Mufick, Song.

What fhall he have that kill'd the deer?
His leather fkin and horns to wear;

Then fing him home:- -take thou no fcorn (24)
To wear the horn, the horn, the horn:) The reft shall
It was a creft ere thou waft born.

Thy father's father wore it,

And thy father bore it,

The horn, the horn, the lufty horn,

Is not a thing to laugh to fcorn.

Enter Rofalind and Celia.

bear this bur

den.

-[Exeunts

Rof. How fay you now, is it not past two o'clock?

I wonder much, Orlando is not here.

Cel. I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows, and is

Aleep: Look, who comes here.

Enter Silvius.

Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth,
My gentle Phebe bid me give you this:
I know not the contents; but, as I guess,
By the itern brow, and waspish action
Which she did ufe as fhe was writing of it,
It bears an angry tenour; pardon me,
I am but as a guiltlefs meffenger.

gone

forth to

Rof Patience herself would startle at this letter, And play the fwaggerer; bear this, bear all.

(24) Then fing him home, the reft fhall bear this burden.] This is an admirable inftance of the fagacity of our preceding editors, to fay nothing worfe. One fhould expect, when they were poets, they would at least have taken care of the Rhymes, and not foifted in what has nothing to answer it. Now, where is the rhyme to, the rest fhall bear this burden for, to ask another queftion, where is the fense of it? does the poet mean, that he, that kill'd the deer, fhall be fung home, and the reft shall bear the deer on their backs. This laying a burden on the poet, that we must help him to throw off. In short, the mystery of the whole is, that a marginal note is wifely thrust into the text: The fong being defign'd to be fung by a fingle voice, and the stanza's to close with a burden to be fung by the whole company.

She

She fays, I am not fair; that I lack manners;
She calls me proud, and that the could not love me
Were men as rare as phoenix: 'Odds my will!
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt.
Why writes the fo to me? well, fhepherd, well,
This is a letter of your own device.

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

Rof. Come, come, you're a fool,

And turn'd into th' extremity of love.

I saw her hand, she has a leathern hand,

A free ftone coloured hand; I verily did think,
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands;
She has a hufwife's hand, but that's no matter;
I fay, the 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, fhe defies me, Like Turk to Chriftian; 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 fhepherd turn'd,

That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?

Can a woman rail thus?

Sil. Call you this railing?

Rof. [Reads.] Why, thy godhead laid apart. Warr'ft thou with a woman's heart?

Did you ever hear fuck railing?

Whiles the eye of man did woo me,
That could do no vengeance to me.
Meaning me, a beast!

If the fcorn of your bright eyne

Have power to raise fuch love in mine,
Alack, in me, what ftrange effect
Would they work in mild aspec?

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 feal up thy mind,
Whether that thy youth and kind
Will the faithful offer take
Of me, and all that I can make;
Or elfe by him my love deny,
And then I'll ftudy how to die.
Sil. Call you this chiding?
Cel. Alas, poor shepherd!

Rof. Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity: Wilt thou love fuch a woman? what, to make thee an inftrument, and play falfe ftrains upon thee? not to be endured! well, go your way to her; (for I fee, love hath made thee a tame fnake,) and say this to her; that if the love me, I charge her to love thee: If the 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.

Enter Oliver.

[Exit Sil.

Oli. Good-morrow, fair ones: Pray you, if you know, Where in the purlews of this forest stands A fheep-cote fenc'd about with olive-trees?

Cel. Weft of this place, down in the neighbour bottom, The rank of ofiers, by the murmuring ftream, Left on your right-hand, brings you to the place; But at this hour the houfe doth keep itself, There's none within.

Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, Then fhould I know you by defcription, Such garments, and fuch years: "The boy is fair, "Of female favour, and beftows himself "Like a ripe fifter: But the woman low, "And browner than her brother." Are not you The owner of the houfe, I did enquire for? Cel. It is no boast, being afk'd, to fay, we are. Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both,

And to that youth, he calls his Rojalind,
He fends this bloody napkin. Are you he?
Rof. I am; what must we understand by this?
Oli. Some of my fhame, if you will know of me
What man I am, and how, and why, and where
This handkerchief was ftain'd.

Cel. I pray you, tell it.

Oli. When laft the young Orlando parted from you, He left a promife to return again

Within an hour; and pacing through the forest,
Chewing the food of fweet and bitter fancy,
Lo, what befel! he threw his eye afide,
And mark what object did prefent itself.

Under an oak, whofe boughs were mofs'd with age,
And high top bald with dry antiquity;

A wretched ragged man, o'er-grown with hair,
Lay fleeping on his back; about his neck

A green and gilded fnake 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 flip away
Into a bush, under which bush's fhade
A lionefs, with udders all drawn dry,
Lay couching head on ground, with cat-like watch
When that the fleeping man fhould ftir; for 'tis ́
The royal difpofition of that beaft

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 fame 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?

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

Made

Made him give battel to the lioness,

Who quickly fell before him; in which hurtling
From miferable flumber I awak'd.

Gel. Are you his brother?

Rof. Was't you he rescu'd?

Cel. Was't you that did fo oft contrive to kill him Oli. 'Twas I; but 'tis not I; I do not shame To tell you what I was, fince my converfion So fweetly taftes, being the thing I am.

Rof. But for the bloody napkin ?

Oli. By and by.

When from the firft to laft, betwixt us two,
Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd,
As how I came into that defart 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 inftantly unto his cave,

There ftrip'd himself, and here

upon

his arm The lionefs had torn fome flesh away,

Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted,
And cry'd in fainting upon Rofalind.-

Brief, I recover'd him; bound up

his wound; And, after fome small space, being strong at heart, He fent me hither, ftranger as I am,

To tell this ftory, that you might excufe
His broken promife; and to give this napkin,
Dy'd in his blood, unto the fhepherd-youth,
That he in fport doth call his Rojalind.

Cel. Why, how now Ganymed, fweet Ganymed?

[Rof. faints Oli. Many will fwoon, when they do look on blood. Cel. There is more in it:- coufin 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

a man's heart.

lack

Rof. I do fo, I confefs it. Ah, Sir, a body would