thee an instrument, and play false strains upon thee! - not to be endur'd! Well, go your way to her, (for I see love hath made thee a tame snake,) and 70 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 SILVIUS.

Oli.

Enter OLIVER.

Good morrow, fair ones: Pray you, if know

Where, in the purlieus of this forest, stands

A sheep-cote, fenc'd about with olive-trees?

you

Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour

bottom,

The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream,

Left on your right hand, brings you to the place
But at this hour the house doth keep itself;
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: the woman low,

And browner than her brother." Are not you
The owner of the house I did inquire 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?

:

Ros. I am what must we understand by this?
Oli. Some of my shame; if you will know of me

87 favour, aspect. bestows himself, behaves. 88 ripe, elder. (R)

80

90

What man I am, and how, and why, and where
This handkerchief was stain'd.

Cel. Oli.

I pray you, tell it. 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 befell! He threw his eye aside,
And, mark, what object did present itself!
Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age,
And high top bald with dry antiquity,

A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,
Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck

A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself,
Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'd
The opening of his mouth; but suddenly.
Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself,
And with indented glides did slip away
Into a bush: under which bush's shade

A lioness, with udders all drawn dry,

Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch,
When that the sleeping man should stir; for 't is
The royal disposition of that beast

To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead :
This seen, Orlando did approach the man,
And found it was his brother, his elder brother.
O, I have heard him speak of that same
brother;

Cel.

105 an oak. The original has an old oak [which Pope corrected]. old here is entirely superfluous. There are some cases in which it is absolutely necessary to deviate from the origi

100

110

120

nal text. [The Cambridge editors omit old.]

115 This incident of the lioness, to its minutest particular, is taken from the old novel. (w) [The "bloody napkin " does not figure.]

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.

Ros. But, to Orlando; - Did he leave him there, Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness?

Oli. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd so:

But kindness, nobler ever than revenge,

And nature, stronger than his just occasion,
Made him give battle to the lioness,

Who quickly fell before him; in which hurtling,
From miserable slumber I awak'd.

Cel. Are you his brother?

Ros.

Cel.

Was 't you he rescu❜d? Was 't you that did so oft contrive to kill him?

Oli. "T was I; but 't is not I: I do not shame
To tell you what I was, since my conversion
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am.

Ros. But, for the bloody napkin ?—
Oli.

130

By and by.

140

When, from the first to last, betwixt us two,
Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd,
As, how I came into that desert 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 instantly unto his cave,

There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm

The lioness had torn some flesh away,

Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted,

And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind.

Brief, I recover'd him, bound up his wound,

123 render, represent as. (B)

150

And, after some small space, being strong at heart,
He sent me hither, stranger as I am,

To tell this story, that you might excuse
His broken promise, and to give this napkin,
Dy'd in his blood, unto the shepherd youth
That he in sport doth call his Rosalind.

[ROSALIND faints.

Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede? sweet Ganymede? Oli. Many will swoon when they do look on

blood.

Cel. There is more in it: - Cousin

Oli. Look, he recovers.

Ros.

Ganymede! 160

I 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.

Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, 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 170 testimony in your complexion, that it was a passion of

earnest.

Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you.

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

Ros. 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.

156 his blood. The second folio corrects the manifest misprint this blood, of the first. (w)

166 Ah, sirrah. On recovering

herself, Rosalind immediately resumes her boyish sauciness, and a little overdoes it. (w)

Oli. That will I, for I must bear answer back how you excuse my brother, Rosalind.

Ros. I shall devise something: But, I pray you, 180 commend my counterfeiting to him:- Will you go?

ACT FIV E.

SCENE I. The Forest of Arden.

Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY.

[Exeunt.

TOUCHSTONE. We shall find a time, Audrey ;

patience, gentle Audrey.

Aud. 'Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old gentleman's saying.

Touch. A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey; a most vile Mar-text. But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to you.

Aud. Ay, I know who 't is he hath no interest in me in the world. Here comes the man you mean.

Enter WILLIAM.

Touch. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown. By my troth, we that have good wits have much to answer for; we shall be flouting; we cannot hold. William. Good ev❜n, Audrey.

Aud. God ye good ev'n, William.
Will. And good ev'n to you, sir.

Touch. Good ev'n, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover thy head; nay, pr'ythee, be cover'd. How old are you, friend?

Will. Five-and-twenty, sir.

Touch. A ripe age! Is thy name William?
Will. William, sir.

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20