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Orl. I hope so.

Ros. Why, then, can one desire too much of a good thing?—Come, sister, you shall be the priest, and marry us.—Give me your hand, Orlando.—What do you say, sister?

Orl. Pray thee, marry us.
Cel. I cannot say the words.
Ros. You must begin,—“Will you, Orlando,”—

Cel. Go to.—Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind ?

Orl. I will.
Ros. Ay, but when ?
Orl. Why now; as fast as she can marry us.

Ros. Then you must say,—“I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.”

Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.

Ros. I might ask you for your commission ; but,-I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband :—there's a girl, goes before the priest?; and, certainly, a woman's thought runs before her actions.

Orl. So do all thoughts: they are winged.

Ros. Now tell me, how long you would have her, after you have possessed her?

Orl. For ever, and a day.

Ros. Say a day, without the ever. No, no, Orlando: men are April when they woo, December when they wed: maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen; more clamorous than a parrot against rain ; more new-fangled than an ape; more giddy in my desires than a monkey: I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you are disposed

? There's a girl, goes before the priest ;] Alluding to her anticipating what Celia ought to have said :—There's a girl who goes faster than the priest. Malone and Steevens read, “ There a girl," &c.

to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when thou art inclined to sleep.

Orl. But will my Rosalind do so?
Ros. By my life, she will do as I do.
Orl. 0! but she is wise.

Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the wiser, the waywarder. Make the doors upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole; stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney.

Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say,—“Wit, whither wilt 3?”

Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for it, till you met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed.

Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse that?

Ros. Marry, to say,—she came to seek you there. You shall never take her without her answer, unless you take her without her tongue. O! that woman that cannot make her fault her husband's occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed it like a fool.

Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee.

Ros. Alas, dear love! I cannot lack thee two hours.

Orl. I must attend the duke at dinner: by two o'clock I will be with thee again.

Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways. I knew what you would prove; my friends told me as much, and I thought no less :—that flattering tongue of yours won me :— tis but one cast away, and so,—come, death ! Two o'clock is your hour?

Orl. Ay, sweet Rosalind.
Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God

3“Wit, whither wilt ?”] A proverbial exclamation, found in many authors of the time. In Act i. sc. 2, of this play, Rosalind, addressing Touchstone, asks, “ How wit! whither wander you ?” which seems only a variation of the same expression,


ous, if

mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not danger

you break one jot of your promise, or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical break-promise, and the most hollow lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind, that may be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful. Therefore, beware my censure, and keep your promise.

Orl. With no less religion, than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind: so, adieu.

Ros. Well, time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let time try. Adieu! [Exit ORLANDO.

Cel. You have simply misused our sex in your loveprate. We must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head, and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest.

Ros. O! coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But it cannot be sounded: my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal.

Cel. Or rather, bottomless; that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out.

Ros. No; that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen, and born of madness; that blind rascally boy, that abuses every one's

eyes, because his own are out, let him be judge how deep I am in love.- I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando. I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come. Cel. And I'll sleep.



Another part of the Forest.

Enter JAQUES and Lords, like Foresters. Jaq. Which is he that killed the deer?

1 Lord. Sir, it was I.

Jaq. Let's present him to the duke, like a Roman conqueror; and it would do well to set the deer's horns upon his head for a branch of victory.—Have you no song, forester, for this purpose ?

2 Lord. Yes, sir.

Jag. Sing it : ’tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough.


What shall he have, that killd the deer?
His leather skin, and horns to wear.
Take thou no scorn, to wear the horn ;)
It was a crest ere thou wast born.

[Then sing him Thy father's father wore it, home 4: the rest And thy father bore it:

shall bear this

The horn, the horn, the lusty horn,
Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.



The Forest.


Ros. How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? And here much Orlando!

4 Then sing him home :) The words, “ Then sing him home : the rest shall bear this burden,” are clearly only stage-directions, although, by error, printed as part of the song in the old copies. “Then sing him home” has reference to the carrying of the lord, who killed the deer, to the duke ; and we are to suppose that the foresters sang as they quitted the stage for their “home” in the wood. “ The rest shall bear this burden” alludes to the last six lines, which are the burden of the song. Modern editors have taken upon them to divide the song between the first and second lord, by the figures 1 & 2; but without any warrant. We have reprinted it precisely as it stands in the original copies, with the exception above noticed. It is to be observed, that it is found in Playford's “Musical Companion,” (as Boswell pointed out,) without the words “ Then sing him home.” It is also in “ Catch that Catch can,” 1652, in the same form.

Cel. I warrant


with pure love, and troubled brain, He hath ta'en his bow and arrows, and is gone forthTo sleep. Look, who comes heres.

Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth.-
My gentle Phebe did bid me give you thiso:

[Giving a letter.
I know not the contents; but as I guess,
By the stern brow, and waspish action,
Which she did use as she was writing of it,
It bears an angry tenour. Pardon me,
I am but as a guiltless messenger.

Ros. Patience herself would startle at this letter, ,
And play the swaggerer: bear this, bear all.
She 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, well;
This is a letter of your own device.

Sil. No, I protest; I know not the contents :
Phebe did write it.

Come, come, you are a fool,
And turn’d into the extremity of love.
I saw her hand : she has a leathern hand,
A freestone-colour'd hand : I verily did think
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands :
She has a housewife'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.
Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style,

5 To sleep. Look, who comes here.] We regulate this and the four preceding lines of verse as in the old copies : modern editors have taken it for granted, because a little irregular, that they were prose.

6 My gentle Phebe did bid me give you this :) So the first folio : the second omits “ did.” “ Phebe” is to be spoken in the time of one syllable.

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