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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 fleep look, who comes here.

Enter Silvius.

Sil. 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 waspish action
Which fhe did ufe as fhe was writing of it,
It bears an angry tenour; pardon me,
I am but as a guiltless meffenger.

Rof. Patience her felf would ftartle 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 he could not love me
Were man as rare as phenix: 'odds my will!
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt.

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

Sil. 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, she never did invent this letter;

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

Rof. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel ftile,
A ftile for challengers; why, fhe defies me,
Like Turk to Christian; 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?
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. ]

[Reads.] Art thou God to fhepherd turn'd,

That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?
Can a woman rail thus ?

Sil. Call you this railing?

Rof. [Reads.] Why, thy Godhead laid apart,
Warr'ft thou with a woman's heart?
Did you ever hear such railing?
Whiles the eye of man did woo me,
That could do no vengeance to me.
Meaning me, a beaft !

If the fcorn of your bright eyne
Have power to raise fuch love in mine,
Alack, in me, what frange 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.

Sil. 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 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, if you

know,

Where

Where, in the purlews of this forest, stands

A fheep-cote fenc'd about with olive-trees?

Cel. Weft of this place, down in the neighbour bottom,

The rank of ofiers, by the murmuring ftream,

Left on your right-hand, brings you to the place;
But at this hour the house doth 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 fuch years:
the boy is fair,
"Of female favour, and bestows himself
"Like a ripe Sifter: 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 boaft, 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 this bloody napkin. Are you he?

Ref. 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 ftain'd.

Cel. I pray you, tell it.

Oli. When laft the young Orlando parted from you, He left a promise 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 it felf.

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

A wretched ragged man, o'er-grown with hair,
Lay fleeping on his back; about his neck

A green and gilded fnake had wreath'd it self,

Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'd
The opening of his mouth, but fuddenly
Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd it felf,
And with indented glides did flip away
Into a bufh; under which bufh's fhade

A Lioness, with udders all drawn dry,

Lay couching head on ground, with cat-like watch
When that the fleeping man fhould ftir; for 'tis
The royal difpofition of that beaft

To prey on nothing that doth feem as dead :
This feen, Orlando did approach the man,

And found it was his brother, his eldest brother.

Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that fame brother,

And he did render him the most unnatural

That liv'd 'mongst men.

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 fo: But kindness, nobler ever than revenge,

And nature ftronger than his juft occafion,
Made him give battel to the lionefs,

Who quickly fell before him; in which hurtling
From miferable flumber I awak'd.

Cel. Are you his brother?

Rof. Was it you he refcu'd?

Cel. Was it you that did so oft contrive to kill him?
Oli. 'Twas I ; but 'tis not I; I do not fhame

To tell you what I was, fince my conversion
So fweetly taftes, being the thing I am.
Rof. But, for the bloody napkin ?

Oli. By, and by.

When from the first to laft, betwixt us two,
Tears our recountments had moft kindly bath'd,
As how I came into that defart place;
In brief, he led me to the gentle Duke,
Who gave me fresh array and entertainment,
Committing me unto my brother's love;
Who led me inftantly unto his cave,
There ftrip'd himself, and here upon
his arm
The lionefs had torn fome flesh away,
Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted,
And cry'd, in fainting, upon Rofalind.
Brief, I recover'd him; bound up his wound;

And,

And, after fome fmall space, being strong at heart,
He fent me hither, ftranger as I am,

To tell this ftory, that you might excufe
His broken promife; and to give this napkin,
Dy'd in his blood, unto the fhepherd youth,
That he in fport doth call his Rofalind.

Cel. Why, how now Ganimed, Sweet, Ganimed?
[Rof. faints.
Oli. Many will fwoon, when they do look on blood,
Cel. There is more in it: - coufin Ganimed!

Oli. Look, he recovers.

Rof. Would, I were at home!

Cel. We'll lead you thither.

I pray you, will you take him by the arm?

Oli. Be of good cheer, youth; you a man? you lack

a man's heart.

Rof. I do fo, I confefs 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 paffion of

earnest.

Rof. Counterfeit, I affure you.

Oli. Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit to

be a man.

Rof. So I do but, i' faith, I should have been a woman by right.

Cel. Come, you look paler and paler; pray you, draw homewards; good Sir, go with us.

Oli. That will I; for I must bear anfwer back, How you excufe my brother, Rofalind.

Rof. I fhall devife fomething; but, I pray you commend my counterfeiting to him: will you go? [Exeunt.

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ACT

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