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Helen's cheeks, but not ber heart,
(8) Sad Lucretia's modify.
By heav'nly synod was devis'd;
To have the Touches (9) deareft priz'd.
Ref. O most gentle Jupiter (1)! - what tedious homily of love have you wearied your Parillioners withall, and never cry'd. Have patience, good people?
Tel. How now? back-Friends T-hepherd, go off a little- go with him, firrah.
Cla. Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat ; tho'not with bag and baggage, yet with fcrip and scrippage.
[Exeunt Corin and Clown,
Cel. Didst thou hear these verses?
Rof. O yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear.
(7) Atalanta's beter part ;] I know not wel! what could be the fititer part of Atalanta here asciibed to Rosalind. Of the Atalants most celebrated, and who therefore must be intended here where she has no epithet of discrimination, the better fart seems to have been her heels, and the worse part was so bad that Rosalind would not thank ter lover for the comparison. There is a more obscure Atalanta, a Huotress and a Heroine, but of her nothing bad is recorded, and therefore I know not which was the better pari.
Shakespeare was no despicable Mythologist, yet he seems here ia have miltaken forne uther character for that of Atalanta.
(8) Sud, is grave, jober, pot lig i.
(1) O m'ft gentle JUPITER !) We should read JUNIPER, as the following words thew, alhiding to the proverbial term of a fun per l-Eture : A harp or unpleating one ! Juniper being a rough prickly plant.
WARBURTON. Surely Jupiter may land,
Cel. That's no matter ; the feet inight bear the verses.
Rof. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse.
Cel. But didst thou hear without wondring how thy name should be hang’d and carv'd upon these trees?
Rof. I was seven of the nine days out of wonder, before you came ; for, look here, what I found on a palm-tree ; (2) I was never fo be-rhimed since I'yibagoras's time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remeinber.
Cel. Trow you, who hath done this?
Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck: Change you colour ?
Ror: I pr’ythee, who?
Cel. O Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be reinov'd with earthquakes, and so encounter.
Rof. Nay, but who is it?
Ros. Nay, I pr’ythee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is.
Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all whooping,
Ros. (3) Good my complexion ! dost thou think, (2) I was never so be rhinei firice Pythagoras's time, then I was an Irish rai,] Rolulind is a very learned Lady. She alludes to the Pyihagorean doctrine wh ch teaches thai souls traolinigrate fiom one an mi to another, and relates that in his time she was an Irisb rat, and by come metrical.charco was rhymed to death. The power of killing rats with rhymes Donne mentions in his fatires, and Temple in this treatises. Di. Gray has produced a limilar pallige' from Randolph.
Shall with a faytire fteeped in vinegar
(3) Good my complexion !). This is a mode of expresijw, Mr. Theobali says, which he cannot reconcile 10 common sense
. Like enough: and fo 190 the Oxford Ę ditor. But the meaning is, Held god my komplexion, i. e, let me not blush.
though I am caparison'd like a man, I have a doublet and hole in my disposition ? (4) One inch of delay more is a South-sea of discovery. I pr’ythee, tell me, who is it ; quickly, and speak apace; I would thou couldft stammer, that thou might'st pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, a3' wine comes out of a narrowmouth'd bottle ; either too much at once, or none at all. I pr’ythee take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may drink thy tidings.
Cel So you may put a man in your belly.
Rof. Is he of God's making? what manner of man ? 'is his head worth a hat? or his chin worth a beard ?
Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard.
Rol. Why, God will send more, if the man will be thankful ; let me ftay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin. Cel
. It is young Orlando, that tripp'd up the wrestler's heels and your heart both in an initant.
Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking ; speak, sad brow, and true maid.
Cel I'faith, coz, 'tis he.
Rof Alas the day, what shall I do with my doublet and hole? what did he, when thou saw'st him? what faid he? how look'd he? wherein went he? what makes he here? did he ask for me? where remains he? how
(4) One inch of delay more is a South sea of discovery.) This is Raik nonsenie ; we must read-off discovery, z. e. from difcovery. “ If you delay me one inch of linie longer, I fhall think this fecret
as far from discovery as the South fea is.” WARBURTON.
This sentence is rightly noted by ihe Commentator as nonsense, but not for happily restored to sense. I read thus :
One Inch of delay more is a South fea. Discover, I pr’ythee : tell me who is it quickly !--Whin the transcriber bad once made discovery from discover, I, he easily put an article after Souib sea. But it may be read with Itill less change, and with equal probability. Every Inch of delay more is a South lea discovery : Every delay, however fhore, is to me tedious and irksome as the longest voyage, as a voyage of discovery on the Souib.fra. How much voyages to ihe South. fea, on which ihe English had then first ventured, engaged the con. versation of that time, may be easily imagioed.
parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see him again ? answer me in one word.
Cel. You must borrow me Garagantua's (5) mouth first; 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's fize. To say, ay, and no, to these particulars, is more than to answer in a catechism.
Rof But doth he know that I am in this Forest, and in man's apparel ? looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled? Çel. It is as easy to count atoms, as
to resolve the propositions of a lover : but take a taste of my finding him, and refith it with good observance. I found him under a tree like a dropp'd acorn (6).
Rof. It may well be call's Fove's tree, when it drops forth such fruit.
Cel. Give me audience, good Madam.
. There lay he stretch'd along like a wounded Knight.
Rof. Tho' it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground.
Cel. Cry, holia ! to thy tongue, I pr’ythee; it curvets unseasonably. He was furnith'd like a hunter.
Roj. Oh, ominous ! he comes to kill heart.
Cel. I would fing my fong without a burthen; thou bring'ft me out of tune:
Rof. Do you not know I am a woman ? when I think, I must speak Sweet, say on.
(5) Garagaotua's mouth,] Rofolind requires nine questions to be answered in one wurd, Celia tells her that a word of such magnitude is too big for any mouth but that of Garagantua the giant of Rabılars.
(6) -I found him under a tree like a droppid.acorn.] We should read,
Under AN QAX tree. This appears from what follows-like a droppid.acorn. For how did helook like a droppid acorn unless he was found under an oak-tree. And from Rosalind's reply, that it might well be called Jove's tree : For the Oak was sacred to Joue.
Enter Orlando and Jaques.
(Celia and Rosalind retire. Jag. I thank you for your company ; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone.
Orla. And so had I'; but yet, for fashion fake, I thank you too for your society.
Jaq. God b'w'you, let's meet as little as we can..
Jaq. I pray you marr no more trees with writing love-longs in their barks.
Orlo. I pray you, marr no more of my Verses with reading them ill-favouredly.
Jnq Rosalind, is your love's name?
Orla. There was no thought of pleasing you, when she was chriften'd.
Jaq. What stature is the of?
answers have been acquainted with goldimith's wives, and conna them out of rings
Orla. Not To (-) ; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence you have studied your questions.
jag. You have a nimble wit ; I think, it was made of Atalanta's heels. Will you fit down with nie, and we two will rail against our mistress, the world, and all: our misery
(7) l'ut 1 answer you right painted cloih]. This alludes to the Fashion, in old Tapestry Hangings, of Motto's and moral Sentences from ihe Mouths of the Figures worked or painted in them. The poet again hints at this Cottom in his Poem, callid Torquin and Lucrece:
Who fears a Sentence, or an old Man's Saw,
THEOBALD. Sir 1. Hanmer reads, I antwer you right, in the stile of the painted cloth. Something seems wanting, and I know not what can be proposed beiler.