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Rof.N

Enter Rofalind and Celia.

EVER talk to me I will weep.
Cel. Do, I pr'ythee; but yet have the

grace to confider, that tears do not become a man.
Rof. But have I not caufe to weep?

Cel. As good caufe as one would defire; therefore

Rof. His very hair is of the dissembling colour.

Cel. Something browner than Judas's: marry his

kifses are Judas's own children.

Rof. I'faith, his hair is of a good colour.

Cel. An excellent colour: your chesnut was ever the

only colour.

Rof. And his kissing is as full of fanctity, as the touch of holy Beard '.*"

Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana ; a nun of Winter's sisterhood kisses not more religioufly; the very ice of chastity is in them.

:

Rof.

*- a nun of Winter's fifterbood] This is finely expressed. But Mr. Theobald says, the words give him no idea. And 'tis certain, that words will never give men what nature has denied them. However, to mend the matter, he substitutes Winifred's fisterhood. And, after so happy a thought, it was to no purpose to tell him there was no religious order of that denomination. The plain truth is, Shakespeare meant an unfruitful fisterhood, which had devoted itself to chastity. For as those who were of the fifterhood of

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Rof. But why did he swear he would come this

morning, and comes not?

Cel. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.

Rof. Do you think fo?

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Cel. Yes. I think he is not a pick-purse nor a horfestealer; but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a cover'd goblet, or a worm-eaten nut. Rof. Not true in love?

!

Cel. Yes, when he is in; but, I think, he is not in. Rof. You have heard him swear downright, he was. Cel. Was, is not is; besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the confirmers of false reckonings. He attends here in the Forest on the Duke your Father...

Rof. I met the Duke yesterday, and had much queftion with him: he asked me, of what parentage I was; I told him of as good as he; fo he laugh'd, and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is fuch a man as Orlando.

Cel. O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite travers, athwart the heart of his lover;

of the spring were the votaries
of Venus; those of fummer, the
votaries of Ceres; those of au-
tumn, of Pomona; so these of
the fifterhood of winter were the
votaries of Diana: Called, of
winter, because that quarter is
not, like the other three, pro-
ductive of fruit or increase. On
this account, it is, that, when
the poet fpeaks, of what is most
poor, he instances in winter, in
these fine lines of Otbello,
But riches endless is as
winter

poor as

- quite travers, athwart, &c.] An unexperienced lover is here compared to a puisny Tilter, to whom it was a disgrace to have

lover; as a puisny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one fide, breaks his staff like a noble goofe; but all's brave that youth mounts, and folly guides: who comes here?!

Enter Corin.

Cor. Mistress and master, you have oft enquired
After the shepherd that complain'd of love;
Whom you faw fitting by me on the turf,
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
That was his mistress.

!

Cel. Well, and what of him?
Cor. If you will fee a pageant truly play'd,
Between the pale complexion of true love,
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain;
Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you,
If you will mark it.

Rof. Come, let us remove;
The fight of lovers feedeth those in love;

his Lance broken across, as it was
a mark either of want of Cou-
rage or Address. This happen'd
when the horse flew on one fide,
in the career: And hence, I sup-
pose, arofe the jocular proverbial
phrase of fpurring the horse only
on one fide. Now as breaking the
Lance against his Adversary's
breast, in a direct line, was ho-
nourable, so the breaking it across
against his breast was, for the
reason above, dishonourable:
Hence it is, that Sidney, in his
Arcadia, speaking of the mock
combat of Clinias and Dametas
fays, The wind took fuch hold of
his Staff that it crost quite over
his breaft, & And to break
across was the usual phrafe, as ap-
pears from some wretched verses
of the fame author, speaking of

an unskilful Tilter,

r

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mist:

Methought fome Staves he
if so, not much amiss:
For when he most did bit, he ever
yet did mifs,

One faid be brake across, full

well it so might be, &c. This is the allusion. So that Orlando, a young Gallant, affecting the fashion (for brave is here used, as in other places, for fashionable) is represented either unskilful in courtship, or timorous. The Lover's meeting or appointment corresponds to the Tilter's Carreer: And as the one breaks Staves, the other breaks Oaths. The business is only meeting fairly, and doing both with Address: And 'tis for the want of this, that Orlando is blamed.

WARBURTON.

Bring us but to this fight, and you shall fay
I'll prove a bufy Actor in their Play.

Sil.

S

[Exeunt.

Weet Phebe, do not fcorn me do not, Phebe
Say, that you love me not; but say not fo

In bitterness; the common executioner,
Whose heart th' accustom'd fight of death makes hard,
Falls not the ax upon the humbled neck,
But first begs pardon: will you sterner be1

Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?

Enter Rofalind, Celia and Corin.

Phe. I would not be thy executioner;
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
Thou tell'st me, there is murder in mine eyes;
'Tis pretty, fure, and very probable,
That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things,
Who shut their coward gates on atomies,

Either Dr. Warburton's emendation, except that the word deals wants its proper conftruction, or that of Sir T. Hanmer may serve the purpose; but I believe they have fixed corruption upon the wrong word, and should rather read,

Than he that dies his lips by
...bloody drops?

Will you speak with more ftern-
ness than the executioner, whose
lips are used to he sprinkled with
blood? The mention of drops im-
plies fome part that must be
Iprinkled rather than dipped.

Should

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طبيست

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Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers!
Now do I frown on thee with all my heart,
And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee;
Now counterfeit to swoon; why, now fall down;
Or if thou can'st not, oh, for shame, for shame,

Lye not to fay mine eyes are murderers.
Now shew the wound mine eyes have made in thee;
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains

Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush,

The cicatrice and capable impressure

Thy Palm fome moments keeps; but now mine eyes,

Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not;!

Nor, I am fure, there is no force in eyes

That can do hurt.

Sil. O dear Phebe,

If ever (as that ever may be near)

You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy,

Then shall you know the wounds invisible

That love's keen arrows make.

Phe. But 'till that time,

Come not thou near me; and when that time comes,

Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not;

As, 'till that time, I shall not pity thee.

Rof. And why, I pray you? -Who might be your

mothers

That you infult, exult, and all at once

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