Orla. O, but she is wise.

Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do this; the wifer, the waywarder: make the doors faft upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement ; ihut that, and 'will out at the key-hole ; stop that, it will fly with the smoak out at the chimney.

Orla. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say, Wit, whither wilt?

Rof. Nay, you might keep that check for it, 'till you met your

wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed.

Orla. And what wit could wit have to excuse that?

Ros. Marry, to say she came to seek you there: you shall never take her without her answer, unless you take her without her tongue. O that woman, that cannot make 3 her fault her husband's occasion, let her never nurse her child her self, for she will breed it like a fool!

Orla. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. Ref. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours,

Orla. I must attend the Duke at dinner ; by two o'clock I will be with thee again.

Rof. Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew what

prove, my friends told me as much, and I thought no less; that flattering tongue of yours won me; 'tis but one cast away, and so come death; two o'th'clock is your hour!

Orla. Ay, sweet Rosalind.

Rof. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise, or come one minute behind your hour, - I will think

you would

you the most atheistical break-promise, and the most i hollow lover, and the most unworthy of her you call

Rofalind, that may be chofen out of the gross band i of the unfaithfultherefore beware my censure, and keep your promise.

Orla. With no lefs religion, than if thou wert inE deed my Rosalind; fo adieu.

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

S с E N E III. Cel. You have simply misus'd our sex in your love prate: we must have your doublet and hose pluck'd over your head, and Thew the world what the bird hath done to her own nest.

Rof. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst 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. O rather, bottomless; that as fast as you pour affection in it, it runs out.

Ros. 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 shadow, and sigh 'till he come. i Cel. And I'll sleep.

[Exeunt.

1

S CE N E IV.

Enter Jaqués, Lords and Foresters.
Jag. Which is he that kill'd the deer?

Lord. Sir, it was I.
certainly read, ATHEISTICAL break-promife. His answer
confirms it, that he would keep his promise with no lefs Religion,
than

Jaq. 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 killed the deer?
His leatber skin and borns to wear ;
Then fing bim bome :-take Thou no Scorn
To wear the horn, the born, the horn: The rest shall
It was a crest, ere thou wast born. bear this Bur.
Thy father's father wore it,

Sthen.
And thy father bore it,
The born, the horn, the lusty born,
Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. [Exeunt.

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 Pbebe 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.

RS.

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 phoenix: 'odds my

will ! . Her love is not the hare that I do hunt.

Why writes she so to me? well, shepherd, well,
This is a letter of your own device.

Sil. No, I proteft, I know not the contents ;
Pbebe did write it.

Rof. Come, come, you're a fool,
And turn'd into th' extremity of love.

I saw her hand, she has a leathern hand,
E A free-stone-colour'd 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 ftile 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 ic yet ;
Yet heard too much of Pbebe's cruelty.

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

Sil. Call you this railing?
Ros. [Reads.] Why, thy Godhead laid apart,

Warrist thou with a woman's heart?
Did you ever hear such railing?

Wbiles the eye of man did woo me,

That could do no vengeance to me. ! Meaning me, a beast

If

If the scorn of your bright eyne
Have power to raise fuch love in mine,
Alack, in me, what strange effect
Would they work in mild aspect ?
Wbiles you cbid 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 seal up thy mind,
Whether that thy Youth and Kind
Will the faithful offer take
Of me, and all that I can make ;
Or elfe by him my love deny,
And then I ll study bow to die,

Sil. Call you this chiding? Cel. Alas, poor shepherd! Ros. 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 she love me, 1 charge ber to love thee: if She will not, I will never have ber, unless thou entreat

, for her. If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more company.

s C E N E VI.

4

[Exit Sil.

Enter Oliver.

Oli. Good-morrow, fair ones: pray you, if yok

know, 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 bottom,

The