lando, men are April when they woo, December when they wed: maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cockpigeon over his hen: more clamorous than a parrot against rain; more new-fangled than an ape; more giddy in my defires than a monkey; I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain: and I will do that, when you are difpofed to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when you are inclined to fleep.

Orla But will my Rofalind do fo?
Rof. By my life, the will do as I do.
Orla. O, but the is wife.

Rof. Or elfe the could not have the wit to do this; the wifer the waywarder; make the doors falt upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the cafement; fhut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole; ftop that, it will fly with the fmoak out at the chimney.

Orla. A man that had a wife with fuch a wit,. he might fay, wit, whither wilt?

Ref. Nay, you might keep that check for it, 'till you met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed.. Orla. And what wit could wit have to excufe that? Rof. Marry, to fay fhe came to feek you there: you fhall never take her without her anfwer, unless you take her without her tongue. O that woman, that cannot make her fault her husband's occafion, let her never nurse her child herself, for the will breed it like a fool!

Orla. For thefe two hours, Rofalind, I will leave thee.

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 thec again.

Rof. Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew what you would prove, my friend 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' th' clock is your hours

Orla. Ay, fweet Rofalind.

Rof. 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 moft 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 lefs religion than if thou wert indeed my Rofalind; fo adieu.

Rof. Well, Time is the old juftice that examines all fuch offenders, and let time try.

Adieu? [Exit Orla Gel. You have fimply mifufed our fex in your love-prate: we must have your doublet and hofe plucked 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 didst know how many fathom deep 1 am in love; but it cannot be founded: my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal.

Cel. Or rather bottomlefs; that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out.

Raf. No, that fame wicked baftard of Venus, that was begot of Thought, conceived of Spleen, and born of Madness, that blind rafcally boy, that abufes every one's eyes, because his own are out, let him he 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 JAQUES, Lords, and Forefiers. Jaq. Which is he that killed the deer? Lord. Sir, it was I.

Jaq. Let's prefent him to the Duke, like a Ro man conqueror; and it would do well to fet the deer's horns upon his forehead, for a branch of vic tory: 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 noise enough.

Mufic, so N G.

What fhall he have that killed the deer?
His leather fkin and horns to wear;

Then fing him home:-take thou no scorn (24)
To wear the horn, the horn, the horn:

It was a creft ere thou waft born.

Thy father's father wore it,

And thy father bore it:

The horn, the horn, the lufty horn,
Is not a thing to laugh to fcorn.

The reft fhall bear this bur den.

[Exeunt.

(24) Then fing him home, the rest shall bear this burden.] This is an admirable inftance of the fagacity 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 foilted in what has nothing to answer it. Now, where is the rhime to, the rest fhall bear this burden? or, to afk another question, where is the fenfe of it? Does the Poet mean, that he that killed 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 liort, the mystery of the whole is, that a marginal note is wifely thraft into the text: the fong being defigned to be fung by a fingle voice, and the ftanzas to clofe with a burden to be fung by the whole company.

Enter ROSALIND and CELIA.

Rof. How fay you now, is it not past two o'clock? I wonder much Orlando is not here.

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 waspish action
Which the did ufe as fhe was writing of it,
It bears an angry tenour; pardon me,
I am but as a guiltlefs 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 men as rare as phoenix. Odds my will!
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt.

Why writes the fo to me? Well, thepherd, 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 turned into th' extremity of love.

I faw her hand, fhe has a leathern hand,

A free-ftone-colou: ed 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 fhe 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 style,

A ftyle 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 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. [Reads.] Art thou God to thepherd turn'd, That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?

Can a woman rail thus?

Sil. Call you this railing?

Rof. [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 beaft!

"If the fcorn of your bright eyne
"Have power to raife fuch love in mine,
"Alack, in me, what ftrange effect
"Would they work in mild aspect?
"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 him my love deny,
"And then I'll study how to die."
Sil. Call you this chiding?

Gel. Alas, poor shepherd!

Rof. Do you pity him? no, he deferves no pity. Wilt thou love fuch a woman? what, to make thee VOL. IV.