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Orla, 0, but she is wife.

Rof. 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, it will fly with the smoak out at the chimney.

Orla. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say, Wit, whither wilt?

Ros. 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 excuse that? Rof. Marry, to say, she came to seek

you

there. You shall never take her without her answer, unless you take her without her tongue. Othat woman, that cannot make her fault her husband's occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed it like a fool!

Orla. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave theç.

"make the doors). This is an expression used in several of the midland counties, instead of bar the doors. So in the Comedy of Errors,

" The doors are made against you.” The modern editors read, “ make the doors fall in this play, and “ the doors are barr'd against you" in the other.

STEEVENS. Wit, whither wilt?] This must be some allufion to a ftory well known at that time, though now perhaps irretrievable,

JOHNSON. This was an exclamation much in use, when any one was either talking nonsense, or usurping a greater share in conversation than juftly belonged to him. So in Decker's Satiromaftix, 1602 : “My sweet, Wit wbither wilt thou, my delicate poetical fury, &c.The same expression occurs more than once in Taylor the waterpoet, and seems to have been the title of some ludicrous perform. ance. STEEVENS.

e-make her fault her bufoand's occafion,] Thatis, represent her fault as occasioned by her husband, Sir T. Hanmer reads, ber bufand's accusation. Johnson,

Reso

Rof. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours.

Orla. 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 :-chat flattering tongue of yours won me :-'tis but one cast away, and so, come death-Two o'the clock is your hour!

Orla. Ay, sweet Rosalind.

Rof. 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.

Orla. With no less religion, than if thou wert in. deed my Rosalind : So adieu.

Ref. Well, time is the old justice that examines all fuch offenders, and let time try. Adieu!

[Exit Orla. Cel. You have simply misus'd our sex in your loveprate; we must 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 didst know how many fathom deep I am in love!

1

"I will think you the most PATHETICAL break-promis,] There is neither sense nor humour in this expression. We should certainly read,ATHEISTICAL break-promise. His anfwer confirms it, that he would keep his promise with no less religion, iban-

WAR BURTON. I do not see but that pathetical may stand, which seems to af. ford as much sense and as much humour as at beiffical. JOHNSON.

But

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.

Ref. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceivd 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 sight of Orlando : I'll go find a fha. dow, and sigh 'till he come. Cél. And I'll Neep.

[Exeunt,

SCENE II.

Enter Jaques, Lords, and Foresters. Jaq. Which is he that killd the deer? Lord. Sir, it was I.

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, Forester, for this purpose ?

For. Yes, fir.

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

Musick, Song. 1. What shall be bave that killd the deer? 2. His leather skin and horns to wear. 1. Then fing him home :

The reft Take thou no scorn?

shall bear To wear the horn, the horn, the born:

this bur

den. It was a crest, ere thou wast horn.

1. Thy

? Take phou no fcorn] In former editions : Then fing bim home, the rest shall bear his burden. This is an admirable instance of the fagacity of our preceding editors, to say nothing worse. One

should

1. Thy father's father wore it ;
2. And thy faiber bore it :

Tbe born, the born, tbe lusty born,
Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. (Exeunt.

4 SCENE III.

Enter Rosalind and Celia. Ros. How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? And here's 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 neep: Look, who comes here.

: Enter Silvius. Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth; My gentle Phebe bid me give you this:

[Giving a letter. I know not the contents; but, as I guess,

should expect, when they were poets, they would at least have taken care of the rbimes, and not foifted in what has nothing to answer it. Now, where is the rhime to, the rest shall bear ibis burden? Or, to ak another question, where is the sense of it? Does the poet mean, that He, that kill?d the deer, Mall be sung home, and the rekt shall bear the deer on their backs? This is laying a burden on the poet, that we must help him to throw off. "In Thort, 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 single voice, and the stanzas to close with a burden to be sung by the whole company. THEOBALD.

This note I have given as a specimen of Mr. Theobald's jocu. larity, and the eloquence with which he recommends his emendations. JOHNSON.

* The foregoing noisy scene was introduced only to fill up an in, terval, which is to represent two hours This contraction of the time we might impute to poor Rosalind's impatience, but that a few minutes after we find Orlando fending his excuse. I do not fee that by any probable division of the acts this absurdity can be obviated. JOHNSON

* And here's much Orlando!] Thus the old copy. The modern !editors read, but without the least authority,

I wonder mycb, Qr-anda is not bere. STEEVENS.

By

Pardon me,

By the stern brow, and waspish action
Which she did use as she was writing of it,
It bears an angry tenour.
I am but as a guiltless messenger.
Ros. [reading] 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.
Why writes she fo 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're a fool, And turn'd into the extremity of love. I saw her hand : she has a leather hand, A free-stone-coloured hand; I verily did think, That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands; She has a hulwife's hand: but that's no matterI say, she 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 stile, A ftile for challengers ; why, she defies me, Like Turk to Christian: 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 lec

ter? Sil. So please'you, for I never heard it yet; Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty.

Rof. She Phebe's me:-Mark, how the tyrant writes. [Reads.] Art thou God to Shepherd turn’d, That a maiden's beart bath burn'd ?

Can

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