SCENE II. Another Part of the Forest.

Enter JAQUES and Lords, in the habit of 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.

Jaq. Sing it; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it makes noise enough.

SONG.

1. What shall he have that killed the deer? 2. His leathern skin, and horns to wear.

1. Then sing him home.

Take thou no scorn to wear the horn;

It was a crest ere thou wast born;

The rest shall

bear this bur

1. Thy father's father wore it; den.
2. And thy father bore it.

All. The horn, the horn, the lusty horn,
Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.1

SCENE III. The Forest.

Enter ROSALIND and CELIA.

[Exeunt.

Ros. How say you now? Is it not past two

o'clock?

And here much Orlando! 2

1 In Playford's Musical Companion, 1673, where this song is set to music by John Hilton, the words “ Then sing him home" are omitted; and it should be remarked that in the old copy, these words, and those which have been regarded by the editors as a stage direction, are given in one line.

2 i. e. here is no Orlando. Much was a common ironical expression of doubt or suspicion, still used by the vulgar in the same sense; as, "much of that!"

Cel. I warrant you, with pure love, and troubled brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows, and is gone forth-to sleep. Look, who comes here.

Enter SILVIUS.

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

[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 tenor.
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 phoenix. 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.

Ros.

Come, come, you are a fool,

And turned into the extremity of love.

I saw her hand; she has a leathern hand,

A freestone-colored 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, 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 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 turned,
That a maiden's heart hath burned?

Can a woman rail thus ?

Sil. Call you this railing?

Ros. 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,
That could do no vengeance to me-
Meaning me, a beast.—

If the scorn of your bright eyne1
Have power to raise such love in mine,
Alack, in me what strange effect
Would they work in mild aspect?
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 seal up thy mind;
Whether that thy youth and kind2
Will the faithful offer take
Of me, and all that I can make ;
Or else by him my love deny,
And then I'll study how to die.
Sil. Call you this chiding?
Cel. Alas, poor shepherd!

[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,) 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.

Enter OLIVER.

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,
Left on your right hand, brings you to the place;
But at this hour the house doth keep itself;
There's none within.

Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
Then I should know you by description;
Such garments, and such years. The boy is fair,
Of female favor, and bestows' himself
Like a ripe sister; but the woman low,
And browner than her brother. Are not you
The owner of the house I did inquire for?

Cel. It is no boast, being asked, to say we are.
Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both;
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?
Oli. Some of my shame; if you will know of me
What man I am, and how, and why, and where
This handkerchief was stained.

Cel.

I pray you, tell it. Oli. When last the young Orlando parted from you, He left a promise to return again

Within an hour; and, pacing through the forest,
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy,
Lo, what befell! He threw his eye aside,
And, mark, what object did present itself!

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,
And high top bald with dry antiquity,

A wretched, ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,
Lay sleeping on his back. About his neck
A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself,
Who with her head, nimble in threats, approached
The opening of his mouth; but suddenly,
Seeing Orlando, it unlinked itself,
And with indented glides did slip away
Into a bush; under which bush's shade
A lioness, with udders all drawn dry,

Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch,
When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis
The royal disposition of that beast,

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 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

From miserable slumber I awaked.

Cel. Are you his brother?

Ros.

Was it you he rescued ?

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 ?—

1 The ancient editions read, " Under an old oak," which hurts the measure without improving the sense. The correction was made by Steevens. 2 i. e. represent or render this account of him.