Dike. Bear him away. young man? What is thy name, Orla. Orlando, my Liege, the youngest fon of Sir Rowland de Boys. Duke. I would thou hadt been fon to fome man The world esteemed thy father honourable, [elfe: But I did find him ftill mine enemy: Thou shouldest have better pleafed me with this [Exit Duke with his Train. Manent CELIA, ROSALIND, ORLANDO. Gel. Were I my father, coż, would I do this? Orla. I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's fon, His youngest fon, and would not change that calling To be adopted heir to Frederick. Rof. My father loved Sir Rowland as his foul, And all the world was of my father's mind; Had I before known this young man his fon, I should have given him tears unto entreaties, Ere he fhould thus have ventured. Cel. Gentle coufin," Let us go thank him, and encourage him; But juftly as you have exceeded all promise, Ref. Gentleman, (5) Wear this for me; one out of fuits with fortune, (5) Wear this for me;] There is nothing in the fequel of this fcene exprefling what it is that Rofalind here gives to Orlando; nor has there been hitherto any marginal direc tion to explain it. It would have been no great burden to Thatwould 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. [parts Orla. Can I not fay, I thank you?---my better Are all thrown down; and that which here ftands (6) Is but a quintaine, a mere lifelefs block [up, Rof. He calls us back: my pride fell with my for tunes; I'll ask him what he would. Did you call, Sir? Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown More than your enemies. Cel. Will you go, coz? Raf. Have with you: fare you well. f: [Exeunt Rof, and Cel the editor's fagacity to have fupplied the note I have given in the margin: for afterwards, in the third act, when Rofa-lind has found a copy of verfes in the woods writ on herfelf, and Celia afks her whether he knows who hath done this, Rofalind replies, by way of queftion, Is it a man? to which Celia replies, Ay, and a chain that you once wore... about his neck. (6) Is but a quintaine, a poft or butt fet up for feveral kind of martial exercifes. It ferved fometimes to run against on ho feback with a lance; and then one part of it was always moveable, and turned. about an axis. But befides this, there was another quie taine that was only a poft fixed firmly in the ground, on which they hung a buckier, and threw their darts and fhot their arrows against it; and to this kind of quintaine it is that Shakespeare here alludes; and taking it in this latter fenfe, there is an extreme beauty and juftoefs in the thought. "I am now, (fays Orlando), only a quintaine, a mere lifeless "block, on which love only exercifes his arms in jeft; the great difparity between me and Rofalind in condition not fuffering me to hope that ever love will make a ferious "matter of it." Regnier, the famous fatyrift who died about the time our Author did, applies this very metaphor to the fame fubject, though the thought be fomewhat different. Et qui depuis dix ans, jufqu'en fes derniers jours, A foutenu le prix en efcrime d'amours; Laffe enfin de fer vir au peuple de quintaine, Elle, &c. -] This word fignifies in general Ms Warburton. Orla. What paffion hangs these weights upon my tongue! I cannot speak to her, yet the urged conference. Enter LE BEV. O poor Orlando! thou art overthrown; That he mifconftrues all that you have done. [manners: But that the people praise her for her virtues, Ifhall defire more love and knowledge of you. [Exit. [Exit. SCENE changes to an partment in the Falace.. Cel. Why, coufin; why, Rofalind; Cupid have: mercy; not a word! Rof. Not one to throw at a dog. Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be caft away upon curs, throw fome of them at me; come, lame me with reafons. Ref. Then there were two coufins laid up, when the one should be lamed with reafons, and the other mad without any. Cel. But is all this for your father? Ref. (7) No, fome of it is for my child's father. Oh how fall of briars is this working-day-world! Gel. They are but burs, coufin, 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 petticoats; thefe burs are in my heart.. Cel. 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 myself. Gel. O, a good with upon you! you will try in time, in defpight of a fall?-But turning thefe jests » (7) No, fime of it is for my father's child, I bave chosen to restore here the reading of the older copies, which evidently contains the Poet's sentiment. Rofalind would fay, " No,`all my distress and melancholy is not for my father bus "fome of it for my fweetheart, whom I hope to marry and * have children by." In this fenfe the Ryles him her child's a father. out of fervice, let us talk in good earneft: is it poffible, on fuch a fudden, you fhould fall into fo trong aliking with old Sir Rowland's youngest fon? Rof. The Duke my father loved his father dearly. Cel. Doth it therefore enfue that you fhould love his fon dearly? By this kind of chafe, I fhould hate him; for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando. Ref. No, faith, hate him not, for my fake. Cel. Why should I? doth he not deferve well? Ref. Let me love him for that; and do you love him because I do. Look, here comes the Duke. Cel. With his eyes full of anger. Duke. Miftrefs, difpatch you with your fafest haste, And get you from our court.. Rof. Me, uncle ! Duke. You, coufin. Within these ten days if that thou beft found Rof. I do befeech your Grace, Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me. Or have acquaintance with my own defires; Duke. Thus do all traitors; If their purgation did confift in words, Pof. Yet your miftruft cannot make me a traitor; Tell me wherein the likelihood depends. |