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Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself,
· And with indented glides did slip away
• Into a bush ; under which bush's shade
"A lioness, with udders all drawn dry,

Lay couching head on ground, with cat-like watch
• When that the sleeping man should stir ; for 'tis
• The royal disposition 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, his eldest 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 fo do;
For, well I know, he was unnatural.

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

Oli. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos’d fo:
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
From miserable slumber I awak’d.

Cel. Are you his brother ?
Rof. Was it

you

he rescu'd ? Cel. Was it

you

that did so oft contrive to kill him?
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.

Rof. But for the bloody napkin ?

oli. By, and by.
When from the first to last, betwixt us two,
Tears our recountments had most kindly bath’d,
As how I came into that detart place;
In brief, he led me to the gentle Duke,
Who
gave

fresh
array

and entertainment,
Committing me unto my brother's love;
Who led me instantly unto his cave,
There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm
The lioneis had torn some flesh away,
Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted,
And cry'd, in fainting, upon Rofalind.

Brief,

nie

M m 2

Brief, I recover'd him; bound up his wound;
And, after some small space, being strong at heart,
He fent me hither, stranger as I am,
To tell this story, that you might excuse
His broken promise ; and to give this napkin,
Dy'd in his blood, unto the thepherd youth,
That he in fport doth call his Rosalind.
Cel. Why, how now Ganymede, sweet Ganymede ?

[Rof. faints. Oli. Many will swoon when they do look on blood. 4 Cel. There is more in it:-Cousin Ganymede!

Oli. Look, he recovers.
Rof. 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.

Rof. I do so, I confefs 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.

Ref. Counterfeit, I assure you.

Oii. Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit to be a man.

hof. 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, Rofalind.

Roj. I shall devise something ; but, I pray you, commend my counterfeiting to him. Will you go? |

[Exeunt. А с т V. S C Ε Ν Ε I.

The forest.

Enter Clown and Audrey. Clown. E fall find a time, Audrey ; patience,

W gentle Audrey

Aud.

Aud. Faith, the priest was good enough for all the old gentleman's saying.

clo. A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey ; a moft vile Mar-text ! but, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to you.

it Aud. Ay, I know who 'tis, he hath no interest in me in the world ; here comes the man you mean.

Enter William. Glo: 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 ev'n, Audrey.
Aud. God ye good ev'n, William.
Will. And good ev'n to you, Sir.

Glo. Good ev'n, gentle friend. Cover thy head,
çover thy head; nay, pr’ythee be cover'd. How old
are you, friend?
Will. Five and twenty, Sir.
Clo. A ripe age. Is thy name Willian ?
Will. William, Sir.
Clo. A fair name. Wast born i'th' forest here?
Will. Ay, Sir, I thank God.
Clo. Thank God : a good answer. Art rich.
Will. 'Faith, Sir, fo, fo.

Clo. So, fo, is good, very good, very excellent good : and yet it is not : it is but so, so.' Art thou wise ?

Will. Ay, Sir, I have a pretty wit.

Clo. Why, thou fay'st well: I do now remember 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,

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.
Clo. Give me your hand. Art thou learned ?
Will, No, Sir.

Clo. Then learn this of me; to have, is to have. For it is a figure in rhetoric, that drink being poured out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty

the

would open

the other. For all your writers do consent that ipfe is he : now you are not ipse; for I am he.

ii'ill. Which he, Sir.

Clo. He, Sir, that must marry this woman; therefore you, Clown, abandon, which is in the vulgar, leave the fociety, which in the boorish, is company, of this female; which in the common, is woman; which together is, abandon the society of this female : or Clown, thou perisheit; or, to thy better understanding, dielt; or, to wit, I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into death, thy liberty into bondage ; I will deal in poison with thee, or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy with thee in faction; I will over-run thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways; therefore tremble and depart.

Aud. Do, good William.
Will. God rest you merry, Sir.

[Exit. Enter Corin. Cor. Our master and mistress feek you; come away, away. Clo. Trip, Audrey; trip, Audrey; I attend, I attend.

[Exeunt. SCENE II. Enter Orlando and Oliver. Orla. Is't possible, that on so little acquaintance you should like her? that, but seeing, you should love her? and loving, woo? and wooing, the should grant ? and will you persevere to enjoy her?

Oli. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing, nor her sudden consenting; but say with me, I love Aliena; say with her, that she loves me ; confent with both, that we may enjoy each other; it shall be to your good ; for

my

father's house, and all the revenue that was old Sir Rowland's, will I eítate upon you, and here live and die a shepherd.

Enter Rofalind. Orla. You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow; thither will I invite the Duke, and all his contented followers; go you, and prepare Aliena; for, look you, here comes my Rosalind.

Rof. Pof. Did

OV81came :

Rof. God save you, brother.
Oli. And you, fair filter.

Rf. Oh, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to fee thee wear thy heart in a scarf.

Orla. It is my arm.

Ros. I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion. Orla. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady.

your
brother tell

you

how I counterfeited to swoon, when he thew'd me your handkerchief?

Orla. Ay, and greater wonders than that.

Rof. O, I know where you are: nay, 'tis true: there was never any thing so sudden, but the fight of two rams, and Cæfar's thrasonical brag of I came, faw, and

for
your
brother and

my

sister no sooner met, but they look’d; no sooner look'd but they lov’d; no fooner Inv'd, but they fighd; no sooner figh’d, but they ask'd one another the reason; no sooner knew the reason, but they fought the remedy; and in these degrees

have they made a pair of stairs to marriage, which they will climb incontinent, or else be incontinent before marriage. They are in the very wrath of love, and they will together. Clubs cannot part them.

Orla. They shall be married to-morrow; and I will bid the Duke to the nuptial. But O, how bitter a thing it is, to look into happiness thro’another man's eyes! by so much the more shall I to-morrow be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I shall think my brother happy, in having what he wishes for.

Rof. Why, then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind ?

Orla. I can live no longer by thinking.

Rof. I will weary you then no longer with idle talking: Know of me then, for now I speak to foine purpofe, that I know you are a gentleman of good conceit. I speak not this, that you should bear a good opinion of my knowledge; insomuch, I say, I know what you are; neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may in fome little measure draw a belief from you to do yourself good, and not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange things. I have, since I was three years old, convers’d with a magician, most

profound