« 上一頁繼續 »
I know not the contents; but, as I guess,
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 me Were man as rare as phænix ; Od's my will! Her love is not the hare that I do hunt: Why writes she so to me ?-Well, shepherd, well, This is a letter of your own device.
Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents ; Phebe did write it.
Ros. 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 That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands ; She has a huswife's haad: but that's no matter :
she never did invent this letter; This is a man's invention, and his hand.
Sil. Sure, it is hers, Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a 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 the tyrant writes.
Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, [Reads.
That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?
Sil. Call you this railing?
Warr'st thou with a woman's heart?
While the eye of man did woo me,
That could do no vengeance * to me. Meaning me a beast.
If the scorn of your bright eynet
Have power to raise such love mine, • Mischief,
Alack, in me what strange effect
And then I'll study how to die.
you this chiding? Cel. Alas, poor shepherd !
Ros. Do you pity him? No, he deserves no pity.Wilt thou love such 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 see, love hath made thee a tame snake,) and say this to her ;-That if she love me, I charge her to love thee: if she 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 Silvius. Enter OLIVER. Oli. Good-morrow, fair ones : Pray you,
you know Where, in the purlieus of this forest, stands, A sheep-cote, fenced about with olive-trees? Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour
Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say, we are,
Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both;
+ Handkerchief, VOL. II.
Ros. I am : what must we understand by this ?
Cel. I pray you, tell it.
Oli. And well he might so do, For well I know he was unnatnral.
Ros. But, to Orlando ;-Did he leave him there,
Oli. Twice did he tuin his back, and purposed so;
Cel. Are you his brother?
Oli. 'Twas I; but'tis not I: I do not shame To tell you what I was, since my conversion So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am.
Ros. But, for the bloody napkin ?Oli. By, and by. When from the first to last, betwixt us two, Tears our recountments had most kindly bathed, As how I came into that desert place; In brief, he led me to the gentle duke, Who gave me fresh array and entertainment, Committing me into my brother's love; Who led me instantly unto his cave, There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm The lioness had torv some flesh away, Which all this while had bled ; and now he fainted And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind. Brief, I recover'd him; bound up his wound; And, 'aiter some small space, being strong at heart, He sent me hither, stranger as I am, To tell this story, that you might excuse His broken promise, and to give this napkin, Died in this blood, unto the shepherd youth That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede? Sweet Ganymede ?
[Rosalind faints. Oli. Many will swoon when they do look on blood. Cel. There is more in it :-Cousin-Ganymede! Oli. Look, he recovers. Ros. I would, I were at home.
Cel. We'll lead you thither:I pray you, will you take him by the arm? oli. Be of good cheer, youth :-You a man?
You lack a man's heart.
Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, Sir, a body would think this was well counterfeited: I pray you, tell your brother how well I counterfeited.--Heigh ho!
Oli. This was not counterfeit; there is too great testimony in your complexion, that it was a passion of earnest.
Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you,
Oli. Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit to be a man.
Ros. So I do: but, i' faith I should have been a woman by right.
Cel. Come, you look paler and paler; pray you, draw homewards ;-Good Sir, go with us.
Oli. That will I, for I must bear answer back How you excuse my brother, Rosalind.
Ros. I shall devise something: but, I pray you, commend my counterfeiting to him:-Will you go?
(Eceunt. ACT V. SCENE I. The same.
Enter TouchSTONE and AUDREY. Touch. We shall find a time, Audrey ; patience, gentle Audrey.
Aud. 'Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old gentleman's saying:
Touch. A most wicked Sir Oliver Audrey, a most vile Mar-text. But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to you,
Aud. Ay, I know who 'tis; he hath no interest in me in the world : here comes the man you mean.
Enter WILLIAM. Touch. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown; by my troth, we that have good wits, have much to answer for ; we shall be fouting ; we cannot hold.
Will. Good even, Audrey.
Touch. Good even, gentle friend: cover thy head, cover thy head ; nay, pr’ythee, be cover'd. How old are you, friend?
Will. Five and twenty, Sir. Touch. A ripe age: is thy name, William ! Will. William, Sir. Touch. A fair name: wast born i' the forest here? Will. Ay, Sir, I thank God. Touch. Thank God ;-a good answer: Art rich? Will. 'Faith, Sir, so, so. Touch. So, só, is good, very good, very excellent good :-And yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thon wise ?
Wu. Ay, Sir, I have a pretty wit.
Touch. Why, thou say'st well. I do now rememþer a saying; The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool. The heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a grape, would open his lips when he put it into his mouth; meaning thereby, that grapes were made to eat, and lips to open. You do love this maid ?
will. I do, Sir. Touch. Give me your hand : Art thou learned?"