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Ref. Well, time is the old Justice that examines all such offenders, and let time try. Adieu! [Exit Orla.
Cel. You have fimply misus'd our sex in your loveprate: we must have your doublet and hose pluck'd over your head, and shew the world what the bird hath done to her own nest.
Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didft 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. Or rather, bottomlels; that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out.
Rof. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that
Jaq. Let's present him to the Duke, like a Roman
For. Yes, Sir.
Jaq. Sing it ; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough.
(24) Then fing him home, the rest Mall bear this Burtben.) This is an admirable Instance of the Sagacity of our preceding Editors, to say
To wear the horn, the horn, the horn: The Rest Thall
bear this BurIt was a creft ere thou waft born.
Cel. I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows, and is gone forth to sleep: look, who comes here.
Rof. Patience her self would startle at this letter,
Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents; Nothing worse. One should expect, when they were Poets, they would at least have taken care of the Rhymes, and not foifted in what has Nothing to answer it. Now, where is the Rhyme to, the rest fhall bear this Burthen? Or, to ask another Question, where is the Sense of it? Does the Poet mean, that He, that kill'd the Deer, shall be fung home, and the Rest shall bear the Deer on their Backs. This is laying a Burthen on the Poet, that We must help him to throw off. In short, the Mystery of the Whole is, that a Marginal Note is wisely thrust into the Text: the Song being design'd to be sung by a single Voice, and the Stanza's to close with a Burthen to be fung by the whole Company,
Pbebe did write it.
Ros. Come, come, you're a fool, And turn'd into th' extremity of love. I saw her hand, she has a leathern hand, A free-stone-coloured hand; I verily did think, That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands; She has a huswife's hand, but that's no matter; I say, 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 stile, A file for challengers; why, she defies me, Like Turk to Christian; woman's gentle brain Could not drop forth such 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.
you this railing?
Will the faithful offer take
And then I'll judy how to die.
Rof. Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity: wilt thou love such 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 see, love hath made thee a tame snake,) and say this to her; that if the love me, I charge her to love thee: if the 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 Sil. Enter Oliver, Oli. Good morrow, fair ones: pray you,
you Where in the purlews of this forest stands A sheep-cote fenc'd about with olive-trees?
Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour 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 it self, 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 : but the woman low, " And browner than her brother.” Are not you The owner of the house, I did enquire for?
Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say, we are.
Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both,
Rof. I am; what mult we understand by this?
What man I am, and how, and why, and where
Cel. I pray you, tell it.
Oli. When last the young Orlando parted from you,
Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that same brother,
Oli. And well he might fo do ;
Rof. But to Orlando ; did he leave him there
Oli. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos’d so :