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 lefs; that flattering tongue of yours won me ; 'tis but one caft away, and fo come death: two o'ch' clock is your hour!

Orla. Ay, fweet Refalind,

Ref. By my troth, and in good earnest, and fo 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 pathetical break-promife, and the most hollow lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Rofalind, that may be chofen out of the grofs band of the unfaithful; therefore beware my cenfure, and keep your promife.

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

Rof. Well, time is the old Justice that examines all fuch offenders, and let time try. Adieu !

[Exit Orla. Cel. You have fimply mifus'd our fex in your loveprate we must have your doublet and hose 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 didft know how many fathom deep I am in love; but it cannot be founded: my affection hath an unknown bot tom, like the bay of Portugal.

Cel. Or 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 madrefs, that blind rafcally boy, that abufes every one's eyes, becaufe 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 fhadow, and figh 'till

he come.

Cel. And I'll fleep.

[Exeunt.

Enter

Enter Jaques, Lords, and Forefters.

Jaq. Which is he that kill'd the deer ?
Lord. Sir, it was I.

faq. 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 fong, Forefter, for this purpofe?

For. Yes, Sir.

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

Mufick, Song.

What shall be have that kill'd the deer?
His leather fkin and horns to wear;

Then fing him home:-take thou no scorn (12) The reft fhall

To avear the horn, the horn, the horn:

It was a creft, ere thau waft born.

Thy father's father wore it,

And thy father bore it,

The barn, the born, the lufty horn,
Is not a thing to laugh to jccrn.

Enter Rofalind and Celia.

bear this Bur

den.

[Exeunt.

Ref. How fay you now, is it not paft two o'clock? 1. wonder much, Orlando is not here.

(12) Then fing bim home, the reft shall bear this Burden.] This is no admirable Inftance of the Sagacity of our preceding Editors, to fay nothing worse. One fhould expect, when they were Poets, they would at least have taken care of the Rhimes, and not foifted in what has nothing to answer it. Now, where is the Rhime to, the reft fhall bear this Burden? Or, to afk another Queftion, where is the Senfe of it? Does the Poet mean, that he, that kill'd the Deer, fhall be fung home, and the Reft fhall bear the Deer on their Backs? This is laying a Burden on the Poet, that we must help him to throw off. In fhort, the Mystery of the whole is, that a Marginal Note is wifely thruft into the Text: the fong being defigned to be fung by a fingle Voce, and the Stanza's to clofe with a Burden to be fung by the whole Company.

Cel.

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

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. Come, come, you're a fool,

And turn'd into th' extremity of love.

I faw 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, the 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 cruel file,
A ftile for challengers; why, the 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 pleafe 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 beart hath burn'd?

Can a woman rail thus ? ;

Sil. Call you this railing?

Ref. [Reads.] Why, thy Godhead laid apart,
Warr'ft thou with a woman's heart?

Did you ever hear fuch 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 raise fuch love in mine,
Alack, in me, what ftrange effect
Would they work in mild afpect?
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 else by bim my love deny,

And then I'll fudy how to die.

Sil. Call you this chiding?

Cel. Alas, poor shepherd!

Rof. Do you pity him? no; he deferves no pity: wilt thou love fuch a woman? what, to make thee an inftrument, and play falfe ftrains 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 she love me, I charge her to love thee: if the will "not, I will never have her, unless thou intreat for her." If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more company. [Exit Silvius.

Enter

Enter Oliver.

Oli. Good-morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you know Where, in the purlews of this forest, stands

A fheep cote fenc'd about with olive-trees?

Cel. Weft of this place, down in the neighbour bottom,
The rank of ofiers, by the murmuring ftream,
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 fhould I know you by defcription,
Such garments, and fuch years: " the boy is fair,
Of female favour, and beftows himself
"Like a ripe fifter: 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 boaft, being ask'd, to say, we are.
Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both,
And to that youth, he calls his Rosalind,
He fends this bloody napkin. Are you he?:
Rof. I am; what muft we understand by this?
Oli. Some of my fhame, if you will know of me
What man I am, and how, and why, and where
This handkerchief was ftain'd.

Cel. I pray you, tell it.

Oli. When last the young Orlando parted from you, He left a promise to return again

Within an hour; and pacing through the foreft,
Chewing the food of fweet and bitter fancy,
Lo, what befel! he threw his eye afide,
And mark what object did prefent itself.
Under an oak, whofe boughs were mofs'd with age,
And high top bald with dry antiquity;

A wretched ragged man, o'er-grown with hair,
Lay fleeping on his back about his neck
A green and gilded fnake had wreath'd itself,
Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'd
The opening of his mouth, but fuddenly.
Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself,

And