SONG. 1. What shall he have, that kill'd the deer? 2. His leather skin, and horns to wear. 1. Then sing him home: Take thou no scorn, to wear the horn; 1. Thy father's father wore it; All. The horn, the horn, the lusty horn, The rest' shall bear this burden. [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! 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 bid me give you this: [Giving a letter. I know not the contents; but, as 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 phoenix; 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 tool, And turn'd into the extremity of love. I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand, say, This is a man's invention, and his hand. Sil. Sure, it is hers. Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and 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. 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 godhead laid apart, Did Warr'st thou with a woman's heart? you ever hear such railing? While the eye of man did woo me, Meaning me a beast.— If the scorn of your bright eyne2· Alack, in me what strange effect Sil. Call you this chiding? 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 purlieus2 of this forest, stands Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom, The rank of osiers, 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. (1) Nature. (2) Environs of a forest. Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, The owner of the house I did inquire for? 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 handkerchief 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, A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, And with indented glides did slip away Lay couching, head on ground, with cat-like watch, To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead: (1) Handkerchief. This seen, Orlando did approach the man, And he did render him the most unnatural, That liv'd 'mongst men. Oli. And well he might do so, For well I know he was unnatural. Ros. But, to Orlando ;-Did he leave him there, Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness? Oli. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd so: But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, And nature, stronger than his just occasion, Made him give battle to the lioness, Who quickly fell before him; in which hurtling,2 From miserable slumber I awak'd. Cel. Are you his brother? Ros. Was it you he rescu'd? Cel. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him? Oli. 'Twas I; but 'tis not I: I do not shame To tell you what I was, since my conversion So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. Ros. But, for the bloody napkin ?— Oli. There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted, And cry'd, in fainting, upon Rosalind. I Brief, I recover'd him; bound up his wound; And, after some small space, being strong at heart, He sent me hither, stranger as I am, (1) Describe. (2) Scuffle. |