how many fathom deep I am in love; but it cannot be founded: my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal.

Cel. Or rather, bottomlels; that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out.

Rof. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that
was begot of thought, conceiv'd of spleen, and
born of madness, that blind rascally boy, that abuses
every one's eyes, because his own are out, let him be
judge, how deep I am in love; I'll tell thee, Aliena, I
cannot be out of the fight of Orlando ; I'll go find a
1hadow, and figh 'till he come.
Cel. And I'll sleep.

Enter Jaques, Lords, and Forefters.
Faq. Which is he that kill'd the deer?
Lord. Sir, it was I.

Jaq. Let's present him to the Duke, like a Roman
Conqueror; and it would do well to set the deer's horns
upon his head, for a branch of victory; have you no
Song, Forefter, for this purpose ?

For. Yes, Sir.

Jaq. Sing it ; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough.

Musick, Song.
What shall be have that kill'd the deer?
His Icather skin and horns to wear;
Then fing him home : -take Thou no Scorn (24)



(24) Then fing him home, the rest Mall bear this Burtben.) This is an admirable Instance of the Sagacity of our preceding Editors, to say


To wear the horn, the horn, the horn: The Rest Thall

bear this BurIt was a creft ere thou waft born.

Thy father's father wore it,
And thy father bore it,
The horn, the horn, the lusty horn,
Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.

Enter Rosalind and Celia.
Rof. How fay you now, is it not past two o'clock?
I wonder much, Orlando is not here.

Cel. I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows, and is gone forth to sleep: look, who comes here.

Enter Silvius.'
Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth,
My gentle Phebe bid me give you this:
I know not the contents; but, as I guess,
By the stern brow, and waspish action
Which she did use as she was writing of it,
It bears an angry tenour ; pardon me,
I am but as a guiltless messenger.

Rof. Patience her self would startle at this letter,
And play the swaggerer ; bear this, bear all.
She says, I am not fair ; that I lack manners;
She calls me proud, and that she could not love me
Were man as rare as phænix : 'odds my will!
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt.
Why writes the fo to me? well, shepherd, well,
This is a letter of your own device.

Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents; Nothing worse. One should expect, when they were Poets, they would at least have taken care of the Rhymes, and not foifted in what has Nothing to answer it. Now, where is the Rhyme to, the rest fhall bear this Burthen? Or, to ask another Question, where is the Sense of it? Does the Poet mean, that He, that kill'd the Deer, shall be fung home, and the Rest shall bear the Deer on their Backs. This is laying a Burthen on the Poet, that We must help him to throw off. In short, the Mystery of the Whole is, that a Marginal Note is wisely thrust into the Text: the Song being design'd to be sung by a single Voice, and the Stanza's to close with a Burthen to be fung by the whole Company,


Pbebe did write it.

Ros. Come, come, you're a fool, And turn'd into th' extremity of love. I saw her hand, she has a leathern hand, A free-stone-coloured hand; I verily did think, That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands; She has a huswife's hand, but that's no matter; I say, she never did invent this letter; This is a man's invention, and his hand.

Sil. Sure, it is hers.

Rof. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel stile, A file for challengers; why, she defies me, Like Turk to Christian; woman's gentle brain Could not drop forth such giant rude invention ; Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect Than in their countenance; will you hear the letter?

Sil. So please you, for I never heard it yet; Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty.

Rof. She Phebe's me; mark how the tyrant writes.
[Reads.) Art thau God to shepherd turn'd,
That a maiden's heart bath burn'd?
Can a woman rail thus?
Sil. Call

you this railing?
Ros. [Reads.) Why, thy Godhead laid apart,
Warrft thou with a woman's heart?
Did you ever hear such railing ?
Whiles the eye of man did woo me,
That could do no vengeance to me.
Meaning me, a beaft!
If the scorn of your bright eyne
Have power to raise such love in mine,
Alack, in me, what strange effect
Would they-work in mild aspeet ?
Whiles you chid me, I did love ;
How then might your prayers move ?
He, that brings this love to thee,
Little knows this love in me ;
And by him feal up thy mind,
Whether that thy Youth and Kind


Will the faithful offer take
Of me, and all that I can make ;
Or else by him my love deny,

And then I'll judy how to die.
Sil. Call you this chiding?
Cel. Alas, poor shepherd!

Rof. Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity: wilt thou love such a woman? what, to make thee an instrument, and play false strains upon thee? not to be endured! well, go your way to her ; (for I see, love hath made thee a tame snake,) and say this to her; that if the love me, I charge her to love thee: if the will not, I will never have her, unless thou entreat for her. If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more company.

[Exit Sil. Enter Oliver, Oli. Good morrow, fair ones: pray you,


you Where in the purlews of this forest stands A sheep-cote fenc'd about with olive-trees?

Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream, Left on your right-hand, brings you to the place; But at this hour the house doth keep it self, There's none within

Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, Then should I know you by description, Such garments, and such years : “ the boy is fair, " Of female favour, and bestows himself « Like a ripe Sister : but the woman low, " And browner than her brother.” Are not you The owner of the house, I did enquire for?

Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say, we are.

Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both,
And to that youth, he calls his Rosalind,
He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he?

Rof. I am; what mult we understand by this?
Oli. Some of my shame, if you will know of me



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What man I am, and how, and why, and where
This handkerchief was stain'd.

Cel. I pray you, tell it.

Oli. When last the young Orlando parted from you,
He left a promise to return again
Within an hour; and pacing through the forest,
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy,
Lo, what befel! he threw his eye aside,
And mark what object did present it self.
Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age,
And high top bald with dry antiquity;
A wretched ragged man, o'er-grown with hair,
Lay sleeping on his back; about his neck
A green and gilded snake had wreath'd it self,
Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'd
The opening of his mouth, but suddenly
Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd it self,
And with indented glides did slip away
Into a bush, under which bush's shade
A Lioness, with udders all drawn dry,
Lay couching head on ground, with cat-like watch
When that the fleeping man should stirs for 'tis
The royal disposition of that beast
To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead :
This seen, Orlando did approach the man,
And found it was his brother, his elder brother.

Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that same brother,
And he did render him the most unnatural
That liv'd 'mongst men.

Oli. And well he might fo do ;
For, well I know, he was unnatural.

Rof. But to Orlando ; did he leave him there
Food to the fuck'd and hungry lioness?

Oli. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos’d so :
But kindness, nobler ever than revenge,
And nature stronger than his just occasion,
Made him give battel to the lioness,
Who quickly fell before him ; in which hurtling
From miserable flumber I awak'd.
Gel. Are you his brother?


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