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Rof. Or else she could not have the wit to do this; the wifer, the waywarder: make the doors faft upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement; fhut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole; ftop that, it will fly with the smoke out at the chimney.

Orla. A man that had a wife with fuch a wit, he might say, 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 fay fhe came to feek you there: you fhall never take her without her anfwer, unless you take her without her tongue. O that woman, that cannot make her fault her husband's occafion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed it like a fool?

Orla. For these two hours, Rofalind, I will leave thee. Rof. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. Orla. I must attend the Duke at dinner; by two o'clock I will be with thee again.

Rof. 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 caft away, and fo come death: two o'th' clock is your hour!

Orla. Ay, fweet Rofalind.

Rof. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your promife, or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most * atheistical break-promife, and the most hollow lover, and the moft unworthy of her you call Rofalind, that may be chofen out the grofs band of the unfaithful; therefore beware my cenfure, and keep your promise.

I will think you the most pathetical break-promife,] We should read, atheistical break-promife. His Anfwer confirms it, that he would keep his Promife with no lefs Religion, than ----]

Orla.

Orla. With no less religion, than if thou wert indeed my Rofalind; fo adieu.

Rof. Well, time is the old Juftice that examines all fuch offenders, and let time try. Adieu! [Exit. Orla.

Cel.

Y

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OU have fimply mifus'd our fex in your love-prate: we must have your doublet and hofe pluck'd over your head, and fhew the world what the bird hath done to her own neft.

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 affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal.

Cel. O rather, bottomlefs; that as faft as you pour affection in it, it runs out.

Rof. No, that fame wicked baftard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceiv'd of spleen, and born of madness, that blind rafcally boy, that abuses every one's 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 fight of Orlando; I'll go find a fha'dow, and figh 'till he come.

Cel. And I'll fleep.

Jaq.

SCENE

IV.

Enter Jaques, Lords and Forefters.

W

Lord. Sir, it was 1.

HICH is he that kill'd the deer?

[Exeunt.

Jaq. Let's prefent him to the Duke, like a Roman Conqueror; and it would do well to fet the deer's horns upon his head, for a branch of victory; have you no Song, Forester, for this purpose?

For. Yes, Sir.

Jaq. Sing it; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, fo it make noise enough.

Mufic, Song.

What fhall he have, that kill'd the deer?
His leather fkin and horns to wear;
Then fing him home:-take Thou no Scorn
To wear the horn, the horn, the horn:
It was a creft, ere thou waft born.
Thy father's father wore it,
And thy father bore it,

The horn, the horn, the lufty horn,
Is not a thing to laugh to fcorn.

SCENE V.

Enter Rofalind and Celia.

The reft fhall bear this Burden.

Rof. HOW fay younow, is it not past two o'clock?

I wonder much, Orlando is not here..

Cel. I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows, and is 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 she did ufe as fhe was writing of it,
It bears an angry tenour; pardon me,
I am but as a guiltlefs meffenger.

gone

Rof. Patience herself would startle 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 she could not love me Were man as rare as phoenix: 'odds my will! Her love is not the hare that I do hunt. Why writes fhe fo to me? well, fhepherd, well, This is a letter of your own device.

Sil. No, I proteft, I know not the contents; Phebe did write it.

Rof.

Rof. Come, come, you're a fool, And turn'd into th' extremity of love.

I saw 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 Chriftian; 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.] Art thou God to Shepherd 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 beast !

If the fcorn of your bright eyne
Have power to raife fuch love in mine,
Alack, in me, what strange effect
Would they work in mild aspect?
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 deserves no pity: wilt thou love fuch a woman? what, to make thee an instrument, 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 he 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.

SCENE VI.

[Exit Sil.

Enter Oliver.

Oli.

Go

OOD-morrow, fair ones: pray you,
know,

Where, in the purlieus of this foreft, ftands
A fheep-cote fenc'd about with olive-trees?

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

The rank of ofiers, 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 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 house, I did enquire for?

Cel.

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