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thee: but wind away, begone I will not to wedding with thee.

Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave of them all shall fout me out of

my calling. [Exeunt,

SCEN E changes to a Cottage in the Forest.

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Enter Rosalind and Celia. Rol:

Ever talk to me, I

Cel. Do, I prythee; but yet have the grace to consider, that tears do not become a man.

Rof But have I not cause to weep :
Cel. As good cause as one would defire, therefore weep.
Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling colour.

Cel. Something browner than Judas's ; marry, his kisses are. Judas's own children.

Rof. l'faith, his hair is of a good colour. Cel. An excellent colour : your chesnut was ever the only colour.

Ref. (19) And his killing is as full of fanctity, as the touch of holy beard.

Cel. (20) He hath bought a pair of caft lips of Diana; a


(:9) And his kissing is as full of sanctity, as the touch of boly bread.] Tho'chis be the reading of the oldest copies, I have made no fcruple to substitute an emendation of Mr. Warburton, which mightily adds to the propriety of the fimile. What can the poet be suppos'd to mean by boly bread ? not the sacramental, sure; that would have been prophanation, upon a subject of so much Jevity. But boly beard very beautifully alludes to the kiss of a holy Saint, which the ancients call'd the kiss of charity. And for Rosalind to say, that Orlando kiss’d as holily as a Saint, renders the comparison very juft.

(20) He hath bought a pair of chaste lips of Diana ; a nun of Winter's fiberbood kiljes not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them.} This pair of chaste lips is a corruption as old as the second edition in Foiio; I have restor'd with the first Folio, a pair of cast lips, i.e. a pair lett off by Diana. Again, what idea does a nun of Winter's fifterhood give us ? tho' I have not ventur’d to disturb the text, it seems mure probable to me that the poet wrote;

A nun of Winifred's fijler bood, &c. Not, indeed, that ihere was any real religious order of that denomina, cion: Lut the legend of St. Winifred is this. She was a christian vir


fun of winter's sisterhood kislès not more religiously; the very

'ice of chastity is in chem.
Rof. But why did he swear he would come this morn-
ing, and comes not?

Cel. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.
. Do you think so?

Cel. Yes; I think, he is not a pick-purse, nor a horse-
stealer ;

but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a cover'd goblet, or a worm-eaten nut. Rof. Not true in love? Cél. Yes, when he is in; but, I think, he is not in. Rof. You have heard him swear downright, he was.

Cel. Was, is not is; besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than the word of a capiter; they are both che confirmers of false reckonings-; he attends here in the forest on the Duke your father.

Rof. I met the Duke yesterday, and had much question with him : he ak'd me, of what parentage I was; I told him, of as good as he ; so he laugh'd, and let me go But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando? Cel

. O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses, fieaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite travers athwart the heart of his lover; as a puifny tilter, that spurs his horse but one fidey breaks his staff like a noble goose; but all's brave that youth mounts, and folly guides : who comes here?

Enter Corin.
Cor. Mistress and master, you have oft enquir'd
After the shepherd that complain'd of love,
Whom you saw fitting by me on the turf,
Praising the proud dildainful shepherdess
That was his mistress.

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gin at Holywell a small town in Flintshire, so tenacious of her chastity, that when a tyrannous governor laid siege to her, he could not reduce her to compliance, but was oblig'd to ravish, and afterwards behe

revenge of her obstinacy. Vid. Cambden's Britannia by Dr. Gibson p. 688. This tradition forts very well with our poet's allufion.

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Cel. Well; and what of him?"

Car. If you will see a pageant truly play'd
Between the pale complexion of true love,
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain ;
Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you,
I. you will mark it.

Ros. O come, let us remove;
The fight of lovers feedeth those in love :
Bring us but to this fight, and you shall say
I'll prove a busy actor in their play.

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SCENE changes to another part of the Forest,

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Enter Silvius and Phebe.
Sil. Weet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not Phebe;

Say, that you love me not; but say not so
In bitterness ; the common executioner,
Whose heari th'accustom'd light of death makes hard,
Falls not the ax upon the humbled neck,
But first begs pardon : (21) will you fterner be
Than he that deals, and lives by bloody drops?

Enter Rosalind, Celia and Corin. Phe. I would not be thy executioner ; I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. Thou tell’ft me, there is murder in mine eyes ; 'Tis pretty, fure, and very probable, That eyes, that are the frail'it and softest things, Who shut their coward gates on atomies, Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers ! Now I do frown on thee with all my heart, And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee: Now counterfeit to swoon; why, now fall down; Or if thou can'ft not, oh, for shame, for shame, (21)

will you fierner be, Than be that dies and lives by bloody drops ? 'This is spoken of the executioner. He lives, indeed, by Bloody drops, if you will : but how does he die by bloody drops ? the poet muft cero tainly have wrote--that deals and livies &c, ie. that gets his bread, and makes a trade of cutting off heads.

Mr. Warburton.


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Lye not, to say mine eyes are murderers.
Now shew the wound mine eyes have made in thee;
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
Some fear of it ; lean but upon a rush,
The cicatrice and capable impressure
Thy palm some moment keeps: but now mine eyei,
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not;
Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes
That can do hurt.

Sil. O dear Phebe,
If ever (as that ever may

be near)
You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy,
Then mall you know the wounds invisible
That loves keen arrows make.

Phe. But, 'till that tiine,
Come not thou near me; and when that time comes,
Afilist me with thy mocks, pity me not;
As, 'till that time; I fhall not pity thee.

Rof. And why, I pray you? who might be your mother',
(22) That you infult, exult, and rail, at once :
Over the wretched ? (23) what though you have beauty's
(As, by my faith, I fee no more in you
Than without candle may go dark to bed,)
Muit you be therefore proud and pitilefs ?
Why, what means this ? why do you look on me?
I see no more in you than in the ordinary
Of nature's fale-work : odds, my litt'e life !
I think, the means to tangle mine eyes too:

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(22) That you insult, exult, and all at once':

Over sbe suretibell. j If the speaker only intended to accuse the person spoken to, for insulting and exuluing, instead of all at once, it ought to have been, bob at once. But on examining, according to fact, the crime of the person accus*d, we shall find we ought to read the line thus ;

That you infult, exult, and rail, at oncè &c. f
For these three things Phebe was guilty of.

Mr. Warburica.
(23) -Wbat, though you bave no beauty,]. Tho' all the printed
copies agree in this reading, it is very accuraicly observ'd to me by an
ingenious unknown correspondent, who signs himself i. H.' (and to
whom I can only here make my acknowledgments) that the Negative
ought to be left out.


No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after its
'Tis not your inky brows, your black filk hair,
Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my spirits to your worship.
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her
Like foggy south puffing with wind and rain ?
You are a thousand times a properer man,
Than fhe a woman.

'Tis such fools as you,
That make the world full of ill-favour'd children ;
'Tis not her glass, but you, that fiatter her;
And out of you she sees herself more proper,
Than any of her lineaments can show her.
But, miltress, know yourself; dawn on your knees,
And thank heav'n, fafting, for a good 'man's love;
For I inust tell you friendly in your ear,
Sell when you can, you are not for all markets.
Cry the man mercy, love him, take his offer,
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a coffer:
So take her to thee, shepherd; fare you well. ;

Pbe. Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together; I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo.

Rof. He's fallen in love with your foulness, and she'll fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce her with bitter words : why look you so upon me? Pbe. For no ill will I bear you.

Rof. I pray you, do not fall in love with me, For I am faller than vows made in wine ; Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house, 'Tis at the cuft of olives, here hard by : Will you go, fifter thepherd, ply her hard: Come, litter ; fhepherdels look on him better, And be not proud ; tho' all the world could see, None could be so abus’d in fight as he, Come, to our flock,


. Pbe. Dead shepherd, now I find thy faw of might; Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight,

Sil, Sweet Phebe!
Phe. Hah: what fay'ft thou, Silvius?
Sil. Sweet Pbebe, pity me.


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