Imatges de pàgina
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thee: but wind away, begone I will not to wedding with

thee.

Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave of them all fhall flout me out of [Exeunt.

my calling.

SCENE changes to a Cottage in the Forest.

Rof.

N

Enter Rofalind and Celia.

have the

grace

Ever talk to me, I will weep.
Cel. Do, I pr'ythee; but yet
to confider, that tears do not become a man.`
Rof But have I not cause to weep?

weep,

Cel. As good caufe as one would defire, therefore Rof. His very hair is of the diffembling colour. Cel. Something browner than Judas's: marry, his kiffes are, Judas's own children.

Ref. l'faith, his hair is of a good colour.

Cel. An excellent colour: your chefnut was ever the only colour.

Rof. (19) And his kiffing is as full of fanctity, as the touch of holy beard.

Cel. (20) He hath bought a pair of caft lips of Diana ; a

nun

(19) And his kiffing is as full of fanctity, as the touch of boly bread.] Tho' this be the reading of the oldeft copies, I have made no fcruple to substitute an emendation of Mr. Warburton, which mightily adds to the propriety of the fimile. What can the poet be suppos'd to mean by boly bread? not the facramental, fure; that would have been prophanation, upon a fubject of fo much levity. But boly beard very beautifully alludes to the kifs of a holy Saint, which the ancients call'd the kifs of charity. And for Rofalind to fay, that Orlando kiss'd as holily as a Saint, renders the comparifon very juft.

(20) He hath bought a pair of chafte lips of Diana; a nun of Winter's fiflerbood kiffes not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them.} This pair of chafte lips is a corruption as old as the fecond edition in Folio; I have reffor'd with the first Folio, a pair of caft lips, i. e. a pair left off by Diana. Again, what idea does a nun of Winter's fifterhood give us? tho' I have not ventur'd to disturb the text, it seems more probable to me that the poet wrote;

A nun of Winifred's fifter bood, &c.

Not, indeed, that there was any real religious order of that denomina, tion: but the legend of St. Winifred is this. She was a chriftian vir

nun of winter's sisterhood kiffes not more religioufly; the very ice of chastity is in them.

Rof. But why did he fwear he would come this morning, and comes not?

Cel. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.
Rof. Do you think fo?

1

Cel. Yes; I think, he is not a pick-purfe, nor a horseftealer; but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a cover'd goblet, or a worm-eaten nut.

Rof. Not true in love?

Cel. Yes, when he is in; but, I think, he is not in. Rof. You have heard him fwear downright, he was.

Cel. Was, is not is; befides, the oath of a lover is no ftronger than the word of a tapfter; they are both the confirmers of falfe reckonings; he attends here in the foreft on the Duke your father.

Rof. I met the Duke yesterday, and had much question with him he afk'd me, of what parentage I was; I told him, of as good as he; fo he laugh'd, and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is fuch a man as Orlando?

Cel. O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses, fpeaks brave words, fwears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite travers athwart the heart of his lover; as a puifny tilter, that fpurs his horfe but one fide, breaks his ftaff like a noble goofe; but all's brave that youth mounts, and folly guides: who comes here?

Enter Corin.

Cor. Miftrefs and mafter, you have oft enquir'd
After the thepherd that complain'd of love,
Whom you faw fitting by me on the turf,
Praifing the proud difdainful fhepherdess
That was his mistress.

gin at Holywell a small town in Flintshire, fo tenacious of her chastity, that when a tyrannous governor laid fiege to her, he could not reduce her to compliance, but was oblig'd to ravifh, and afterwards beheaded her in revenge of her obftinacy. Vid. Cambden's Britannia by Dr. Gibfon p. 688. This tradition forts very well with our poet's allufion.

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Cor. If you will fee a pageant truly play'd"
Between the pale complexion of true love,
And the red glow of fcorn and proud difdain;
Go hence a little, and I fhall conduct you,
I. you will mark it.

Rof. O come, let us remove;

The fight of lovers feedeth thofe in love:
Bring us but to this fight, and you shall say
I'll prove a bufy actor in their play.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to another part of the Foreft.

Sil.

Enter Silvius and Phebe.

Weet Phebe, do not fcorn me; do not Phebe

SW

Say, that you love me not; but say not fo In bitterness; the common executioner,

Whofe heart th' accustom'd fight of death makes hard,
Falls not the ax upon the humbled neck,

But firft begs pardon: (21) will you fterner be
Than he that deals, and lives by bloody drops
Enter Rofalind, Celia and Corin.

Phe. I would not be thy executioner;
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
Thou tell'ft me, there is murder in mine eyes;
'Tis pretty, fure, and very probable,

That eyes, that are the frail'ft and fofteft things,
Who fhut their coward gates on atomies,
Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers!
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart,

And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee;
Now counterfeit to fwoon; why, now fall down;
Or if thou can'ft not, oh, for fhame, for fhame,

(21) will you flerner be,

Than be that dies and lives by bloody drops?

This is fpoken of the executioner. He lives, indeed, by bloody drops, if you will: but how does he die by bloody drops? the poet muft certainly have wrote---that deals and lives &c, i. e. that gets his bread, and makes a trade of cutting off heads.

Mr. Warburten.

Lye

Lye not, to fay mine eyes are murderers.

Now fhew the wound mine eyes have made in thee;
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
Some fear of it; lean but upon a rush,

The cicatrice and capable impreffure.

ני

Thy palm fome moment keeps: but now mine eyes,
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not;

Nor, I am fure, there is no force in eyes

That can do hurt.

Sil. O dear Phebe,

If ever (as that ever may be near)

You meet in fome fresh cheek the power of fancy,
Then fhall you know the wounds invisible

That loves keen arrows make.

Phe. But, 'till that time,

Come not thou near me; and when that time comes,
Aflict me with thy mocks, pity me not;

As, 'till that time, I fhall not pity thee.

Rof. And why, I pray you? who might be your mother, (22) That you infult, exult, and rail, at once: Over the wretched? (23) what though you have beauty (As, by my faith, I fee no more in you

Than without candle may go dark to bed,)
Mult you be therefore proud and pitilefs?

Why, what means this? why do you look on me?
I fee no more in you than in the ordinary
Of nature's fale-work: odds, my little life!
I think, the means to tangle mine eyes too:

(22) That you infult, exult, and all at once

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Over the stretched] If the speaker only intended to accufe the perfon fpoken to, for infulting and exulting, instead of ---all at once, it ought to have been, bath at once. But on examining, according to fact, the crime of the perfon accus'd, we fhall find we ought to read the line thus ;

That you infult, exult, and rail, at encè &c. For these three things Phebe was guilty of.

Mr. Warburten. (23)- -What though you have no beauty,] Tho' all the printed copies agree in this reading, it is very accurately obferv'd to me by an ingenious unknown correfpondent, who figns himself L. H. (and to whom I can only here make my acknowledgments) that the Negative ought to be left out.

No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it;
'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair,
Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my fpirits to your worship.
You foolish thepherd, wherefore do you follow her
Like foggy fouth puffing with wind and rain ?
You are a thousand times a properer man,
Than the a woman. 'Tis fuch fools as you,
'That make the world full of ill-favour'd children;
'Tis not her glafs, but you, that flatter her;
And out of you the fees herfelf more proper,
Than any of her lineaments can show her.
But, mittrefs, know yourfelf; down on your knees,
And thank heav'n, falting, for a good 'man's love;
For I must tell you friendly in your ear,
Sell when you can, you are not for all markets.
Cry the man mercy, love him, take his offer,
Foul is moft foul, being foul to be a fcoffer:
So take her to thee, fhepherd; fare you well.

Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together; I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo.

Raf. He's fallen in love with your foulness, and she'll fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll fauce her with bitter words : why look you fo upon me?

Phe. For no ill will I bear you.

Rof. I pray you, do not fall in love with me, For I am falfer than vows made in wine;

Befides, I like you not. If you will know my house, 'Tis at the tuft of olives, here hard by:

Will you go, fifter? fhepherd, ply her hard:
Come, fifter; fhepherdefs look on him better,

And be not proud; tho' all the world could fee,
None could be fo abus'd in fight as he,
Come, to our flock,

[Exit.

Phe. Dead fhepherd, now I find thy faw of might;:

Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first fight?.

Sil, Sweet Phebe!

Phe. Hah: what fay'ft thou, Silvius?

Sil. Sweet Phobe, pity me..

?

Phe.

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