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 fhadow, and figh 'till he come. Cel. And I'll fleep. Enter Jaques, Lords, and Forefters. Jaq. Which is he that kill'd the deer? [Exeunt. Jaq. Let's prefent 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 purpose? For. Yes, Sir. Jaq Sing it; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, fo it make noife enough. Mufick, Song. What ball he have that kill'd the deer? Then fing him home: →→ take thou no Scorp3 3 To wear the horn, the horn, the horn: The horn, the horn, the lufty horn, In former Editions: Then fing him home, the reft ball bear this burden.] This is no mirable Inftance of the fagaity of our preceding Editors, fay nothing worfe. One hould expect, when they were ts, they would at least have The reft fhall bear this Burden. [Exeunt. SCENE taken care of the Rhimes, and not foifted in what has nothing to answer it. Now, where is the Rhime to, the reft fhall bear this Burden? Or, to afk another Question, where is the Sense of it? Does the Poet mean, that He, that kill'd the Deer, shall 4 SCENE V. Enter Rofalind and Celia. Rof. How fay you now, is it not paft 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: [Giving a letter.] I know not the contents; but, as I guess, By the ftern brow, and wafpifh action Which he did ufe as fhe was writing of it, It bears an angry tenour. Pardon me, I am but as a guiltless meffenger. Rof. [reading.] Patience herself would ftartle at this letter, And play the fwaggerer - bear this, bear all Why writes the fo to me? Well, fhepherd, well, be fung home, and the reft fhall cularity, and of the eloquence with which he recommends his emendations. 4 The foregoing noisy scene was introduced only to fill up an interval, which is to repre fent two hours. This contrac tion of the time we might im pute to poor Rofalind's impa tience, but that a few minutes after we find Orlando fending his excufe. I do not fee that by any probable divifion of the a this abfurdity can be obviated. Sil. No, I proteft, I know not the contents; Phebe did write it. Rof. Come, come, you're a fool, And turn'd into th' extremity of love. I faw her hand, the has a leathern hand, This is a man's invention, and his hand. Ref. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel ftile, 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, Did you ever hear fuch railing? Whiles the eye of man did woo me, Meaning me a beast. * Vengeance is ufed for a mischief. If the fcorn of your bright eyne He, that brings this love to thee, Of me, and all that I can make; my And then I'll ftudy how to die. Sil. Call you this chiding? Rof. Do you pity him? no, he deferves no pity-Wilt thou love fuch a woman--what, to make the an inftrument, and play false strains upon thee? no to be endured!—Well, go your way to her; for I fe love hath made thee a tame fnake, and fay this t her; "that if the love me, I charge her to love thee "If fhe will not, I will never have her, unlefs tho "intreat for her." If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more company. Exit Silvius SCENE VI Enter Oliver. Oli. Good-morrow, fair ones: pray you, if know Where, in the purlews of this foreft, ftands Youth and Kind.] Kind is the old word for nature. you Cel Cel. Weft of this place, down in the neighbour The rank of ofiers, by the murmuring stream, There's none within. Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, Cel. It is no boaft, being afk'd, to fay, we are. Cel. I pray you, tell it. Oli. When laft the young Orlando parted from you, He left a promife to return again *Within an hour; and pacing through the foreft, A wretched ragged man, o'er-grown with hair, A green and gilded fnake had wreath'd itfelf, And with indented glides did flip away * We must read, within two hours. Into |