over his hen; more clamorous than a parrot against rain; more new-fangled than an ape; more giddy in my defires than a monkey: I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you are difpos'd to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when you are inclin'd to weep. Orla. But will my Rofalind do fo?

Ref. By my life, fhe will do as I do.

Orla. O, but fhe is wife.

Ref. Or elfe fhe could not have the wit to do this; the wifer, the waywarder: make the doors fast upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the cafement; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole; ftop that, it will fly with the fmoak out at the chimney.

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

Ref. 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 excufe that? Rof. Marry, to fay he came to feek you there: you fhall never take her without her anfwer, unless you take her without her tongue. O that woman that cannot make her fault her husband's occafion, let her never nurfe her child herself, for the will breed it like a fool ! Orla. For thefe two hours, Rofalind, 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.

Ref. Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew what you would prove, my friends told me as much, and I thought no lefs; that flattering tongue of your's won me; 'tis but one caft away, and fo come death. Two o' th' clock is your hour!

Orla. Ay, fweet Rofalind.

Rof. By my troth, and in good earnest, and fo God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your promife, or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most atheftical break-promife, and the moft hollow lover, and the moft unworthy of her you call Rofalind, that may be chofen out of the grofs band of the unfaithful; therefore beware my cenfure, and keep your promise.

Orla.

Orla. With no lefs religion, than if thou wert indeed my Rofalind; fo adieu.

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

Cel. You have fimply misus'd our fex in your loveprate we must have your doublet and hofe pluck'd over your head, and fhew the world what the bird hath done to her own neft.

Rof. 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.

Gel. O rather, bottomlefs; that as fast as you pour affection in it, it runs out.

Rof. No that fame wicked baftard of Venus, that. was begot of thought, conceiv'd of spleen, and born ⚫ of madness; that blind rafcally boy, that abufes every one's eyes, becaufe 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 fight of Orlando; I'll go find a fhadow, and figh till he come.

Cel. And I'll fleep.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. Enter Jaques, Lords, and Foreflers.

Jaq. Which is he that kill'd the deer?

Lord. Sir, it was I.

Jaq. Let's prefent him to the Duke, like a Roman conqueror; and it would do well to fet the deer's horns upon his head, for a branch of victory. Have you no fong, Forefter for this purpose ?

For. Yes, Sir.

Jaq. Sing it; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, fo it make noife enough.

Mufic, Song.

What fhall he have that kill'd the deer?
His leather fkin and horns to wear ;

Then

Then fing him home:-

take thou no fcorn

The reft fhall

To wear the horn, the born, the born:

It was a creft ere thou waft born.
Thy father's father wore it,

And thy father bore it;

The horn, the horn, the lufty born,

Is not a thing to laugh to fcorn.

bear this turthen.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V. Enter Rofalind and Celia.

Rof. How fay you now, is it not past two o'clock ?

I wonder much Orlando is not here.

and is gone

Cel. I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows, forth to fleep. Look, who comes here.

Enter Sylvius.

Syl. 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 ftern brow and wafpifh action
Which fhe did ufe as fhe was writing of it,
It bears an angry tenor; pardon me,

I am but as a guiltlefs meffenger.

A

Ref. Patience herself would startle at this letter,
And play the fwaggerer; bear this, bear all.
She fays 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: 'odds my will!
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt.

Why writes fhe fo to me? Well, fhepherd, well,
This is a letter of your own device.

Syl. 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 faw her hand, fhe has a leathern hand,

A free-ftone-colour'd hand; I verily did think,

That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands; She has a hufwife's hand, but that's no matter;

I fay, fhe never did invent this letter;

This is a man's invention, and his hand.
Sy. Sure it is her's.

Ref.

Rof. Why, 'tis a boistrous and a cruel ftyle, A ftyle for challengers; why, the defies me, Like Turk to Chriftian; woman's gentle brain Could not drop forth fuch giant rude invention; Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter? Syl. So pleafe you, for I never heard it yet; Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty.

Rof. She Phebe's me; mark how the tyrant writes. [Reads.] Art thou God to fhepherd turn'd,

That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?

Can a woman rail thus ?

Syl. Call you this railing?

Ref. [Reads.] Why, thy Godhead laid apart,
Warrft thou with a woman's heart?

Did you ever hear fuch railing?

Whiles the eye of man did woo me,
That could do no vengeance to me.

Meaning me a beast!

If the fcorn of your bright eyne
Have power to raife fuch love in mine,
Alack, in me, what strange effect
Would they work in mild afpect?
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 feal up thy mind,
Whether that thy youth and kind
Will the faithful offer take
Of me, and all that I can make ;
Or elfe by him my love deny,
And then I'll ftudy how to die.

Syl. Call you this chiding?

Cel. Alas, poor fhepherd!

Rof. Do you pity him? no, he deferves no pity. Wilt thou love fuch a woman? what, to make thee an inftrument, 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 fnake), and fay this to her, That if he love me, I charge her to love thee; if he will

not,

not, I will never have her, unless thou intreat for her. If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more company. [Exit. Syl.

SCENE VI. Enter Oliver.

Oli. Good morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you know, Where, in the purlieus of this forest, stands A fheep-cote fence'd about with olive-trees?

Gel. Weft of this place, down in the neighbour bot-
The rank of ofiers, by the murmuring ftream,. [tom,
Left on your right-hand, brings you to the place ;
But at this hour the houfe doth keep itself,
There's none within.

Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
Then fhould I know you by defeription,
Such garments, and fuch years: the boy is fair,
of female favour, and beftows himself
Like a ripe fifter: but the woman low,

And browner than her brother. Are not you
The owner of the houfe I did enquire for?
Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to fay we are.
Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both,
And to that youth he calls his Rofalind,
He fends his bloody napkin. Are you he?

Rof. I am; what muft we understand by this?
Oli. Some of my fhame, if you will know of me
What man I am, and how, and why, and where
This handkerchief was ftain'd.

Gel. I pray you, tell it.

Oli. When laft the young Orlando parted from you, He left a promife to return again

Within an hour; and pacing through the foreft,
Chewing the food of fweet and bitter fancy,
Lo, what befel! he threw his eye afide,
And mark what object did prefent itself.

• Under an oak, whose boughs were mofs'd with age; And high top bald with dry antiquity;

A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,.
Lay fleeping on his back; about his neck

A green and gilded fnake had wreath'd itself,
Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'd:
The opening of his mouth; but fuddenly.