תמונות בעמוד

Clo. When a man's verses cannot be understood, not a man's good wit seconded with the forward child, understanding; it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room; truly, I would the gods had mnade thee poetical.

Aud. I do not know what poetical is; is it honeft in eleed and word ; is it a true thing?

Clo. No, truly; for the trueft poetry is the most feigning i and lovers are given to poetry, and what they swear in poetry, may be said, as lovers, they do feign.

Aud: Do you wish then, that the gods had made me, poetical?

Clo. I do, truly; for thou swear'st to me, thou art honefti now if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didit feign.

Aud. Would you not have me honeft?

Clo. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favour'd; for honefty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a fauce to sugar.

Jag A material fool!

Aud. Well, I am not fair s and therefore I pray the gods make me honeft !

Clo. Truly, and to caft away honefty upon a foul Nuts were to put good meat into an unclean dish.

Aud. I am not a fut, though I thank the gods I am foul.

Clo. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness; Nuttishness may come hereafter : but be it as it I will marry thee ; and to that end I have been with Sir Oliver Mar-text, the vicar of the next village, who hath promis'd to meet me in this place of the forest and so couple us.

faq. I would fain see this meeting. Aud. Well, the gods give us joy.

Clo. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the wood, no affembly but born-beafts. But what tho'? courage. As horas are odious, they are necessary. It is said, many a man knows no end of his goods : rights many a man has good horns, and knows no end of them.


may be,

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Well, that is the dowry of his wife, 'tis none of his own getting ;. horns? even so

poor men alone ? no, no, the noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal : is the single man therefore blessed ? no. As a wall'd town is more worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a married man more honourable than the bare brow of a batchelor } and by how much defence is better than no skill, so much is a horn more precious than to want.

Enter Sir Oliver Mar-text.
Here comes Sir Oliver : Sir Oliver Mar-text, you are
well met. Will you dispatch us here under this tree, or
fhall we go with you to your chapel ?

Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the woman?
Clo. I will not take her on gift of any man.

Sir Oli. Truly she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful.

Jaq. Proceed, proceed ! I'll give her.

Clo. Good even, good master what ye call : how do you, Sir? you are very well met : God'ild you for your laft company, I am very glad to see you ; even a toy in hand here, Sir: nay ; pray, be covered.

Jag. Will you be married, Motley ?

Glo. As the ox hath his bow, Sir; the horse his curb, and the faulcon his bells, fo man hath his desire; and as pigeons bill, fo wedlock would be nibling.

Jag. And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married under a buth like a beggar; get you to church, and have a good prieft that can tell you what marriage is; this fellow will but join you together, as they join wainscot; then one of you will prove a fhrunk pannel, and like green timber, warp, warp.

Clo. I am not in the mind, but I were better to be married of him than of another; for he is not like to marry me well ; and not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife. Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.

Clo. Come, sweet Audrey, we must be married, or we must live in bawdry : farewel, good Sir Oliver; noc sweet Oliver, O brave Oliver, leave me not behind

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thee :

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 Aout me out of my calling. [Exeunt. SCENE changes to a Cottage in the Foreft.

Enter Rosalind and Celia.
Ever talk to me, I weep

Ref.Ne. Do, "pr’ythee; But yet have the grace

to consider, that tears do not become a man.

Ros. But have I not cause to weep?
Cél. As good cause as one would defire, therefore

weep. Rof. His very hair is of the diffembling colour.

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

Rof. I'faith, his hair is of a good colour.

Cél. An excellent colour : your chesnut was ever the only lour.

Rol. (19) And his kissing is as full of sanctity, as the touch of holy beard.

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


(19) And bis kiffing is as full of Janetiry, as tbe touch of boły bread.] Tho this be the reading of the oldest copies, I have made no scruple 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 I not the sacramental, sure; that would have been prophanation, upon a subject of so much levity. But boly beard very beautifully alludes to the kiss of a holy Saint, which the ancients call'd the kiss of cbarity. And for Rosalind to say, that Orlando kiss'd as holily as a Saint, renders the comparison very juft.

(20) He haib bought a pair of chafte lips of Diana ; a nuri of Winter's fifterbood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in tbem.] This pair of cbafte lips is a corruption as old as the second edition in Folio; I have restord with the first Folio, a pair of caff lips, i. e. a pair left off by Diana. Again, what idea does a nun of Winter's hier. hood give us ? tho' I have not ventur’d to disturb the text, it seems more probable to me that the poet wrote;

A nun of Winifred's fifterbood, &c. Not, indeed, that there was any real religious order of that denomina. tion: but the legend of St. Winifred is this. She was a christian vir.

nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them.

Řof. But why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes nct ? Cel. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him, Rof. Do


think so? Cel

. Yes; I think, he is not a pick-purse, nor a horseftealer ; but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a cover'd goblet, or a worm-eaten nut.

Ros. Not true in love ?
Cel. 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 ftronger than the word of a capster ; they are both the 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 ask'd me, of what parentage I was: I told him, of as good as he : fo he laugh’d, and let nie go. But what talk we of father, when there is such a man as Orlando ?

Cel. O, that's a brave man ! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite travers athwart the heart of his lover; as a puisny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose ; but all's brave that youth: mounts, and fully 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 disdainful shepherdess
That was his miftress.

gin at Holywell a small town in Flintshire, so tenacious of her chastity, that when a tyrannous governor laid "fiege to her, he could not reduce her to compliance, but was obliged to ravish, and afterwards bow headed her in revenge of her obstinacy. Vid. Cambden's Britannia by Dr. Gibson, p. 685. This tradition forts very well with our poet's



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Cel. Well; and what of him?

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

Roj. O come, let us remove;
The fight of lovers fcedeth those in love :
Bring us but to this fight, and you fall fay
I'll prove a busy aclor in their play.

Exeunt: SCENE changes to another part of the Forest,

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


love me not; but say not so
In bitternels; the common executioner,
Whose heart th’accustom'd fight 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.
Pl:e. I would not be thy executioner:
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
Thou tell'It me, there is murder in mine

eyes ;
'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,
That eyes, that are the frail'ft and softest things,
Who hut 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't not, oh, for shame, for shame.

Say, that

will you fterner be, Than be obar 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 certainly have wrote that deals and lives &c. i. e, that gets his bread, and makes a trade of cutting off heads,

Mr. Warburton.


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