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I kuow not the contents: but, as I guess,
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 so to me :-Well, shepherd, weil, This is a letter of your own device.
Sylv. No, I protest, I know not the contents ; Phebe did write it.
Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style, A style 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 let
ter? Sylo. So please you, for I never heard it yet; Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. Ros. She Phebe's me: Mark how the tyrant
[Reads.] Art thou god to shepherd turn'd,
Thut a maiden's heart hath burn'd?
Can a woman rail thus ?
Sylv. Call you this railing ?
Ros. (Reads.] Why, thy godhead laid apart,
Warr'st thou with a woman's heart?
Did you ever hear such railing ?
Whiles the eye of man did woo me,
Meaning me a beast.
If the scorn of your bright eyne
I did love ;
Sylv. Call you this chiding? Cel. Alas, poor shepherd ! Ros. Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity.Wilt thou love such a woman? What, to make thee an instrument, 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 she love me, I charge her to love thee: if she 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 SYLVIUS. Enter OLIVER. Oliv. Good-morrow, fair ones: Pray you, if yoų
know Where, in the purlieus of this forest, stands A sheep-cote, fenc'd about with olive trees ?
Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour
Oliv. If that an eye may profit by a'tongue,
Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are.
; And to that youth, he calls his Rosalind, He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he?
Ros. I am: What must we understand by this?
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.
Into a bush: under which bush's shade
Oliv. And well he might so do, For well I know he was unnatural,
Ros. But, to Orlando:-Did he leave him there, Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness?
Oliv. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos’d so:
Cel. Are you his brother?
Oliv. 'Twas I; but 'tis not I: I do not shame
Ros. But, for the bloody napkin?
Oliv. By and by.
The lioness had torn some flesh away,
Cel. We'll lead you thither :
Oliv. Be of good cheer, youth :-You a man!You lack a man's heart.
Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, 'sir, a body would think this was well counterfeited : I
your brother how well I counterfeited.—Heigho !
Olio. This was not counterfeit; there is too great testimony in your complexion, that it was a passion of earnest.
Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you.
Oliv. Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit to be a man.
Ros. So I do: but, i'faith, I should have been a woman by right.
Cel. Come, you look paler and paler ; pray you, draw homewards :-Good sir, go with us.
Oliv. That will I; for I must bear answer back, How you excuse
brother, Rosalind. Ros. I shall devise something: But, I pray you, commend my counterfeiting to him.-Will you go?