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Ros. Say a day, without the ever: No, no, Orlando; 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 desires than a monkey: I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you are disposed to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen,3 and that when thou art inclined to sleep.
Orl. But will my Rosalind do so?
Ros. By my life, she will do as I do.
Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the wiser, the waywarder: Make the doors* upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole; stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney.
Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say,-Wit, whither wilt 25
Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for it, till you met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed.
Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse that? Ros. Marry, to say,-she came to seek you there,
2 I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain,] Statues, and particularly that of Diana, with water conveyed through them to give the appearance of weeping figures, were anciently a frequent ornament of fountains.
I will laugh like a hyen,] The bark of the hyena was anciently supposed to resemble a loud laugh.
Make the doors-] This is an expression used in several of the midland counties, instead of bar the door.
Wit, whither wilt] This was an exclamation much in use, when any one was either talking nonsense, or usurping a greater share in conversation than justly belonged to him.
You shall never take her without her answer, unless you take her without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her fault her husband's occasion," let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed it like a fool.
Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee.
Ros. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours.
Orl. I must attend the duke at dinner; by two o'clock I will be with thee again.
Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways;-I knew what you would prove; my friends told me as much, and I thought no less:-that flattering tongue of yours won me:-'tis but one cast away, and so,come, death.-Two o'clock is your hour?
Orl. Ay, sweet Rosalind.
Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise, or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical break-promise,' and the most hollow lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind, that may be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful: therefore beware my censure, and keep your promise.
Orl. With no less religion, than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind: So, adieu.
Ros. Well, time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let time try: Adieu! [Exit ORLANDO. Cel. You have simply misus'd our sex in your love-prate: we must have your doublet and hose
make her fault her husband's occasion,] That is, represent her fault as occasioned by her husband.
7 the most pathetical break-promise,] Rosalind means a lover whose falsehood would most decply affect his mistress.
plucked over your head, and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest.
Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But it cannot be sounded; my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal.
Cel. Or rather, bottomless; that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out.
Ros. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot 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 be judge, how deep I am in love:-I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando: I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come. Cel. And I'll sleep. [Exeunt.
Another Part of the Forest.
Enter JAQUES and Lords, in the habit of Foresters.
Jaq. Which is he that killed the deer?
1 Lord. Sir, it was I.
Jaq. Let's present him to the duke, like a Roman conqueror; and it would do well to set the deer's horns upon his head, for a branch of victory: -Have you no song, forester, for this purpose? 2 Lord. Yes, sir.
Jaq. Sing it; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough.
8 begot of thought,] i. e. of melancholy.
1. What shall he have, that kill'd the deer?
1. Then sing him home:
Take thou no scorn, to wear the horn; The rest shall
1. Thy father's father wore it ;
All. The horn, the horn, the lusty horn,
Enter ROSALIND and CElia.
bear this burden.
Ros. How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? And here much Orlando!1
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.
Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth;My gentle Phebe bid me give you this:
[Giving a letter. I know not the contents; but, as I guess, By the stern brow, and waspish action
"The foregoing noisy scene was introduced only to fill up an interval, which is to represent two hours. This contraction of the time we might impute to poor Rosalind's impatience, but that a tew minutes after we find Orlando sending his excuse. I do not
see that by any probable division of the Acts this absurdity can be obviated. JOHNSON.
1 — and here much Orlando !] Much! was frequently used to indicate disdain.
Which she did use as she was writing of it,
Ros. Patience herself would startle at this letter, And play the swaggerer; bear this, bear all:
She says, I am not fair; that I lack manners;
She calls me proud; and, that she could not love
Were man as rare as phoenix; Od's my will!
Why writes she so to me?-Well, shepherd, well,
Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents; Phebe did write it.
Come, come, you are a fool, And turn'd into the extremity of love.
I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand,
A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think
This is a man's invention, and his hand.
Sil. Sure, it is hers.
Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and cruel style, A style for challengers; why, she defies me, Like Turk to Christian: woman's gentle brain Could not drop forth such 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.
Ros. She Phebes me: Mark how thy tyrant
Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, [Reads.