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Ros. Now tell me how long you would have her after you have possessed her.

Orl. For ever and a day.

Ros. 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-pigeon 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 disposed to be merry ; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when thou art inclined to sleep.

133 Orl. But will my Rosalind do so ? Ros. By my life, she will do as I do. Orl. O, but she is wise.

Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the wiser, the waywarder : make the doors upon a woman's wit and it will out at the casement; shut that and 'twill out at the key-hole ; stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney.

141 Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. Ros. Alas ! dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours.

Orl. I must attend the duke at dinner: by two o'clock I will be with thee again.

Ros. 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'clock is your hour ? Orl. Ay, sweet Rosalind.

150 Ros. 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 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.

Orl. With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind : so adieu.

160 Ros. Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let Time try : adieu.

[Exit Orlando. Cel. You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate : we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head, and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest.

Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But it cannot be sounded : 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, conceived 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 sight of Orlando: I'll go find a shadow and sigh till he come. Cel. And I'll sleep.

[Exeunt.

171

SCENE II. The forest.

Enter JAQUES, Lords, and Foresters.
Jaq. Which is he that killed the deer ?
A Lord. Sir, it was I.

Jaq. Let's present him to the duke, like a Roman con- • queror; and it would do well to set the deer's horns upon his head, for a branch of victory. Have you no song, forester, for this purpose ?

For. Yes, sir.

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

For.

Song.
What shall he have that kill'd the deer? 10
His leather skin and horns to wear.
Then sing him home ;

[The rest shall bear this burden.
Take thou no scorn to wear the horn ;
It was a crest 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.

SCENE III. The forest.

Enter Rosalind and CELIA. Ros. How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock ? and here much Orlando !

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 Phebe bid me give you this :
I know not the contents ; but, as I guess
By the stern 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.

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:

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30

Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well,
This is a letter of your own device.

20
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 hand ; but that's no matter :
I say 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 : women's gentle brain
Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention,
Such Ethiope 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.

[Reads. Art thou god to shepherd turn’d,

40 That a maiden's heart hath burn'd ? Can a woman rail thus ?

Sil. Call you this railing ?
Ros. [Reads]

Why, thy godhead laid apart,

Warr'st 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

50 Have power to raise such love in mine,

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 study how to die.
Sil. Call 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, if 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 bottom :
The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream
Left on your right hand brings you to the place.
But at this hour the house doth keep itself ;

80 There's none within.

Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
Then should I know you by description ;
Such garments and such years : “The boy is fair,
Of female favour, and bestows himself

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