AS YOU LIKE IT. 321 Rof. Nay, an you be fo tardy, come no more in my fight I had as lief be woo'd of a fnail. Orla. Of a fnail? Rof. Ay, of a fnail; for tho' he comes flowly, he I carries his houfe on his head: a better jointure, I think, than you make a woman; befides, he brings his destiny with him. Orla. What's that? Rof. Why, horns; which fuch as you are fain to be beholden to your wives for; but he comes armed in his fortune, and prevents the flander of his wife. Orla. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rofalind is virtuous. Rof. And I am your Rofalind. Cel. It pleafes him to call you fo; but he hath a Refalind of a better leer than you. Rof. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holyday humour, and like enough to confent: what would you fay to me now, an I were your very, very Rofalind? Orla. I would kifs, before I fpoke. Rof. Nay, you were better speak first, and when you were gravell'd for lack of matter, you might take occafion to kifs. Very good orators, when they are out, they will fpit; and for lovers lacking, God warn us, matter, the cleanlieft fhift is to kifs. Orla. How if the kifs be denied? Rof. Then he puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter. Orla. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress ? Rof. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress; or I fhould think my honefty ranker than my wit. Orla. What, of my fuit? Rof. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your fuit. Am not I your Rofalind? Orla. I take fome joy to fay, you are; because I would be talking of her. Rof. Well, in her perfon, I fay, I will not have you. 0 5 Rof. Lea Rof. No, faith, die by attorney; the poor almost fix thousand years old, and in all this was not any man died in his own perfon, via a love-caufe: Troilus had his brains dafh'd o Grecian club, yet he did what he could to d and he is one of the patterns of love. would have liv'd many a fair year, tho' Hero h nun, if it had not been for a hot midfumme for, good youth, he went but forth to wa Hellefpont, and, being taken with the cra drown'd; and the foolish chroniclers of that a it was, Hero of Seftos. But these are all li have died from time to time, and worms hav them, bnt not for love. Orla. I would not have my right Rofalina mind; for, I proteft, her frown might kill me. Rof. By this hand, it will not kill a flie; bu now I will be your Rofalind in a more coming pofition; and ask me what you will, I will gran Orla. Then love me, Rofalind. Rof. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays, Rof. Ay, and twenty fuch. Orla. What fay'ft thou? Rof. Are you not good? Orla. I hope fo. Rof. Why then, can one defire too much of thing come, fifter, you fhall be the priest, an ry us. Give me your hand, Orlando: what do yo Sifter? Orla. Pray thee, marry us. Cel. I cannot fay the words. Rof. You must begin, - Will you, Orlando Cel. Go to; will you, Orlando, have to wif Rofalind? Orla. I will. Rof Ay, but when ? Orla. Why now, as faft as the can marry us. Rof. Then you muft fay, I take thee Rofalina Orla. I take thee Rofalind for wife. Rof. I might ask you for your commiffion, but I do take thee Orlando for my husband: there's a girl goes. before the priest, and certainly a woman's thought runs. before her actions. Orla. So do all thoughts; they are wing'd. Rof. Now tell me, how long would you have her, after you have poffeft her. Orla. For ever and a day. Rof. Say a day, without the ever: no, no, Orlando, 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 than a Barbary cock-pidgeon over his hen; more clamorous than a parrot against rain; more newfangled 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 fleep. Orla. But will my Rofalind do fo? Rof. Or elfe fhe could not have the wit to do this; the wifer, the waywarder: make the doors faft upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement; 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 fuch 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 excufe that? Rof. Marry, to fay fhe 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 her felf, for fhe will breed it like a fool! Orla. For these two hours, Rofalind, I will leave thee. Rof. Rof. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two h Orla. I must attend the Duke at dinner; o'clock I will be with thee again, Rof. Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew you would prove, my friends told me as much, thought no lefs; that flattering tongue of yours wo 'tis but one caft away, and fo come death: tw clock is your hour! Orla. Ay, fweet Rofalind. Rof. By my troth, and in good earnest, and f mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not rous, if you break one jot of your promife, or one minute behind your hour, I will think yo moft pathetical break-promife, and the moft I lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Ro that may be chofen out of the grofs band of th faithful; therefore beware my cenfure, and keep promife. Orla. With no lefs religion, than if thou we deed my Rofalind; fo adieu. Rof. Well, time is the old Juftice that examin fuch offenders, and let time try. Adieu ![ Exit Cel. You have fimply mifus'd our fex in your prate: we must have your doublet and hofe pluck'd your head, and fhew the world what the bird hath to her own neft. Rof. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that didit know how many fathom deep I am in love; b cannot be founded: my affection hath an unknown tom, like the Bay of Portugal. Cel. Or rather, bottomlefs; that as faft as you affection in, it runs out. Ref. No, that fame wicked baftard of Venus, t was begot of thought, conceiv'd of fpleen, and born madness, that blind rafcally boy, that abufes every or eyes, because his own are out, let him be judge, h deep I am in love; I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot Enter Jaques, Lords, and Forefters. Jaq. Which is he that kill'd the deer? 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 Song, Forefter, for this purpose? For. Yes, Sir. Jaq. Sing it; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, fo it make noise enough. Mufick, Song, What fall he have, that kill'd the deer? Then fing him home: - To wear the horn, the horn, the horn: take Thou no Scorn (12) The reft fhall bear this Bur then. It was a creft, ere thou waft born. The horn, the born, the lufty born, Enter Rofalind and Celia. [Exeunt. Rof. How fay you now, is it not paft two o'clock ? I wonder much, Orlando is not here. (12) Then fing him home, the rest shall bear this Burthen.] This is no admirable Inftance of the Sagacity of our preceding Editors, to fay Nothing worfe. One fhould expect, when they were Poets, they would at least have taken care of the Rhymes, and not foifted in what has Nothing to answer it. Now, where is the Rhyme to, the rest shall bear this Burthen? Or, to ask another Queftion, where is the Sense of it? Does the Poet mean, that He, that kill'd the Deer, fhall be fung home, and the Reft shall bear the Deer on their Backs? This is laying a Burthen on the Poet, that We must help him to throw off. In fhort, the Mystery of the Whole is, that a Marginal Note is wifely thrust into the Text: the Song being defign'd to be fung by a fingle Voice, and the Stanza's to close with a Burthen to be fung by the whole Company. Cel. |