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Rof. Gentleman, G) Wear this for me ; one out of suits with fortune, That could give' more, but that her hand lacks means. Shall we go, coz? [Giving him a Chain from her Neck,
Cel. Ay, fare you well, fair gentleman.
Orla. Can I not say, I thank you !--my better parts Are all thrown down; and that, which here stands up, (6) Is but a quintaine, a meer lifeless block.
Rof. He calls us back: my pride fell with my for-
Cel. Will you go, coz?
(5) Wear this for me;] There is Nothing in the Sequel of this Scene, expressing What it is that Rosalind here gives to Orlando: nor has there been hitherto any Marginal Direction to explain it. It would have been no great Burden to the Editors' Sagacity, to have fupply'd the Note I have given in the Margin: for afterwards, in the third Act, when Rosalind has found a Copy of Verses in the Woods writ on her self, and Celia asks her whether She knows who hath done this, Rosalind replies, by way of Question, Is it a Man? To which Celia again replies, Ay, and a Chain, that You once wore, about his Neck.
(6) Is but a Quintaine,-) This Word signifies in general a Pof or Butt set up for several kind of Martial Exercises. It served fometimes to run against, on Horseback, with a Lance: and then One Part of it was always movable, and turn'd about an Axis. But, befides This, there was another Quintaine, that was only a Post fix'd firmly in the Ground ; on which they hung a Buckler, and threw their Darts, and shot their Arrows againit it: and to This Kind of Quintaine it is that Shakespeare here alludes : And taking it in this latter Sense, there is an extreme Beauty and Justness in the Thought.“ I am now, says Orlando, only
a Quintaine, a meer lifeless Block, on which Love only exercises his “ Arms in Jeft; the great Disparity between me and Rosalind, in Condi“ tion, not suffering Me to hope that ever Love will make a serious Mat“ ter of it.” Regnier, the famous Satirist, who dy'd about the Time our Author did, applies this very Metaphor to the fame Subject, tho' the Thought be somewhat different.
Et qui depuis dix ans, jusqu'en ses derniers jours,
Orla. What passion hangs these weights upon my
Enter Le Beu.
Le Beu. Good Sir, I do in friendship counsel you
Orla. I thank you, Sir; and pray you, tell me this; Which of the two was Daughter of the Duke, That here was at the wrestling? Le Beu. Neither his daughter, if we judge by man
ners ; But yet, indeed, the shorter is his daughter; The other's Daughter to the banith'd Duke, And here detain'd by her usurping Uncle To keep his daughter company, whose loves Are dearer than the natural bond of fifters. But I can tell you, that of late this Duke Hath ta’en displeasure 'gainst his gentle Neice; Grounded upon no other argument, But that the people praise her for her virtues, And pity her for her good father's fake; And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well; Hereafter, in a better world than this, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. [Exit,
Orla. I rest much bounden to you: fare you well! Thus muft I from the smoke into the smother ; From tyrant Duke, unto a tyrant brother : But, heav'nly Rosalind !
SCENE changes to an Apartment in the
Re-enter Celia and Rosalind.
Cel. Why, Cousin; why, Rosalind; Cupid have mercy; not a word!
Ros. Not one to throw at a dog. Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs, throw some of them at me ; come, lame me with reasons.
Ros. Then there were two Cousins laid up; when the one thould be lam'd with reasons, and the other mad without any.
Cel. But is all this for your father?
Rof: (7) No, Some of it is for my Child's father. Oh, how full of briers is this working-day-world!
Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery ; if we walk not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats will catch them.
Rof. I could shake them off my coat; these burs are in my heart.
Cei. Hem them away. Rof. I would try, if I could cry, hem, and have him. Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. Rof. O, they take the part of a better Wrestler than Cel. O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in despight of a Fall; — but turning these jests out of service, let us talk in good earneft : is it possible on such a sudden you should fall into so strong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son?
Rof. The Duke my father lov'd his father dearly.
(7) No, some of it is for my Father's Child.] I have chosen to restore here the Reading of the older Copies, which evidently contains the Poet's Sentiment. Rosalind would say, "No, all my Distress and Melancholy “ is not for my Father ; but some of it for my Sweetheart, whom I hope
to marry and have Children by.” In this Sense She stiles him her Child's Father.
Cel. Doth it therefore ensue, that you should love his fon dearly? by this kind of chase, I should hate him; for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando.
Ros. No, faith, hate him not, for my fake.
Enter Duke, with Lords.
Duke. Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste, And get you from our Court.
Rof. Me, Uncle !
Duke. You, Cousin.
Rof. I do beseech your Grace,
Duke. Thus do all traitors;
Rof. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor ;
Duke. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's enough.
Rof. So was I, when your Highness took his DukeSo was I, when your Highness banish'd him ; [dom; Treason is not inherited, my lord ; Or if we did derive it from our friends, What's that to me? my father was no traitor : Then, good my Liege, mistake me not so much, To think my poverty is treacherous,
Cel. Dear Soveraign, hear me speak.
Duke. Ay, Celia, we but staid her for your fake; Else had she with her father rang'd along.
Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay;
Duke. She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness,
Cel. Pronounce that Sentence then on me, my Liege ;
Duke. You are a fool : you, Neice, provide your self;
[Exeunt Duke, &c.
Rof. I have more cause.
Cel. Thou hast not, cousin;
Rof. That he hath not.
Cel. No? hath not? (8) Rosalind lacks then the love, Which teacheth Me that thou and I am one:
Rosalind lacks then the Love, Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one ] Tho' this be the Reading of all the printed Copies, 'tis evident, the Poet