Raf. Well, time is the old Juftice 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 hofe 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 didst 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, bottomlefs; that as faft as you pour affection in, it runs out.

Rof. No, that fame wicked baftard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceiv'd of spleen, and born of madness, that blind rafcally boy, that abuses every one's eyes, because 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 thadow, and figh 'till he come.

Cel. And I'll fleep.

Enter Jaques, Lords, and Forefters.

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

[Exeunt.

Jaq. Let's present 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 Song, Forefter, for this purpofe?

For. Yes, Sir.

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

Mufick, Song.

What shall be have that kill'd the deer?

His leather skin and horns to wear;

Then fing him home: - take Thou no Scorn (24)

To

(24) Then fing him home, the reft fhall bear this Burthen.] This is an admirable Inftance of the Sagacity of our preceding Editors, to fay

Nothing

To wear the born, 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.

Enter Rofalind and Celia.

7 The Reft fhall

bear this Bur

then.

[Exeunt.

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 wafpifh action
Which she did ufe as fhe was writing of it,
It bears an angry tenour; pardon me,
I am but as a guiltlefs meffenger.

Rof. Patience her felf would ftartle 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 phenix: 'odds my will!
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt.
Why writes the fo to me? well, fhepherd, well,
This is a letter of your own device.

Sil. No, I proteft, I know not the contents;

Nothing worse. One fhould expect, when they were Poets, they would at leaft have taken care of the Rhymes, and not foifted in what has Nothing to answer it. Now, where is the Rhyme to, the reft fhall bear this Burthen? Or, to ask another Queftion, where is the Sense 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 Burthen on the Poet, that We muft help him to throw off. In fhort, the Mystery of the Whole is, that a Marginal Note is wifely thruft into the Text: the Song being defign'd to be fung by a fingle Voice, and the Stanza's to clofe with a Burthen to be fung by the whole Company.

Phebe

Phebe did write it.

Rof. Come, come, you're a fool, And turn'd into th' extremity of love.

I saw her hand, he has a leathern hand,

A free-ftone-coloured 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 a cruel ftile,
A ftile for challengers; why, fhe 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 fhepherd 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 beast!

If the corn of your bright eyne
Have power to raife fuch love in mine,
Alack, in me, what strange 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 elfe by him my love deny,
And then I'll ftudy how to die.
Sil. Call you this chiding?
Cel. Alas, poor fhepherd!

Rof. Do you pity him? no, he deferves no pity: wilt thou love fuch 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 fee, love hath made thee a tame fnake,) 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, if

know,

Where in the purlews of this forest stands
A fheep-cote fenc'd about with olive-trees?

you

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 it self,
There's none within.

Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
Then should I know you by defcription,
Such garments, and fuch years: "the boy is fair,
"Of female favour, and beftows himself
"Like a ripe Sifter: 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 fay, we are.
Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both,
And to that youth, he calls his Rofalind,
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

What man I am, and how, and why, and where
This handkerchief was ftain'd.

Cel. I pray you, tell it.

Oli. When laft 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 present it self.
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 it self,
Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'd
The opening of his mouth, but fuddenly
Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd it self,

And with indented glides did flip away
Into a bush, under which bufh's fhade
A Lioness, with udders all drawn dry,

Lay couching head on ground, with cat-like watch
When that the fleeping man should stir; for 'tis
The royal difpofition of that beast

To prey on nothing that doth feem as dead:

This feen, Orlando did approach the man,

And found it was his brother, his elder brother.

Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that fame brother, And he did render him the most unnatural

That liv'd 'mongst men.

Oli. And well he might fo do;

For, well I know, he was unnatural.

Rof. But to Orlando; did he leave him there

Food to the fuck'd and hungry lioness?

Oli. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd fo :

But kindness, nobler ever than revenge,

And nature stronger than his juft occafion,

Made him give battel to the lioness,

Who quickly fell before him; in which hurtling
From miferable flumber I awak'd.

Gel. Are you his brother?

Rof.