Her love is not the hare that I do hunt: Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well, Sylv. No, I protest, I know not the contents; 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? Sylv. So please you, for I never heard it yet; Yet heard too much of Phoebe's cruelty. Ros. She Phoebe's me: mark how the tyrant writes. [Reads.] "Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, "That a maiden's heart hath burn'd ?” Can a woman rail thus? Syl. Call you this railing? Ros. [Reads.] "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' Sylv. Call you this chiding? Ros. [Crosses to R.] 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 loves 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. Enter OLIVER, l. [Exit SYLVIUS, L. Oliv. (L.) 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. (c.) West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom, Brings you to the place: But, at this hour, the house doth keep itself; Oliv. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, Such garments, and such years: "The boy is fair, Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are. And to that youth, he calls his Rosalind, He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he? Ros. [Advancing to c.] I am: What must we understand by this? Oliv. Some of my shame; if you will know of me What man I am, and how, and why, and where This handkerchief was stain'd. Cel. I pray you, tell it. Oliv. When last the young Orlando parted from you, He left a promise to return again Within an hour; and, pacing through the forest, Lo, what befel! he threw his eye aside, And, mark, what object did present itself! Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age, A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, Lay sleeping on his back! about his neck A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself, Lay couching, head on ground, with cat-like 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. Ros. O, I have heard him speak of that same brother; And he did render him the most unnatural That lived 'mong'st men. Oliv. 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? Oliv. (L. c.) 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. (L. c.) Are you his brother? Ros. (c.) Was it you he rescued? Cel. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him? Oliv. '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 ? Oliv. By and by. When, from the first to last, betwixt us two, In brief, he led me to the gentle Duke, There stripp'd himself, and here, upon his arm, Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted, Brief, I recover'd him; bound up his wound; To tell this story, that you might excuse Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede? sweet Ganymede? [ROSALIND faints. Oliv. Many will swoon when they do look on blood. Cel. There is more in it :-Cousin-Ganymede ! Oliv. Look, he recovers. Ros. I would I were at home! Cel. We'll lead you thither : I pray you will take him by the arm! Oliv. 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. Heigho! Oliv. This was not counterfeit: there is too great testimony in your complexion, that it was a passion of earnest. Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you. Oliv. 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. Oliv. 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, L. ACT V. SCENE I.-The Forest. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY, L. Touch. (L.) We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey. Aud. (R. C.) '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, L. Touch. (c.) It is meat and drink in me to see a clown: Aud. Give ye good even, William. Touch. Good even, gentle friend: Cover thy head; cover thy head: nay, pr'ythee, be covered. How old are you, friend? Wil. Five and twenty, sir. Touch. A ripe age: Is thy name William? Wil. William, sir. Touch. A fair name: Wast born i' the forest here? Wil. Ay, sir, I thank heaven. Touch. Thank heaven! a good answer: Art rich? Wil. 'Faith, sir, so, so. Touch. So, so! 'Tis good, very good, very excellent good-and yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thou wise? Wil. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. Touch. Why, thou say'st well? I do now remember a saying; "The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool." The heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a grape, would open his lips when be put it into his mouth; meaning thereby, |