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, Rof. Patience herself would ftartle at this letter, Why writes the fo to me? well, fhepherd, well, 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 faw her hand, fhe has a leathern hand, A free-ftone-colour'd hand; I verily did think, This is a man's invention, and his hand. Rof. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel ftile, 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; Sil. Call you this railing? Rof. [Reads.] Why, thy Godhead laid apart, If the fcorn of your bright eyne Sil. Call you this chiding? 2 Rof. Do you pity him? no, he deserves 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, unlefs 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 Where, Where, in the purlews of this forest, stands Cel. Weft of this place, down in the neighbour bottom, The rank of offers, by the murmuring ftream, There's none within. Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, Cel. It is no boaft, being ask'd, to say, we are. Rof. I am; what must we understand by this? 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, Under an oak, whose boughs were mofs'd with age, A wretched ragged man, o'er-grown with hair, A green and gilded fnake had wreath'd itself, Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'd A A Lioness, with udders all drawn dry, Lay couching head on ground, with cat-like watch To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead : And found it was his brother, his eldest brother. Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that same brother, And he did render him the most unnatural That liv'd 'mongst men. Oli. And well he might so 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 battle to the lioness, Who quickly fell before him; in which hurtling Gel. Are you his brother? Rof. Was it you he rescu'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 converfion So fweetly tastes, being the thing I am. Oli. By, and by. When from the first to laft, betwixt us two, his arm And, And, after some small space, being strong at heart, To tell this ftory, that you might excuse 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 teftimony in your complexion, that it was a passion 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 answer back, How you excufe my brother, Rofalind. Roj I fhall devife fomething; but, I pray you commend my counterfeiting to him: will you go? [Exeunt. ACT |