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wifer, the waywarder: Make the Doors upon a Woman's Wit, and it will out at the Cafement; fhut that, and 'twill out at the Key-hole; ftop that, it will fly with the fmoak out at the Chimney.

Orla. A Man that had a Wife with fuch a Wit, he might fay, Wit whither wilt?

Rof. Nay, you might keep that check for it, 'till you met your Wife's Wit going to your Neighbour's Bed.

Orla. And what Wit could Wit have to excufe that?

Rof. Marry to fay, fhe came to seek you there: You shall never find her without her Answer, unless you take her without her Tongue. O that Woman, that cannot make her fault her Husband's occafion, let her never nurse her Child her felf, for she will breed it like a Fool.

Orla. For these two hours, Rofalind, I will leave thee. Rof. Alas, dear Love, I cannot lack thee two hours. Orla. I must attend the Duke at Dinner, by two a Clock I will be with thee again.

Rof. Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew what you would prove, my Friends told me as much, and I thought no lefs; that flattering Tongue of yours won me; 'tis but one caft away, and fo come Death: Two o'th' Clock is your hour?

Orla. Ay, fweet Rofalind.

Rof. By my troth, and in good earnest, and fo God mend me, and by all the pretty Oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your Promife, or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical BreakPromife, and the most hollow Lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Rofalind, that may be chofen out of the grofs Band of the Unfaithful; therefore beware my Cenfure, and keep your Promise.

Örla. With no lefs Religion, than if thou wert indeed my Rofalind; fo adieu.

Rof. Well, Time is the old Juftice that examines all fuch Offenders, and let Time try. Adieu. [Exit Orla. Cel. You have fimply mifus'd our Sex in your Love-prate : we must have your Doublet and Hofe pluck'd over your Head, and fhew the World what the Bird hath done to her own Neft,

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Rof. 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 bottomlefs, that as faft as you pour Affeation in, it runs out.

Rof. No, that fame wicked Baftard of Venus, that was begot of Thought, conceiv'd of Spleen, and born of Madnefs, that blind rafcally Boy, that abuses every ones 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 figh 'till he

come.

Cel. And I'll fleep.

SCENE II.

Enter Jaques, Lords, and Forefters.

Jaq. Which is he that kill'd the Deer?

Lord. Sir, it was I.

[Exeunt.

Jag. Let's prefent him to the Duke like a Roman Conqueror, and it would do well to fet the Deer's Horns upon his Head, for a branch of Victory; have you no Song, Forefter, for this purpose?

For. Yes, Sir.

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

Mufick, Song.

What shall be have that kill'd the Deer?

His Leather Skin and Horns to wear;

Then fing him home, the rest shall bear this burthen;

Take thou no fcorn to wear the Horn,

It was a Creft e'er thou waft born,
Thy Father's Father wore it,

And thy Father bore it,

The Horn, the Horn, the lufty Horn,
As not a thing to laugh to Scorn.

[Exeunt.

SCENE

SCENE III.

Enter Rofalind and Celia.

Rof. How fay you now, is it not past two a Clock? And here much Orlando.

Cel. I warrant you, with pure Love and troubled Brain,
Enter Sylvius.

He hath ta'en his Bow and Arrows, and is
To fleep: Look who comes here.

gone forth

Syl. 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 ftern Brow, and waspish Action
Which he did ufe as fhe was Writing of it,
It bears an angry tenure; pardon me,

I am but as a guiltlefs Meffenger.

Rof. Patience her felf would ftartle at this Letter,
And play the Swaggerer; bear this, bear all.
She fays I am not fair, that I lack Manners,
She calls me proud, and that she could not love me
Were Man as rare as Phenix: 'Od's my will,
Her Love is not the Hare that I did hunt,
Why writes the fo to me? Well, Shepherd, well,
This is a Letter of your own device.

Syl. No, I proteft, I know not the Contents,
Phebe did write it.

Rof. Come, come, you are a Fool,

And turn'd into the extremity of Love,

I faw her Hand, fhe has a leathern Hand,

A Free-ftone coloured Hand; I verily did think
That her old Gloves were on, but 'twas her Hands;
She has a Hufwife's Hand, but that's no matter;
I fay, he never did invent this Letter,
This is a Man's Invention, and his Hand.
Sy Sure it is hers.

Rof. Why, 'tis à boisterous and a cruel Stile,
A Stile for Challengers; why, the defies me,
Like Turk to Chriftian; Woman's gentle Brain
Could not drop forth such giant rude Invention,

Such

Such Ethiop words, blacker in their Effect

Than in their Countenance; will you hear the Letter?
Syl. So please you, for I never heard it yet;
Yet heard too much of Phebe's Cruelty.

Rof. She Phebes 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.

Syl. Call you this Railing?

Ref. [Reads.] Why, thy Godhead laid apart,
War'st thou with a Woman's Heart?
Did you ever hear fuch Railing?
Whiles the Eye of Man did woo me,
That could do no Vengeance to me.
Meaning me a Beaft.

If the Scorn of your bright Eyne
Have power to raife fuch Love in mine,
Alack, in me, what strange effect
Would they work in mild Aspect ?
Whiles you chide 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 hina feal 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.
Syl. Call you this chiding?
Cel. Alas, poor Shepherd!

Ref. Do you pity him? No, he deferves no pity: Wilt thou love fuch a Woman? What to make thee an Inftrument, and play falfe Strings upon thee? Not to be endured. Well, go your way to her, for I fee Love hath made thee a tame Snake, and fay this to her, That if fhe love me, I charge her to love thee: If the 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. Syl,

Enter

Enter Oliver.

Oli. Good morrow, fair ones: Pray you, if you know, Where in the Purlews of this Foreft ftands A Sheep-coat, 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, bring you to the place;
But at this hour the House doth keep it self,
There's none within.

Oli. If that an Eye may profit by a Tongue,
Then should I know you by Description,
Such Garments, and fuch Years; The Boy is fair,
Of female Favour, and bestows himself
Like a ripe Sifter: 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 boaft, being ask'd, to say we are.
Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both,
And to that Youth he calls his Rofalind,
He fends this bloody Napkin. Are you he?

Rof. I am; what muft 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 ftain'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 Foreft,
Chewing the Food of fweet and bitter Fancy,

Lo what befel! he threw his Eye afide,

And mark what Object did prefent it self

Under an old Oak, whofe Boughs were mofs'd with Age,
And high Top bald with dry Antiquity;
A wretched ragged Man, o'er-grown with Hair,
Lay fleeping on his Back; about his Neck
A green and gilded Snake had wreath'd it felf,
Who with her Head, nimble in threats, approach'd
The opening of his Mouth; but fuddenly
Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd it felf,

And with indented glides did flip away

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