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She says, I am not fair ; that I lack manners ;
She calls me proud, and that the could not love me
Were men as rare as phenix : 'Odds my will !
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt.
Why writes the 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.

Ref. Come, come, you're a fool,
And turn’d into th' extremity of love.
I saw her hand, the has a leathern hand,
A free-stone coloured hand; I verily did think,
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands;
She has a huiwife's hand, but that's no matter ;
I 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 ftile,
A ftile for challengers ; why, she defies me,
Like Turk to Chrilt an ; woman's gentle brain
Could not drop forth fuch giant rude invention ;
Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect
Than in their countenance ; will you hear the letter ?
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 heart hath burn'di
Can a woman rail thus ?
Sil. Call you this railing?

Roj. [Reads.] Why, thy godhead laid apart.
Warr'it thou with a woman's heart?
Did

you ever hear fucb 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 raise fuch love in mines
Alack, in me, what ftrange effect
Would they work in mild aspect ?

+

Whiles you chid 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 him seal 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 study how to die.
Sil. Call you this chiding?
Cel. Alas, poor fhepherd !

Rof. Do you pity him ? no, he deserves no pity: Wilt thou love such a woman? what, to make thee an inItrument, and play false strains upon thee? not to be endured! well, go your way to her; (for I see, love hath made thee a tame snake,) and say this to her; that if the love me, I charge her to love thee : If she will not, I will never have her, unless thou entreat for her. If

you bę a true lover, hence, and not a word ; for here comes more company.

[Exit Sil. Enter Oliver. Oli. Good-morrow, fair ones : Pray you, if you know, Where in the purlews of this forest stands A sheep-cote 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, brings you to the place ; But at this hour the house doth keep itself, 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 sister : 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 boast, being ak’d, to say, we are. Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both,

And

And to that youth, he calls his Rosalind,
He sends 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 stain'd.

Cel. I pray you, tell it,

Oli. When last the young Orlando parted from you, He left a promise to return again Within an hour ; and pacing through the forest, Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, Lo, what befel ! he threw his eye aside, And mark what object did present itself. Under an oak, whose boughs were moss’d with age, And high top bald with dry antiquity; A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, Lay sleeping on his back; about his neck A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself, Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'd The opening of his mouth, but fuddenly Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself, And with indented glides did slip away Into a bush, under which bush's shade A lionefs, with udders all drawn dry, Lay couching head on ground, with cat-like watch When that the sleeping man should ftir ; for 'tis The royal disposition of that beast To prey on nothing that doth feem as dead : This feen, Orlando did approach the man, And found it was his brother, his elder 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 fuck'd and hungry lioness?

Qli. Twice. did he turn his back, and purpos'd fo: But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, And nature ftronger than his juft occafion,

Mada

.

was, since

his arm

Made him give battle to the lioness,
Who quickly fell before him ; in which hurtling
From miserable flumber I awak’d.

Cel. Are you his brother?
Rof: Was't you he refcu'd ?
Cel. Was't 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

my

converfion So sweetly taftes, 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 desart place ;
In brief, he led me to the gentle Duke,
Who gave me fresh array and entertainment,
Committing me unto my brother's love ;
Who led me instantly unto his cave,
There itrip'd himself, and here upon
The lioness had torn fome flesh away,
Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted,
And cry'd in fainting upon Rosalind.
Brief, I recover'd him ; bound

up

his wound;
And, after some small space, being strong at heart,
He sent 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 shepherd youth,
That he in sport doth call his Rosalind.
Cel. Why, how now Ganymed, sweet Ganymed ?

(Rof. faintsa
Oli. Many will fwoon, when they do look on blood.
Cel. There is more in it:-cousin Ganymed!
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 confess 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 toð great testimony in your complection, that it was a passion of earnest. Ros. Counterfeit, I assure

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

Rof. So I do: But, i' faith, I Mould 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, Rosalind.

RoM. I shall devise something ; but, I pray you, commend

my counterfeiting to him : Will you go? [Exeunt.

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W

Enter Clown and Audrey.

CLOWN.
E shall find a time, Audrey ; patience, gentle

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

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

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

Enter William. Clo. 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 hhall be flouting; we cannot hold.

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