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lando, men are April when they woo, December
Orla. But will my Rosalind do fo?
Rof. Or else the could not have the wit to do
Rof.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 excuse that?
Kof. Marry, to say she came to feek you there : you shall never take her without her answer, unless you take her without her tongue. O that woman, chat cannot make her fanlt her husband's occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed it like a fool!
Orla. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee.
Raf. 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 cast away, and so come death: two oth' clock is your hour !
Orla. Ay, sweet Rofalind.
Rof. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dan, gerous, if you breakone jot of your promise, or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical break-promise, and the moft hollow lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Rosa. lind, that may be chosen out of the gross band of . the unfaithful; therefore beware my censure, and keep four promise.
Orla. With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my Rofalind; fo adieu.
Rof Well, Time is the old jutice that examines all such offenders, and let time try. Adieu ?
[Exit Orla. Cel. You have Timply misused our fex in your love-prate: we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head, and shew the world what the bird hath done to her own neft.
Rof. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didit know how many fathom deep 1 am in love; but it cannot be founded: my affection hath an unknown botrom, like the bay of Portugal. I'm
Cel. Or rather bottomless; that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out.
Rof. No, that fame wicked bastard of Venus, that was beğot of Thought, conceived. of Spleen, and born of Madness, that blind rascally boy, that abuses every one's eyes, because his own are out, let him he judge how deep I am in love; I'll tell thee Alicna, I cannot be out of the light of Orlando
go find a shadow, and figh ’till he come. Cel. And I'll sleep."
[Exeunt. Enter JAQUES, Lords, and Foreffers. Jaq. Which is he that killed the deer? Lord. Sir, it was I.
jay. Let's present him to the Duke, like a Rob man conqueror; and it would do well to set the deer's horns
his forehead, for a branch of victory: have you no long, Forester, for this purpose?
For. Yes, Sit.
Jaq. Sing it; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, to it make noise enough.
Muac, so s ở. What fhall he have that killed the deer? His leather skin and horns to wear ; Then sing bim home:-take thou no scorn (24) To wear the horn, the horn, the horn: The rest It was a crest ere thou wast born.
this burThy father's father wore it, And thy father borte it: The horn, the horn, the lusty horn, Is not a thing to laugh to fcorn. [Exeunt.
(24) Then sing him home, the rest Mall bear this burden.] This is an admirable instance of the sagacity of our preceding editors, to say nothing worse. One Thould 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 thime to, the rest fall bear this burden? or, to ask another question, where is the sense of it? Does the Poet mean, that he that killed the deer shall be fung home, and the test thall bear the deet on their backs. This is laying a burden on the Poet, that we must help him to throw off. In dort, the mystery of the whole is, that a marginal note is wisely thrast ioco the text : the fong being designed to be sung by a single voice, and the stanzas t® close with a burden to be fung by the whole company.
Enter BOSALIND and CELIA.
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 herself would startle at this letter,
Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents :
Ros. Come, come, you're a fool,
Sil. Sure, it is hers'.
A style for challengers; why, the defies me,
Sil. So please you, for I never heard it yet;
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'lt 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 scorn of your bright eyne
Little knows this love in me;
Ros. Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity. Wilt thou love such a woman? what, to make thee Vol. IV.