Ros. She Phebes me. Mark how the tyrant writes. Can a woman rail thus ? Sil. Call you this railing? Ros. Why, thy godhead laid apart, Did you ever hear such railing? Whiles the eye of man did woo me, If the scorn of your bright eyne1 [Reads. 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,3) 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 SILVIUS. 3 A poor snake was a term of reproach equivalent to a wretch or poor creature. Hence, also, a sneaking or creeping fellow. Oli. Good-morrow, fair ones. Pray you, if you know Where, in the purlieus of this forest, stands A sheep-cote, fenced about with olive-trees? Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbor bottom, The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream, Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, Cel. It is no boast, being asked, to say we are. Ros. I am. What must we understand by this? Cel. I pray you, tell it. Orlando parted from you, Oli. When last the young Within an hour; and, pacing through the forest, 1 i. e. acts or behaves like, &c. 2 A napkin and handkerchief were the same thing in Shakspeare's time, as we gather from the dictionaries of Baret and Hutton in their explanations of the word Casitium and Sudarium. Napkin, for handkerchief, is still in use in the north. Under an oak,' whose boughs were mossed with age, A wretched, ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch, To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead. And found it was his brother, his elder brother. Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that same brother, And he did render 2 him the most unnatural That lived 'mongst men. Oli. 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 sucked and hungry lioness? Oli. Twice did he turn his back, and purposed so: But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, And nature, stronger than his just occasion, Made him give battle to the lioness, Who quickly fell before him; in which hurtling Cel. Are you his brother? Ros. Was it you he rescued? Cel. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him? To tell you what I was, since my conversion Ros. But, for the bloody napkin ?— 1 The ancient editions read, "Under an old oak," which hurts the measare without improving the sense. The correction was made by Steevens. ? i. e. represent or render this account of him. Oli. By and by. When from the first to last, betwixt us two, In brief he led me to the gentle duke, There stripped himself, and here upon his arm Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted, Brief, I recovered him; bound up his wound; To tell this story, that you might excuse I Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede? Sweet Gany mede ? [ROSALIND faints. Oli. Many will swoon when they do look on blood. Cel. There is more in it.-Cousin-Ganymede! Oli. Look, he recovers. Ros. I would I were at home. Cel. We'll lead you thither. pray you, will you take him by the arm? Oli. 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 pray you, tell your brother how well I counterfeited.-Heigh ho! Oli. This was not counterfeit; there is too great testimony in your complexion, 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. 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. Oli. That will I, for I must bear answer back How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. Ros. I shall devise something; but, I pray you, commend my counterfeiting to him.-Will you go? [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I. The same. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY. Touch. We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey. Aud. 'Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old gentleman's saying. Touch. A most wicked sir Oliver, Audrey, a most 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. Touch. 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 shall be flouting; we cannot hold. Will. Good even, Audrey. Aud. God ye good even, William. Will. And good even to you, sir. Touch. Good even, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover thy head; nay, pr'ythee, be covered. How old are you, friend? Will. Five-and-twenty, sir. Touch. A ripe age. Is thy name William? |