Ref. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my fight: I had as lief be woo'd of a snail. Orla, Of a snail ?

Ros. Ay, of a snail ; for tho' he comes slowly, he carries his house on his head; a better jointure, I think, than you make a woman; besides, he brings his deItiny with him.

Orla. What's that ?

Rof. Why, horns; which such as you are fain to be beholden to your wives for: but he comes armed in his fortune, and prevents the flander of his wife.

Orla. Virtue is no horn-maker ; and my Rosalind is virtuous.

Rof. And I am your Rosalind.

Cel. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leer than you.

Ros. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holyday humour, and like enough to consent : what would you say to me now, an I were your very, very Rofalind? Orla. I would kiss, before I spoke.

Ref. Nay, you were better speak first, and when you were gravellid for lack of matter, you might take occafion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking, God warn us, matter, the cleanlieit fhift is to kiss.

Orla. How if the kiss be denied ?

Rof. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.

Orla. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress?

Rof. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress ; or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit.

Orla. What, of my suit ? Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am not I your Rofalind?

Orla. I take some joy to say, you are ; because I would be talking of her.

Rof: Well, in her person, I say, I will not have you.
Orla. Then in mine own person I die.


O 5

it was,

Ros. No, faith, die by attorney; the poor world is almost fix thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own perfon, videlicet, in a love-cause : Troilus had his brains dalh'd out with a Grecian club, yet he did what he could to die before, and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have liv'd many a fair year, tho' Hero had turn'd nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night ; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash in the Hellespont, and, being taken with the cramp, was drown'd ; and the foolish chroniclers of that age found

Hero of Seftos. But these are all lies ; men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.

Orla. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind; for, I protest, her frown might kill me.

Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a flie; but come; now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming on disposition ; and ask me what you will, I will grant it. Orla. Then love me, Rosalind. Ros. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays, and all. Orla. And wilt thou have me? Rof. Ay, and twenty fuch. Orla. What say'lt thou ? Rof. Are you not good ? Orla. I hope fo.

Ros: Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing I come, fifter, you fall be the priest, and mar

Give me your hand, Orlando : what do you say, Sitter?

Orla. Pray thee, marry us.
Cel. I cannot say the words.
Rof. You must begin, Will you,

Cel. Go to; will you, Orlando, have to wife this
Rosalind ?

Orla. I will.
Rof. Ay, but when ?
Orla. Why now, as fast as she can marry us.

Ref. Then you must say, I take thee Rofalind for wife.


ry us.

Orla. I take thee Rofalind for wife.

Ref. I might ask you for your commission, but I do take thee Orlando for my husband : there's a girl goes before the priest, and certainly a woman's thought runs before her actions.

Orla. So do all thoughts; they are wing d.

Rof: Now tell me, how long would you have her, after you have pofleft her.

Orla. For ever and a day.

Ref. 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 cock-pidgeon 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 dispos'd to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when you are inclin'd to sleep.

Orla. But will my Rosalind do fo? Rof. By my life, she will do as I do. Orla. O, but she is wise. Rof: Or else the could not have the wit to do this ; the wiser, the waywarder :' make the doors faft upon a wo. man's wit, and it will out at the casement ; fut that, and-'twill out at the key-hole ; ftop that, it will fly with the smoak out at the chimney.

Orla. A man that had a wife with such a'wit, he might say, Wit, whither wilt?

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 ?

Rof. Marry, to say, she came to seek you Thall 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 the will breed it like a fool !

Orla. For these two hours, Rofalindo I will leave thee,


there: you

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 thee again.

Rof. 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'th' 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 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 loyer, 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.

Orla. With no less religion, than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind; so adieu.

Rof. Well, time is the old Justice that examines all such offenders, and let time try. Adieu ! [Exit Orla.

Cel. You have fimply misus'd our sex in your loveprate : we must have your doublet and hose pluck'd over your head, and shew the world what the bird hath done to her own neft.

Rol. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didit 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, bottomless; that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out.

Rof. No, that fame wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceiv'd 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 fight of Orlando ; I'll go find a shadow, and figh 'till he come. Cel. And I'll fleep.



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Enter Jaques, Lords, and Foresters.
Jaq. Which is he that kill'd the deer?
Lord. Sir, it was I.

Jag. 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, Forefter, for this purpose ?

For. Yes, Sir.

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

Musick, Song
What shall be bave, that killd the deer ?
His leather skin and horns to wear ;
Then fing him home : take Tbou no Scorn (12)
То wear the hark, the horn, tbe born: The rest shall bear
It was a creft, ere thou was born. Sthis Burthen.
Tby father's father wore it,
And thy father bore it.
The horn, the horn, the lufty horn,
Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.

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

( 12 ) Tben fing bim bome, tbe reßt fall bear this Burtben.] This is no admirable Instance of the Sagacity of our preceding Editors, to say Nothing worse, One Mould expect, when they were Poets, they would at least have taken care of the Rbymes, and not foisted in what has Nothing to answer it. Now, where is the Rhyme to, tbe rejt ball bear this Buriben? Or, to ask another Question, where is the Sense of it ? Does the Poet mean, that He, that kill'd the Deer, hall be sung home, and the Reft shall bear the Deer on their Backs? This is laying a Burthen on the Poet, that We must help him to throw off. In short, the Mystery of the Whole is, that a Marginal Note is wisely thrust into the Text: the Song being design'd to be sung by a single voice, and the Stanzas to close with a Bur. then to be sung by the whole Company.


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