Imatges de pÓgina

Ros. Say a day, without the ever: no, no, Orlandi, men are April when they woo, December when they wed: Maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives; I will be more jealous of thee chan a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen; more clamorous than a parrot against rain; more new-fangled than an ape; more giddy in my desires than a monkey ; I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain: and I will do that, when you are dispos’d to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when you are inclin'd to sleep.

Orla. But will my Rosalind do so?
Rof. By my life, she will do as I do.
Orla. O, but the is wise.

Rof. Or else she could not have the wit to do this; the wiser, the waywarder; Make the doors faft upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement; shut that, and ’ewill out at the key hole; stop that, it will Ay with che smoak out at the chimney.

Orla. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might fay, 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?

Rof. 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 her fault her husband's occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed it like a fool!

Orla. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. Rof. 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.

Rös. Ay, go your ways; go your ways; I knew what you would prove, my friends told me as much, and I thought no less; that Aattering tongue of yours won me; 'tis but one cast away, and so come death: Two o'th'clocka is your

hour! Orla. Ay, sweet Rosalind.

Ref. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God, mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are nos dangerous,


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if break one jot of your promile, or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical break-promise, and the most hollow lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind, that may be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful; therefore beware my censure, and keep your promise.

Orla. With no less religion, than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind; so adieu.

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

Cel. You have simply misus'd our sex in your love- e-prate: 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 didit 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, bottomless; that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out.

Ref. 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


eyes, because his own are out, let him be judge, how deep
I am in love; l'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of
the fight of Orlando; I'll go find a shadow, and figh 'till
he come.
Gel. And I'll sleep.

Enter Jaques, Lords, and Forefters.
Jaq. 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 see the deer's horns
upon his head, for a branch of victory; have you no song,
forefter, for this purpofe?
For. Yes, Sir..

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



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Mufick, Song
What shall he have that kill'd the deer?
His leather skin and horns to wear ;
Then fing him home:-take thou no fcorn (24)
To wear the horn, the horn, the horn : The reft hall
It was a crest ere thou wast born. bear this bura
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 Rofalind and Celia.
Rof. How say 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 Deep: 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 walpith 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 herself would startle at this letter,
And play the swaggerer; bear this, 'bear all.

(24) Tben sing bim home, the resi sball bear ibis burden.] This is an admirable instance of the fagacity of our preceding editors, to say nothing worse. One should expect, when they were poets, they would at least have taken care of the Rbymes, and not foisted in what has nothing to answer it. Now, where is the rhyme to, tbe rejt shall bear this burden or, to ask another question, where is the sense of it? does the poet mean, that he, that kill'd the deer, mall be sung home, and the rett shall bear the deer on their backs. This is laying a burden 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 fong being design’d to be sung by a single voice, and the stanza's to close with a burden to be sung by the whole company.


She says, I am not fair ; that I lack manners ;
She cails me proud, and that she could not love me
Were men as rare as phænix: 'Odds my

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 protest, I know not the contents;
Phebe 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,
A free-ftone 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.

Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel ftile,
A ftile for challengers; why, the 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.

Ror. She Pbebe's me; mark how the tyrant writes,
[Reads.] Art thou God to shepherd turn’d,
That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?
Can a woman rail thus?
Sil. Call you this railing?

Rof: [Reads.] Why, thy godhead 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 beast !
If the foorn of your bright eyne
Have power to raise fuch love in mine,
Alack, in me, what strange effect
Would they work in mild alpea?

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Whiles you chid me, I did love;
How then might your prayers move?
He, that brings this love to thee,
Liule 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 else by him my love deny,
And then I'll study how to die.
Sil. Call you this chiding?
Cel. Alas, poor Mepherd !

Rof. Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity: Wilt thou love such a woman? what, to make thee an inAtrument, and play false strains upon thee? not to be endured! well, go your way to her; (for I fee, love hath made thee a tame snake,) and say this to her ; that if the love me, I charge her to love thee: If she 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 Silo Enter Oliver. Oli. Good-morrow, fair ones: Pray you, if you 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 botton, The rank of oliers, by the murmuring stream, Left on your right-hand, brings you to the place; But at this hour the house doth keep itself, There's none within.

Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
Then should I know you by defcription,
Such garments, and fuch years : « The boy is fair,
• Of female favour, and bestows himself
• Like a ripe fifter: But the woman low,
66 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;

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