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. 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. 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 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. Cor. If you will fee a pageant truly play'd" Rof. O come, let us remove; The fight of lovers feedeth thofe in love: [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, But firft begs pardon: (21) will you fterner be Phe. I would not be thy executioner; That eyes, that are the frail'ft and fofteft things, And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee; (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; The cicatrice and capable impreffure. ני Thy palm fome moment keeps: but now mine eyes, 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, That loves keen arrows make. Phe. But, 'till that time, Come not thou near me; and when that time comes, 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,) Why, what means this? why do you look on me? (22) That you infult, exult, and all at once 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; 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: And be not proud; tho' all the world could fee, [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. |