A style for challengers: why, she defies me, 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. Ros. She Phebes me. Mark how the tyrant writes. "Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?" 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, Meaning me a beast. "If the scorn of your bright eyne Sil. Call you this chiding? 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 SILVIUS. Enter OLIVER. Oli. Good morrow, fair ones. Pray you, if you 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 bottom: The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream, Left on your right hand, brings you to the place. Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, Such garments, and such years:-"The boy is fair, And browner than her brother." Are not you Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say, we are. Ros. I am. What must we understand by this? Cel. VOL. III. I pray you, tell it. G Oli. When last the young Orlando parted from you, He left a promise to return again Within an hour; and, pacing through the forest, Under an old oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age, A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself, Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch, To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead. This seen, 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 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? Oli. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd 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 rescu'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 was, since my conversion So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. Ros. But, for the bloody napkin? Oli. By and by. When from the first to last, betwixt us two, There stripp'd himself; and here, upon his arm, The lioness had torn some flesh away, Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted, And cried in fainting upon Rosalind. Brief, I recover'd him, bound up his wound; And, after some small space, being strong at heart, To tell this story, that you might excuse Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede? sweet Ganymede! [ROSALIND Swoons. Gli. 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. 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. Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah! 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 Forest of Arden. 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. |