now I will be your Rofalind in a more coming on difpofition; and ask me what yau will, I will grant it. Orla. Then love me, Rofalind.

all.

Rof. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays, and

Orla. And wilt thou have me?

Rof. Ay, and twenty fuch.
Orla. What fay'st thou?
Rof. Are you not good?
Orla. I hope fo.

Rof. Why then, can one defire too much of a good thing? come, fifter, you fhall be the priest, and marry Give me your hand, Orlando: what do you fay

us.

Sifter?

Orla. Pray thee, marry us.

Cel. I cannot fay the words.

Rof. You must begin-Will you, Orlando Cel. Go to-Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rofalind?

Orla. I will.

Rof. Ay, but when?

Orla. Why now, as fast as the can marry us.

Rof. Then you must fay, I take thee Rofalind for wife.

Orla. I take thee Rofalind for wife.

Rof. I might ask you for your commiffion, 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.

Orla. So do all thoughts; they are wing'd.

Rof. Now tell me, how long would you have her, after you have poffeft her.

Orla. For ever and a day.

Rof. 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 defires than a monkey; I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain; and I will do that, when you are difpos'd to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when you are inclin'd to fleep.

Orla. But will my Rofalind do fo?

Rof. By my life, fhe will do as I do.
Orla. O, but he is wife.

Rof. Or else she could not have the wit to do this; the wifer, the waywarder: make the doors faft upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the cafement; fhut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole; ftop that, it will fly with the fmoak out at the chimney.

Orla. A man that had a wife with fuch a wit, he might fay, Wit, wither wilt1?

Rof. Nay, you might keep that check for it, 'till you meet your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed. Orla. And what wit could wit have to excuse that? Ref. Marry, to fay fhe came to feek you there. You fhall never take her without her answer, unless you take her without her tongue. O that woman, that cannot make her fault her husband's occafion, let her never nurse her child herself, for fhe will breed it like a fool!

Orla. For these two hours, Rofalind, I will leave thee.

Rof. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. Orla. I must attend the Duke at dinner. By two o'clock I will be with thee again.

Rof. Ay, go your ways, go your ways-I knew what you would prove, my friends told me as much, and I thought no lefs-that flattering tongue of yours won me 'tis but one cast away, and so come death two o'th' clock is your hour!

Orla. Ay, fweet Rofalind.

Rof. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your promife, or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical break-promife, and the most hollow lover, and the moft unworthy of her you call Rofalind, that may be chofen out of the grofs band of the unfaithful; therefore beware my cenfure, and keep your promife.

Orla. With no lefs religion, than if thou wert indeed my Rofalind; fo adieu.

Rof. Well, time is the old Justice that examines all fuch offenders, and let time try. Adieu! [Exit Orla. Cel. You have fimply mifus'd our fex in your loveprate: we must have your doublet and hose pluck'd over your head, and fhew the world what the bird hath done to her own neft.

Rof. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love; but it cannot be founded: my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal.

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

Rof. No, that fame wicked baftard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceiv'd of spleen, and born of madnefs, that blind rafcally boy, that abufes every

9- I will think you the most PATHETICAL break-promife,] There is neither fenfe nor humour in this expreffion. We fhould certainly read, ATHEISTICAL break-promife. His anfwer confirms it, that he would

keep his promise with no less Religion, than

WARBURTON.

I do not fee but that pathetical may stand, which feems to afford as much fenfe and as much humour as atheistical.

one's

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 fight of Orlando; I'll go find a fhadow, and figh 'till he come.

Cel. And I'll fleep.

SCENE IV.

Enter Jaques, Lords, and Forefters.

Jaq. Which is he that kill'd the deer?
Lord. Sir, it was I.

[Exeunt.

Jaq. Let's prefent him to the Duke, like a Roman Conqueror; and it would do well to fet the deer's horns upon his head, for a branch of Victory; have you no Song, Forefter, for this purpose?

For. Yes, Sir.

Jaq. Sing it; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, fo it make noife enough.

Mufick, Song.

What fhall he have that kill'd the deer?

His leather fkin and horns to wear;

Then fing him home : —

'no Scorn 3

3

take thou

To wear the born, the horn, the horn:
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.

3 In former Editions:

Then fing him home, the reft fhall bear this burden.] This is no admirable Inftance of the fagacity of our preceding Editors, to fay nothing worse. One fhould expect, when they were Poets, they would at least have

The reft fhall

bear this Burden.

[Exeunt. SCENE

taken care of the Rhimes, and not foifted in what has nothing to answer it. Now, where is the Rhime to, the rest shall bear this Burden? Or, to ask another Question, where is the Senfe of it? Does the Poet mean, that He, that kill'd the Deer, fhall G 2

be

SCENE V.

Enter Rofalind and Celia.

Rof. How fay you now, is it not paft 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 gone forth to fleep look, who comes here.

2

Enter Silvius.

Sil. My errand is to you fair youth,
My gentle Phebe bid me give you this: [Giving a letter.]
I know not the contents; but, as I guess,

By the ftern brow, and waspish action
Which the did ufe as fhe was writing of it,

It bears an angry tenour.

Pardon me,

I am but as a guiltless meffenger.

Rof. [reading.] Patience herself would startle at this
letter,

And play the fwaggerer- bear this, bear all
She fays, 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. 'Odds my will!
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt.

Why writes fhe fo to me? Well, fhepherd, well,
This is a letter of your own device.

be fung home, and the reft fhall
bear the Deer on their Backs?
This is laying a Burden on the
Poet, that We must help him to
throw off. In fhort, the Myfte-
ry of the Whole is, that a Mar-
ginal Note is wifely thrust into
the Text: the Song being de-
fign'd to be fung by a fingle
Voice, and the Stanza's to close
with a Burden to be fung by the
whole Company. THEOBALD.

This note I have given as a fpecimen of Mr. Theobald's jo

cularity, and of the eloquence with which he recommends his emendations.

4 The foregoing noisy scene was introduced only to fill up an interval, which is to reprefent two hours. This contraction of the time we might impute to poor Rofalind's impatience, but that a few minutes after we find Orlando sending his excufe. I do not fee that by any probable divifion of the acts this abfurdity can be obviated.