you would prove, my friends told me as much, and I thought no lefs; that flattering tongue of yours won me; 'tis but one caft away, and fo come death: two o'th' clock hour?

is

your

Orla, Ay, fweet Rofalind.

Rof. By my troth, and in good earneft, and fo 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 the moft pathetical break-promife, and the most hollow lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Rofalind, that may be chofen out of the grofs band of the unfaithful; therefore beware my cenfure, and keep your promise.

Orla. With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my Rofalind; fo adieu.

Rof. Well, time is the old juftice that examines all fuch offenders, and let time try. Adieu.

SCENE III.

[Exit Orla.

Cel. You have fimply mifus'd our fex in your love-prate: we must have your doublet and hofe pluck'd over your head, and fhew the world what the bird hath done to her qwn neft.

:

Rof. O coz, caz, 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 bottomlefs, that as faft as you pour affection in, it runs out.

Rof. No, that fame wicked baftard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceiv'd of spleen, and born of madness, that blind rafcally boy, that abufes 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 fhadow, and figh 'till he come. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Enter Jaques, Lords, and Forefters. Jaq. Which is he that kill'd the deer ?

Cel. And I'll fleep.

Lord. Sir, it was I.

Jag. Let's prefent him to the Duke like a Roman con

queror,

queror, and it would do well to fet 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 noife enough.

Mufick, Song.

What fhall be bave that kill'd the deer?
His leather fhin and borns to wear ;
Then fing him bome; Take thou no fcorn

[The reft fhall bear this burthen.

To wear the born, the born, the born:

It was a creft ere thou waft born.

Thy father's father wore it,

And thy own father bore it,

The born, the born, the lufty born,

Is not a thing to laugh to fcorn.

[Exeunt

SCENE V. Enter Rofalind and Celia.

Rof. How fay you now, is it not paft 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 fleep look who comes here.

Enter Sylvius.

Syl. 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 ftern brow and wafpifh action
Which she did use as she was writing of it,
It bears an angry tenour; pardon me,

I am but as a guiltless meffenger.

Rof. Patience her felf would ftartle at this letter,

[After reading the letter. And play the fwaggerer; bear this, bear all. She fays I am not fair, that I lack manners, She calls me proud, and that fhe could not love me Were man as rare as phænix: odd's my will! Her love is not the hare that I do hunt. Why writes fhe fo to me? well, fhepherd, well, This is a letter of your own device.

Syl.

Syl. No, I proteft I know not the contents, Phebe did write it.

Rof. Come, come, you're a fool,

And turn'd into th' extremity of love.
Ifaw her hand, fhe has a leathern hand,

A free-ftone-coloured hand; I verily did think
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands;
She has a hufwife's hand, but that's no matter;
I say she never did invent this letter,

This is a man's invention, and his hand,
Syl. Sure it is hers.

Rof. Why, 'tis a boifterous and a cruel ftile,
A ftile for challengers; why, the defies me,
Like Turk to Chriftian; woman's gentle brain
Could not drop forth fuch giant rude invention,
Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect

Than in their countenance; will you hear the letter?
Syl. 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 thou God to fhepherd turn'd,

That a maiden's heart bath burn'd?

Can a woman rail thus ?

Syl. Call you this railing?

Rof. [Reads.] Why, thy godbead laid apart,
Warr'ft 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 fcorn of your bright eyne
Have power to raise fuch love in mine,
Alack, in me, what strange effect
Would they work in mild afpect?
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 bim feal up thy mind,
Whether that thy youth and kind

Will

Will the faithful offer take
Of me, and all that I can make ;
Or elfe by bim my love deny,
And then I'll ftudy bow to die.
you this chiding?

Syl. Call

Čel. Alas, poor fhepherd!

Rof. Do you pity him? no, he deferves no pity: wilt thou love fuch a woman? what, to make thee an inftrument, and play falfe ftrains upon thee? not to be endured! well, go your way to her, for I fee love hath made thee a tame fnake, 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 Syl.

SCENE VI. Enter Oliver. Oli. Good morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you know, Where in the purlews of this foreft ftands A fheep-cote fenc'd about with olive-trees?

Cel. Weft of this place down in the neighbour bottom, The rank of ofiers, 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 fhould I know you by defcription,
Such garments, and fuch years: the boy is fair,
Of female favour, and beftows himself
Like a ripe Sifter: 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 boaft, being afk'd, to fay we are.
Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both,
And to that youth he calls his Rofalind
He fends this bloody napkin. Are you he?

Rof. I am; what muft we understand by this?
Oli. Some of my fhame, if you will know of me
What man I am, and how, and why, and where
This handkerchief was ftain'd.

Gel. I pray you, tell it.

Oli. When laft the young Orlando parted from you,
He left a promise to return again

Within two hours; and pacing through the foreft,
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy,
Lo what befel! he threw his eye afide,
And mark what object did prefent it self.
Under an oak, whofe boughs were mofs'd with age,
And high top bald, of dry antiquity ;.

A wretched ragged man, o'er-grown with hair,
Lay fleeping 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 fuddenly
Seeing Orlando it unlink'd it felf,
And with indented glides did flip away
Into a bush, under which bufh's shade
A Lioness, with udders all drawn dry,
Lay couching head on ground, with cat-like watch
When that the fleeping man fhould ftir; for 'tis
The royal difpofition of that beaft

To prey on nothing that doth feem as dead:

This feen, Orlando did approach the man,

And found it was his brother, his elder brother.

Cel. O, I have heard him fpeak of that fame 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 lionefs?

Oli. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd so:

But kindness nobler ever than revenge,

And nature ftronger than his juft occafion,

Made him give battel to the lioness:

Who quickly fell before him, in which hurtling

From miferable flumber I awak'd.

Cel, Are you his brother?

Ref. Was't you he refcu'd?

Cel. Was't you that did fo oft contrive to kill him? VOL. III,

F

Oli.