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thought no less :—that flattering tongue of yours won me :—'t is but one cast away, and so,-come, death.Two o'clock is your hour ?

Ori. Ay, sweet Rosalind.

Ros. 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 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.

Orl. With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind : So, adieu.

Ros. Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let Time try: Adieu! [Exit ORL.

Cel. You have simply misused our sex in your love prate : we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head, and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest.

Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But it cannot be sounded ; 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.

Ros. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceived 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 sight of Orlando : I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come. Cel. And I 'll sleep.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.- Another part of the Forest. Enter JAQUES and Lords, in the habit of Foresters. Jaq. Which is he that killed the deer? 1 Lord. Sir, it was I.

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, forester, for this purpose ?

2 Lord. Yes, sir.

Jaq. Sing it; it is no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough.

SONG.
1. What shall he liave that kill'd the deer?
2. His leather skin, and horns to wear.

Take thou no scorn, to wear the horn ;
It was a crest ere thou wast born.

1. Thy father's father wore it ;

2. And thy father bore it; All.

The horn, the horn, the lusty horn,
Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.--The Forest.

Enter RosALIND and CELIA. Ros. How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock ! and here much Orlando! a

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 Phebe did bid me give you this :

[Giving a letter. & Much Orlando-ironically, a great deal of Orlando.

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 tenor : pardon me,
I am but as a guiltless messenger.

Ros. Patience herself 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 phenix; Od 's 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 protest, I know not the contents;
Phebe did write it.
Ros.

Come, come, you are a fool,
And turn'd into the extremity of love.
I saw her hand : she has a leathern hand,
A freestone-colour'd hand ; I verily did think
That her old gloves were on, but ’t was her hands ;
She has a huswife's hand : hut 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, 't is a boisterous and a cruel style, A style 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 it yet; Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. Ros. She Phebes me : Mark how the tyrant writes.

6 Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, [Reads.

That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?". Can a woman rail thus ?

Sil. Call you this railing ?

Ros. Why, thy gouhead laid apart,

Warr'st ihou with a woman's heart?" Did you ever hear such railing ?

“ Whiles the eye of man did woo me,

That could do no vengeauce to me." Meaning me a beast.

“ If the scorn of your bright eyne

Have power to raise such love in mine,
Alack, in me what strange effect
Would they work in mild aspect ?
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 him seal up thy mind;
Whether that thy youth and kind b
Will the faithful offer take
Of me, and all that I can make ;c
Or else by him my love deny,

And then I 'll stridy how 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, 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 Silvius.

Enter OLIVER. Oli. Good morrow, fair ones : Pray you, if you know Where, in the purlieus of this forest, stands A sheep-cote, fenc'd about with olive-trees ? & Vengeance-mischief. b Kind-kindly affections,

Make--make up.

Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour

bottom,
The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream,
Left on your right hand, a 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 description;
Such garments, and such years : “ The boy is fair,
Of female favour, and bestows himself
Like a ripe sister : the woman low,
And browner than her brother." Are not you
The owner of the house I did inquire for ?

Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say, we are.

Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both;
And to that youth, he calls his Rosalind,
He sends this bloody napkin; Are you he ?

Ros. I am: what must we understand by this?
Oli. Some of my shame; if you will know of me
What man I am, and how, and why, and where
This handkercher was stain'd.
Cel.

I

pray you, tell it. Oli. When last the young Orlando parted from

you,
He left a promise to return again
Within an hour; and, pacing through the forest,
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy,
Lo, what hefel! he threw his eye aside,
And, mark, what object did present itself!
Under an old oak, whose boughs were moss’d with

age,
And high top bald with dry antiquity,
A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,
Lay sleeping on his back : about his neck
A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself,
Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'd

a Left on your right hand-being, as you pass, left.

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