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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.
Rof. Patience her self would ftartle at this letter,
Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents ;
Rof. Come, come, you're a fool,
Sil. Sure, it is hers.
Rof. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel ftile, A ftile 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. Rof. She Phebe's me; mark, how the tyrant writes.
[Reads.] Art thou God to shepherd turn'd,
Rof. [Reads.] Why, thy Godhead laid apart,
you ever hear such railing ?
That could do no vengeance to me.
If the scorn of your bright eyne
chid me, I did love ;
And then I'll study how to die.
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 ftrains 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 Sil. Enter Oliver. Oli. Good-morrow, fair ones : pray you,
Where, in the purlews of this forest, stands
Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
of the boy is fais,
Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say, we are,
both, And to that youth, he calls his Rosalind, He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he?
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 forests. Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, Lo, what befel ! he threw his eye aside, And mark what object did present it felf. Under an 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 Into a buh; under which bush's shade
A Lioness, with udders all drawn dry,
Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that same brother,
oli. And well he might fo do ; For, well I know, he was unnatural.
Rof. But, to Orlando ; did he leave him there, Food to the fuck'd and hungry lioness ?
Oli. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos’d so:
Cel. Are you his brother?
. Was it you that did so oft contrive to kill him? Oli. 'Twas I ; but 'tis not I; I do not shame To tell
my conversion So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am.
Rof. But, for the bloody napkin ?
oli. By, and by.
Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd,
And, after some small space, being strong at heart,
thither. I pray you, will you take him by the arm ?
olí. Be of good cheer, youth; you a man? you lack a man's heart.
Rof. I do fo, I confess it. Ah, Sir, a body would think, this was well counterfeited. I pray you, tell your brother how well I counterfeited : heigh ho!
Oli. This was not counterfeit, there is too great testimony in your complexion, that it was a passion of carnest.
Rof. Counterfeit, I affure you.
oli. Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit to be a man.
Ref. So I do: but, i' faith, I should have been a wo. man by right.
Cel. Come, you look paler and paler ; pray you, draw homewards; good Sir, go with us.
Oli. That will I; for I muft bear answer back, How you excuse my brother, Rosalind.
Ros. I shall devise something ; but, I pray you com. mend my counterfeiting to him : will you go ? [Exeunt..