Cel. How now? back-friends!-fhepherd, go off a little-go with him, firrah. Clo. Come, fhepherd, let us make an honourable retreat; tho' not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and fcrippage. [Exeunt Corin and Clown. SCENE VI. Cel. Didst thou hear these verses ? Rof. O yes, I heard them all, and more, too; for fome of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear. Cel. That's no matter; the feet might bear the verfes. Rof. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves without the verfe, and therefore stood lamely in the verse. Cel. But didst thou hear, without wondring, how thy name should be hang'd and carv'd upon these trees?.... Rof. I was feven of the nine days out of wonder, before you came; for, look here, what I found on a palm-tree; I was never fo be-rhimed fince Pythagoras's time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember. Cel. Trow you, who hath done this? Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck: Change you colour? Rof. I pr'ythee, who? Cel. O Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be remoy'd with earthquakes, and fo encounter. Rof. Nay, but who is it?... Cel. Is it poffible? W Rof. Nay, I pr'ythee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is. Gel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all whooping 3 * }] Rof. Good my complexion! doft thou think, though I am caparifon'd like a man, I have a doublet and hofe in my difpofition? * One inch of delay more is a South-fea of difcovery. I pr'ythee, tell me, who is it; quickly, and speak apace; I would thou couldft ftammer, that thou might'ft pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow mouth'd bottle; either too much at once, or none at fenfe. I read thus: One Inch of delay more is a South fea. Difcover, I pr'ythee: tell me who is it quickly!—When the tranfcriber had donce made difcovery from difcover, I, he eafily put an article after Southfea. But it may be read with till lefs change, and with equal probability. Every Inch of delay more is a South fea discovery : Every delay, however fhort, is to me tedious and irkfome as the longeft voyages, as a voyage of difcovery on the South fea. How much voyages to the South-fea, on which the English had then firft ventured, engaged the converfation of that time, may be easily imagined. all. I pr'ythee take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may drink thy tidings. Cel. So you may put a man in your belly. Rof. Is he of God's making? what manner of man? is his head worth a hat? or his chin worth a beard? Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard, Rof. Why, God will fend more, if the man will be thankful; let me ftay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin. Celo It is young Orlando, that tripp'd up the wrestler's heels and your heart both in an inftant. Rof. Nay, but the devil take mocking; fpeak, fad brow, and true maid. Rof. Alas the day! what fhall I do with my doublet and hofe? what did he, when thou faw'ft him? what faid he? how look'd he? wherein went he? what makes he here? did he afk for me? where remains he? how parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see him again? anfwer me in one word. 5 Cel. You must borrow me Garagantua's mouth firft; 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's fize. To fay, ay, and no, to these particulars, is more than to anfwer in a catechifm. Rof. But doth he know that I am in this Foreft, and in man's apparel? looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled? Cel. It is as eafy to count atoms, as to refolve the propofitions of a lover: but take a taste of my find 5'-Garagantua's mouth.] Rofalind requires nine questions to be answered in one word; Celia tells her that a word of fuch magnitude is too big for any mouth but that of Garagantua the giant of Rabelais. ing him, and relish it with good obfervance. I fou: him under a tree like a dropp'd acorn ". Rof. It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it drops forth fuch fruit. Cel. Give me audience, good Madam, Rof. Proceed. " Cel. There lay he stretch'd along like a wounded Knight. Ref. Tho' it be pity to fee fuch a fight, it well be comes the ground. Cel. Cry, holla! to thy tongue, I pr'ythee; it curvets unfeafonably. He was furnifh'd like a hunter. Rof. Oh, ominous! he comes to kill my heart. Cel. I would fing my fong without a burden; thou bring'ft me out of tune. Rof. Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I muft fpeak-Sweet, fay on. I Cel. You bring me out. Soft, comes he not here? [Celia and Rofalind retire, Faq. I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone. Orla. And fo had I; but yet, for fashion fake, I thank you too for your fociety. Jaq. God b'w' you, let's meet as little as we can, 6 I found him under a tree like a dropp'd acorn.] We fhould read, Under AN OAK tree. This appears from what follows -like a dropp'd acorn. For how did he look like a dropp'd acorn unless he was found under an oak-tree? And from Rofalind's reply, that it might well be called. Jove's tree: For the Oak was facred to Jove. WARBURTON. Jaq Jaq. I pray you marr no more trees with writing love-fongs in their barks.. Orla. I pray you, marr no more of my Verfes with reading them ill-favouredly. Jaq. Rofalind, is your love's name? Jaq. I do not like her name. Orla. There was no thought of pleafing you, when fhe was chriften'd. Jaq. What ftature is she of? Orla. Just as high as my heart. Jaq. You are full of pretty anfwers; have you not been acquainted with goldfmiths wives, and conn'd them out of rings? Orla. Not fo': but I anfwer you right painted cloth, from whence you have ftudied your questions. faq. You have a nimble wit; I think, it was made of Atalanta's heels. Will you fit down with me, and we two will rail against our mistrefs, the world, and all our mifery. Orla. I will chide no breather in the world but my felf, against whom I know moft faults. Jaq. The worst fault you have, is to be in love. Orla. "Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am weary of you. Jaq. By my troth, I was feeking for a fool, when I found you. Orla. He is drown'd in the brook; look but in, and. you fhall fee him. Jaq. There I fhall fee mine own figure. 7-but I anfwer you right painted cloth. This alludes to the Fashion, in old Tapestry Hangings, of Motto's and moral Sentences from the Mouths of the Figures work'd or painted in them. The poet again hints at this Cuftom in his Poem, call'd, Tarquin and Lucrece: Who fears a Sentence, or an old Shall by a painted Cloth be kept in Awe. THEOBALD. the Sir T. Hanmer reads, I anfwer you right, in the ftile of painted cloth. Something feems wanting, and I know not what can be propofed better. Orla. |