網頁圖片
PDF
ePub 版

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.

[Exeunt.
Enter Jaques, Lords, and Forefers.
Jaq. Which is he that kill'd the deer ?
Lord. Sir, it was l.

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.

[ocr errors]

Mufick,

V
T

Mufick, Song.
What shall he have that kill'd the deer?
His leather skin and horns to wear;
Then sing him home :--take thou no
scorn (24)

The reft sian)

bear this bur-
To wear the horn, the horn, the horn :

den,
It was a creit ere thou wast born.
Thy father's father wore it,
And thy father bore it,
The horn, the horn, the lusty horn,
Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. (Exeunt.

Enter Rosalind and Celia.
Ros. How say you now, is it not past 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 sleep: Look, who comes here.

Enter Silvius.
Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth,
My gentle Pbebe bid me give you this:
I know not the contents ; but, as I guess,
By the itern brow, and waspish action
Which she did use as she was writing of it,
It bears an angry tenour; pardon me,
I am but as a guiltless messenger.

Rof. Patience herself would startle at this letter,
And play the swaggerer ; bear this, bear all.

(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 ;
She calls me proud, and that the could not love me
Were men as rare as phenix : 'Odds my

will !
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt.
Why writes she fo to me? well, thepherd, well,
This is a letter of

your own device.
Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents ;
Pbebe did write it.

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.
[Reads.] Art thou God to shepherd turn'd,
That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?
Can a woman rail thus ?
Sil. Call you this railing ?

Rol. [Reads.] Why, thy godhead laid apart..
Warr'it thou with a woman's heart?
Did you ever hear such railing ?
Whiles the eye of man did woo me,
That could do no vengeance to me.
Meaning me, a beast !
If the scorn of your bright eyne
Have power to raise such love in mines
Alack, in me, what strange effect
Would they work in mild aspect ?

Whiles you chid me, I did love ;
How then might your prayers move ?
He, that brings this love to thee,
Little knows this love in me ;
And by him seal up thy mind,
Whether that thy youth and kind
Will the faithful offer take
Of me, and all that I can make ;
Or else by him my love deny,

And then I'll ftudy how to die.
Sil. Call you this chiding?
Cel. Alas, poor fhepherd !

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,
Then should I know you by defcription,
Such garments, and fuch years : "The boy is fair,
" Of female favour, and bestows himself
“ Like a ripe fifter : But the woman low,
" And browner than her brother.” Are not you
The owner of the house, I did enquire for :

Cel. It is no boast, being ak’d, to say,
Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both,

And

we are.

4

And to that youth, he calls his Rosalind,
He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he?

Ros. I am ; what must we understand by this ?

Oli. Some of my shame, if you will know of me
What man I am, and how, and why, and where
This handkerchief was stain'd.

Cel. I pray you, tell it.

Oli. When laft the young Orlando parted from you,
He left a promise to return again
Within an hour ; and pacing through the forest,
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy,
Lo, what befel ! he threw his eye afide,
And mark what object did present itself.
Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age,
And high top bald with dry antiquity;
A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,
Lay sleeping on his back; about his neck
A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itfelf,
Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'd
The opening of his mouth, but fuddenly
Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself,
And with indented glides did slip away
Into a bush, under which bush's shade
A lionefs, with udders all drawn dry,
Lay couching head on ground, with cat-like watch
When that the sleeping man should ftir ; for 'tis
The royal difpofition of that beast
To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead :
This feen, Orlando did approach the man,
And found it was his brother, bis elder brother.'

Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that same brother,
And he did render him the most unnatural
That liv'd’mongst men.

Oli. And well he might so do :
For, well I know he was unnatural.

Rof. But to Orlando ; did he leave him there
Food to the fuck'd and hungry lioness?

Oli. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd fo:
But kindness, nobler ever than revenge,
And nature ftronger than his just occafion,

Mada

« 上一頁繼續 »