I know not the contents; but, as I guess, I am but us 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 phoenix; 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; Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style, Than in their countenance :-Will you hear the letter? Sil. So please you, for I never heard it yet; Ros. She Phebes me :--Mark how the tyrant writes. Can woman rail thus ? Sil. Call you this railing? Ros. Why, thy godhead laid apart, Warr'st thou with a woman's heart? Did you ever hear such railing?— While the eye of man did woo me, That could do no vengeance to me.Meaning me a beast. [Reads. If the scorn of your bright eynet • Mischief. Alack, in me what strange effect And then I'll study how to die. Sil. Call you this chiding? 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 I-Well, go your way to endured-Well, 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, Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom, The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream, Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say, we are. • Nature. VOL. II. + Handkerchief, Cc 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 last the young Orlando parted from you, He left a promise to return again Within an hour; and, pacing through the forest, Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age, A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself, Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'd The opening of his mouth; but suddenly Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself, And with intended glides did slip away Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch, To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead : This seen, Orlando did approach the man, And found it was his brother, his elder brother. Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that same bro ther; And he did render him the most unnatural That lived 'mongst men. Oli. And well he might so do, For well I know he was unnatural. Ros. But, to Orlando;-Did he leave him there," Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness? Oli. Twice did he turn his back, and purposed so: But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, And nature, stronger than his just occasion, Made him give battle to the lioness, Who quickly fell before him; in which hurtling Cel. Are you his brother? Ros. Was it you he rescued? Cel. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill * Describe. + Scufe. Oli. 'Twas I; but 'tis not I: I do not shame When from the first to last, betwixt us two, In brief, he led me to the gentle duke, There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted Brief, I recover'd him; bound up his wound; And, after some small space, being strong at heart, To tell this story, that you might excuse Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede? Sweet Gany mede? [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? [Exeunt. 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 flouting; we cannot hold. Will. Good even, Audrey. Aud. God ye good even, William. Will. And good even to you, Sir, Touch. Good even, gentle friend: coverthy 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, so, is good, very good, very excellent good:-And yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thon wise? Will. Ay, Sir, I have a pretty wit. Touch. Why, thou say'st well. I do now rememher 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? Touch. Give me your hand: Art thou learned? |