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wiser, the waywarder: Make the Doors upon a Woman's Wit, and it will out at the Casement; shut that, and 'twill out at the Key-hole; stop that, it will fly with the smoak out at the Chimney.

Orla. A Man that had a Wife with such 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 say, she came to seek you there: You shall never find her without her Answer, unless you take her without her Tongue. Othat Woman, that cannot make her fault her Husband's occasion, let her never nurse her Child her self, for she will breed it like a Fool.

Orla. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee.
Ros. Alas, dear Love, I cannot lack thee two hours.

Orla. I must attend the Duke at Dinner, by two a Clock I will be with thee again.

Ros: Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew what you would prove, my Friends told me as much, and I thought no less; that flattering Tongue of yours won me; 'tis but one cast away, and fo come Death: Two o'th'Clock is your hour

Orla, Ay, sweet Rosalind.

Ref. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and by all the 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 BreakPromise, 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.

Orla. With no less Religion, than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind; fo adieu.

Ros. Well, Time is the old Justice that examines all such Offenders, and let Time try. Adieu. [Exit Orla.

Cel. You have simply misus'd our Sex in your Love-prate: we must have your Doublet and Hose pluck'd over your Head, and thew the World what the Bird hath done to her own Nest,

Rof. O Coz, Coz, Coz, my pretty little Coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in Love; but it cannot be founded : My Affe&ion hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal.

Cel. Or rather bottomless, that as fast as you pour Affe- . &ion in, it runs out.

Ros. No, that fame wicked Bastard of Venus, that was begot of Thought, conceiv'd of Spleen, and born of Mad. neis, that blind rascally Boy, that abuses every ones 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 light of Orlando : I'll go find a Shadow, and figh 'till he come. Cel. And I'll sleep

[Exeunt. SCENE II.

Enter Jaques, Lords, and Foresters. Jag. Which is he that kill'd the Deer? Lord. Sir, it was I.

Jag. 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 Vi&ory; have you no Song, Fow refter, for this purpose?

For. Yes, Sir.

Jaq. Sing it: 'Tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough.

Musick, Song
What Mall be have that kill'd the Deer?
His Leather Skin and Horns to wear;
Then fing him home, the rest Mall bear this burthen;
Take thou no fcorn to wear the Horn,
It was a Crest e'er thou wast barn,
Tby Father's Father wore it,
And thy Father bore it,
The Horn, the Horn, the luffy Horn,
Is not a thing to laugh to Scorn. [Exeunt.

SCENE

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Enter Rosalind and Celia.
Ros. How say you now, is it not past two a Clock?
And here much Orlando.
Cel. I warrant you, with pure Love and troubled Brain,

Enter Sylvius.
He hath ta'en his Bow and Arrows, and is gone forth
To sleep: Look who comes here.

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 stern Brow, and waspish Action
Which she did use as she was Writing of it,
It bears an angry tenure ; pardon me,
I am but as a guiltless Messenger.

Rof. Patience her self 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 did hunt,
Why writes the fo to me & Well, Shepherd, well,
This is a Letter of your own device.

Syl. No, I proteit, 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 Free-stone coloured Hand; I verily did think
That her old Gloves were on, but 'twas her Hands;
She has a Huswife's Hand, but that's no matter;
I say, she never did invent this Letter,
This is a Man's Invention, and his Hand.

Syt Sure it is hers.

Ref. Why, 'tis à boisterous and a cruel Stile,
A Ştile for Challengers; why, she defies me,
Like Turk to Chriftian; Woman's gentle Brain
Could not drop forth such gianț rude Invention,

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Such Ethiop words, blacker in their Effect
Than in their Countenance; will you hear the Letter?

Syl. So please you, for I never heard it yet;
Yet heard too much of Phebe's Cruelty.

Rof. She Phebes me; mark how the Tyrant writes,
[Reads,] Art thou God, to Shepherd turn'd,
That a Maiden's Heart hath burn'd?
Can a Woman rail thus.

Syl. Call you this Railing?

ROS. [Reads.] Why, thy Godhead laid apart,
Warst thon 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 Beaft.
If the Scorr 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 chide 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 hin feal up thy Mind,
Whether that thy Touth 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 study how to die.

Syl. Call you this chiding?
Cel. Alas, poor Shepherd'?

Rof. Do you pity him? No, he deserves no pity: Wilt thou love such a Woman? What to make thee an Ioftru, ment, and play false Strings 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 the 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. Syl,

Enter

Enter Oliver.
Oli. Good morrow, fair ones: Pray you, if you know,
Where in the Purlews of this Forest stands
A Sheep-coat, fenc'd about with Olive-trees.

Cel. Weft of this place down in the Neighbour bottom,
The rank of Ofiers, by the murmuring Stream
Left on your Right-hand, bring you to the place;
But at this hour the House doch keep it self,
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: But the Woman low,
And browner than her Brother. Are not you
The Owner of the House I did enquire 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?

Rof. 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,
Chewing the Food of sweet and bitter Fancy,
Lo what befel! he threw his Eye aside,
And mark what Object did present it self
Under an old Oak, whose Boughs were moss’d with Age,
And high Top bald with dry Antiquity;
A wretched ragged Man, o'er-grown with Hair,
Lay sleeping on his Back; about his Neck
A green and gilded Snake had wreath'd it self,
Who with her Head, nimble in threats, approach'd
The opening of his Mouth; but suddenly
Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd it self,
And with indented glides did slip away

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