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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.
Orla. With no less religion, than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind; fo adieu.
Ros. Well, time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let time try. Adieu ! [Exit Orla.
Cel. You have simply misus'd our sex in your love-prate: We muft have your doublet and hose pluck'd over your head, and thew the world what the bird hath done to her own neft.
ROS: O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didft 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.
Ros. No, that same 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 sigh 'till he come. Cel. And I'll seep.
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 long, forefter, for this purpose ?
For. Yes, Sir.
Jag it ; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, fo it make noise enough.
The reft sian)
bear this bur-
Enter Rosalind and Celia.
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.
Rof. Patience herself would startle at this letter,
(24) Tben fing bim bome, the rest Mall bear this burden.) This is an admirable instance of the fagacity of our preceding editors, to say nothing worse. One fhould expect, when they were poets, they would at least have taken care of the Rbymes, and not foifted in what has nothing to answer it. Now, where is the rhime to, ibe reft ball bear ebis burden? or, to ask another question, where is the sense of it? does the poet mean, that he, that killed the deer, shall be fung home, and the rest shall hear the deer on their backs? This is laying a burden 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 thruft into the text: The song being design’d to be sung by a fingle voice, and the Atanzas to close with a burden to be sung by the whole company.
She says, I am not fair ; that I lack manners ;
your own device.
Ref. Come, come, you're a fool, And turn'd into th' extremity of love. I saw her hand, she has a leathern hand, A free-stone coloured hand; I verily did think, That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands ; She has a huiwife's hand, but that's no matter ; I say, he 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 file for challengers ; why, she defies me, Like Turk to Christ an ; 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 lettera
Sil. So please you, for I never heard it yet ; Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty.
Ref. She Phebe's me ; mark how the tyrant writes.
Rol. [Reads.] Why, thy godhead laid apart..
Whiles you chid me, I did love ;
And then I'll ftudy how to die.
Ros. Do you pity him ? no, he deserves no pity: Wilt thou love such a woman? what, to make thee an inftrument, 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 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 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 you know, Where in the purlews of this forest stands A sheep-cote fenc'd about with olive-trees ?
Cel. Weft of this place, down in the neighbour bottom, The rank of ofiers, by the murmuring stream, Left on your right-hand, brings you to the place ; But at this hour the house doth keep itself, There's none within.
Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
Cel. It is no boast, being ak’d, to say,
And to that youth, he calls his Rosalind,
Ros. I am ; what must we understand by this ?
Oli. Some of my shame, if you will know of me
Cel. I pray you, tell it.
Oli. When laft the young Orlando parted from you,
Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that same brother,
Oli. And well he might so do :
Rof. But to Orlando ; did he leave him there
Oli. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd fo: