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Rof. 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 yours won metis but one cast away, and fo come deathtwo o'th' clock is your hour!

Orla. Ay, fweet Rofalind.

Rof. By my troth, and in good earneft, and fo God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you you break one jot of your promife, or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical break-promife, and the most hollow lover, and the most 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 promife.

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 mifus'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 didft 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, bottomlefs; that as faft as you pour affection in, 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

9- I will think you the most PATHETICAL break promise, There is neither fenfe nor humour in this expreffion. We fhould certainly read, ATHEISTICAL break promife. His anfwer confirms it, that he would

keep his promife with no less Religion, than

WARBURTON.

I do not fee but that pathetical may ftand, which feems to afford as much fenfe and as much hu mour as atheistical.

one's

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 fight of Orlando ; I'll go find a shadow, and figh 'till he come.

Cel. And I'll fleep.

SCENE IV.

Enter Jaques, Lords, and Forefters.

Jaq. Which is he that kill'd the deer?
Lord. Sir, it was I.

[Exeunt.

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.

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

Mufick, Song.

What fhall be have that kill'd the deer?

His leather fkin and horns to wear;

Then fing him bome

no Scorn 3

take thou

The reft fhall

To wear the horn, the horn, the born:
It was a creft, ere thou waft born.
Thy father's father wore it,
And thy father bore it,

The born, the born, the lusty born,
Is not a thing to laugh to fcorn.

3 In former Editions:

Then fing him home, the reft Jhall bear this burden.] This is no admirable Inftance of the fagacity of our preceding Editors, to fay nothing worse.

One fhould expect, when they were Poets, they would at least have

bear this Bur

den.

[Exeunt, SCENE

taken care of the Rhimes, and not foifted in what has nothing to answer it. Now, where is the Rhime to, the rest shall bear this Burthen? Or, to ask another Question, where is the Sense of it? Does the Poet mean, that He, that kill'd the Deer, shall

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Rof. How fay 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 fleep 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 I guess,
By the ftern brow and waspish action

Which she did ufe as fhe was writing of it,.
It bears an angry tenour.

Pardon me,

I am but as a guiltlefs meffenger.

Rof. [reading.] 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 the fo to me? Well, shepherd, well,
This is a letter of your own device..

be fung home, and the reft fhall
bear the Deer on their Backs?
This is laying a Burden on the
Poet, that We must help him to
throw off. In fhort, the Myfte-
ry of the Whole is, that a Mar-
ginal Note is wifely thrust into
the Text: the Song being de-
fign'd to be fung by a fingle
Voice, and the Stanza's to clofe
with a Burden to be fung by the
whole Company. THEOBALD.

This note I have given as a fpecimen of Mr. Theobala's jo.

cularity, and of the eloquence with which he recommends his emendation.

4 The foregoing noify fcene was introduced only to fill up an interval, which is to reprefent two hours. This contraction of the time we might impute to poor Rofalind's impatience, but that a few minutes after we find Orlando fending his excufe. I do not fee that by any probable division of the acts this abfurdity can be obviated.

:

Sil. No, I proteft, 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-colour'd hand; I verily did think,
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hand;
She has a huswife's hand, but that's no matter-
I fay, she never did invent this letter-

This is a man's invention, and his hand.
Sil. Sure, it is hers.

Rof. Why, 'tis a boifterous and a cruel ftile,
A ftile for challengers; why, fhe 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 let

ter?

Sil. So please 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?

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Rof. [Reads.] Why, thy Godhead laid apart,
Warr'st 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.

Vengeance is used for a mischief.

If the fcorn of your bright eyne
Have power to raise fuch love in mine,
Alack, in me, what strange effect
Would they work in mild afpe&t?
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 Kinds
Will the faithful offer take
Of me, and all that I can make
Or elfe by him my love deny.
And then I'll study how to die.

Sil. Call you this chiding?
Cel. Alas, poor shepherd!

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 see love hath made thee a tame fnake, and fay 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 "intreat for her." If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word, for here comes more company.

[Exit Silvius.

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Oli. Good-morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you

know

Where, in the purlews of this forest, stands
A fheep-cote fenc'd about with olive-trees?

5 Youth and Kind,] Kind is the old word for nature.

Cel.

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