Helen's cheeks, but not her heart, By heav'nly fynod was devis'd; To have the Touches (9) deareft priz'd. Ref. O moft gentle Jupiter (1)!- what tedious homily of love have you wearied your Parthioners withall, and never cry'd, Have patience, good people? Cel. How now? back-friends! Thepherd, go off a little-go with him, firrah. Cl. Come, thepherd, let us make an honourable retreat; tho' not with bag and baggage, yet with fcrip and fcrippage. [Exeunt Corin and Clown. Cel. Didft thou hear these verses? Rof. O yes, I heard them all, and more too; for fome of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear. (7) Atalanta's better part ;] I know not wel! what could be the better part of Atalanta here alcribed to Rofalind. Of the Atalanta moft celebrated, and who therefore must be intended here where the Has no epithet of discrimination, the better part seems to have been her heels, and the worfe part was fo bad that Rofalind would not thank er lover for the comparifon. There is a more obfcure Atalanta, a Huntress and a Heroine, but of her nothing bad is recorded, and therefore I know not which was the better part. Shakespeare was no defpicable Mythologift, yet he feems here to have miltaken fome other character for that of Atalanta. (8) Sad, is grave, fober, not light. (9) The Touches ] The features; les traits. (1) 0 m ft gentle JUPITER !] We fhould read JUNIPER, as the following words thew, alluding to the proverbial term of a fun per Lecture: A fharp or unpleafing one! Juniper being a rough prickly plant. WARBURTON. Surely Jupiter may ftand. Cel. Cel. That's no matter; the feet might bear the verfes. Rof. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves without the verfe, and therefore stood lamely in the verse. Cel. But didft thou hear without wondring how thy name should be hang'd and carv'd upon these trees? Rof. I was feven 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 fince Pythagoras's time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember. Cel. Trow you, who hath done this? Rof. Is it a man ? Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck: Change you colour? Rof. I pr'ythee, who? Cel. O Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be remov'd with earthquakes, and fo encounter. Rof. Nay, but who is it? Cel. Is it poflible? Rof. Nay, I pr'ythee now, with moft 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 Rof. (3) Good my complexion! doft thou think, (2) I was never fo be rhimed fince Pythagoras's time, that I was an Irish rat, Rofalind is a very learned Lady. She aliudes to the Pythagorean doctrine wh ch teaches that fouls tranfinigrate from one an m to another, and relates that in his time fhe was an Irish rat, and by fome metrical charro was rhymed to death. The power of killing rats with rhymes Donne mentions in his fatires, and Temple in his treatifes. Dr. Gray has produced a fimilar paffage rom Randolph. My Poets Shall with a faytire fteeped in vinegar Rhyme them to death, as they do rats in Ireland. (3) Good my complexion!] This is a mode of expreffion, Mr. Theobald fays, which he cannot reconcile to common sense. Like enough: and so too the Oxford Editor. But the meaning is, Hold grod my complexion, i. e. let me not blufh. WARBURTON.. M. 5 though though I am caparison'd like a man, I have a doublet and hole in my difpofition? (4) One inch of delay more is a South-fea of difcovery. I pr'ythee, tell me, who is it; quickly, and fpeak apace; I would thou couldft ftammer, that thou might'ft pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as 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. Rof. Why, God will fend 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 wreftler's heels and your heart both in an inftant. Rof. Nay, but the devil take mocking; speak, fad brow, and true maid. Cel I'faith, coz, 'tis he. Rof Orlando! Cel. Orlando. Rof Alas the day, what fhall I do with my doublet and hofe? what did he, when thou faw'ft 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 fea of discovery.] This is ftark nonfenfe we must read-off discovery, i. e. from difcovery. "If you delay me one inch of time longer, I fhall think this fecret as fa from difcovery as the South fea is." WARBURTON. This fentence is rightly noted by the Commentator as nonfenfe, but not fo happily restored to fenfe. I read thus: One Inch of delay more is a South fea. Difcover, I pr'ythee: tell me who is it quickly -When the tranfcriber had once made difcovery from difcover, I, he eafily put an article after South sea. But it may be read with ftili lefs change, and with equal probability. Every Inch of delay more is a South fea difcovery: Every delay, however fhort, is to me tedious and irkfome as the longeft voyage, as a voyage of difcovery on the South fea. How much voyages to the Southfea, on which the English had then firft ventured, engaged the converfation of that time, may be eafily imagined. parted parted he with thee? and when shalt thou fee him again? answer me in one word. Cel. You must borrow me Garagantua's (5) mouth firft; 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's fize. To fay, ay, and no, to these particulars, is more than to answer in a catechifm. Rof But doth he know that I am in this Foreft, and in man's apparel? looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled? Cel. It is as eafy to count atoms, as to refolve the propofitions of a lover but take a tafte of my finding him, and relish it with good obfervance. I found him under a tree like a dropp'd acorn (6). Rof. It may well be call'd fove's tree, when it drops forth fuch fruit. Cel. Give me audience, good Madam. Rof. Proceed. Cel. There lay he stretch'd along like a wounded Knight. Rof. Tho' it be pity to fee fuch a fight, it well becomes the ground. Cel. Cry, holla! to thy tongue, I pr'ythee; it curvets unfeasonably. He was furnifh'd like a hunter. Ref. Oh, ominous ! he comes to kill my 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 muft fpeak Sweet, fay on. (5) Garagantua's mouth,] Rofalind requires nine questions to be answered in one word, Celia tells her that a word of fuch magnitude is too big for any mouth but that of Garagantua the giant of Rabelais. (6) —I found him under a tree like a dropp'd acorn.] We should read, Under AN OAK tree. This appears from what follows-like a dropp'd acorn. For how did he look like a dropp'd acorn unless he was found under an oak-tree. And· from Rofalind's reply, that it might well be called Jove's tree : For the Oak was facred to Jove. WARBURTON. SCENE Enter Orlando and Jaques. Cel. You bring me out. Soft, comes he not here Rof. 'Tis he; flink by, and note him. [Celia and Rofalind retire. Faq. I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone. Orla. And fo had I; but yet, for fashion fake, I thank you too for your fociety. Jaq. God b'w'you, let's meet as little as we can.. Jaq. I pray you marr no more trees with writing love-fongs in their barks. Orla. I pray you, marr no more of my Verfes with reading them ill-favouredly. Faq Rofalind, is your love's name? Orla. Yes, juft. Faq. I do not like her name. Orla. There was no thought of pleasing you, when fhe was chriften'd. Jaq. What ftature is the of? Orla. Juft as high as my heart. Jaq. You are full of pretty anfwers ; have you not been acquainted with goldimith's wives, and conn them out of rings Orla. Not fo (); but I answer you right painted: cloth, from whence you have ftudied your queftions. jaq. You have a nimble wit; I think, it was made of Atalanta's heels. Will you fit down with me, and we two will rail against our mistress, the world, and all. our misery.. (7) but I answer you right painted cloth,] This alludes to the Fashion, in old Tapestry Hangings, of Motto's and moral Sentences from the Mouths of the Figures worked or painted in ther. The poet again hints at this Cuftom in his Poem, call'd Torquin and Lucrece: Who fears a Sentence, or an old Man's Saw, THEOBALD. Sir 7. Hanmer reads, I answer you right, in the stile of the painted cloth. Something feems wanting, and I know not what can be propofed better. Orla. |