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.

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 ball he have that kill'd the deer?
His leather fkin and horns to wear;

Then fing him home: →→ take thou

no Scorp3 3

To wear the horn, 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.

In former Editions: Then fing him home, the reft ball bear this burden.] This is no mirable Inftance of the fagaity of our preceding Editors, fay nothing worfe. One hould expect, when they were ts, 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 reft fhall bear this Burden? Or, to afk another Question, where is the Sense of it? Does the Poet mean, that He, that kill'd the Deer, shall

4 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.

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 wafpifh action Which he 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 ftartle 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 the 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 short, 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 clofe
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 repre fent two hours. This contrac tion of the time we might im pute to poor Rofalind's impa tience, but that a few minutes after we find Orlando fending his excufe. I do not fee that by any probable divifion of the a this abfurdity can be obviated.

Sil. No, I proteft, I know not the contents; Phebe did write it.

Rof. Come, come, you're a fool,

And turn'd into th' extremity of love.

I faw her hand, the has a leathern hand,
A free-ftone-colour'd hand; I verily did think,
That her old gloves were on, but 'was her hand;
She has a hufwife's hand, but that's no matter
I fay, she never did invent this letter--

This is a man's invention, and his hand.
Sil. Sure, it is hers.

Ref. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel ftile,
A ftile for challengers; why, the defies me,
Like Turk to Chriftian; woman's gentle brain
Could not drop forth fuch 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.

Rof. She Phebe's me-mark, how the tyrant writes.

[Reads] Art thou God to fhepherd turn'd, That a maiden's heart hath burn'd,

Can a woman rail thus?

Sil. Call you this railing?

Rof. [Reads.] Why, thy Godhead laid apart,
Warr'st thou with a woman's heart?

Did you ever hear fuch railing?

Whiles the eye of man did woo me,
That could do no vengeance* to me.

Meaning me a beast.

* Vengeance is ufed for a mischief.

If the fcorn of your bright eyne
Have power to raife fuch love in mine,
Alack, in me, what strange effect
Would they work in mild afpect?
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 feal up thy mind,
Whether that thy Youth and Kind'
Will the faithful offer take

Of me, and all that I can make;
Or elfe by him love deny.

my

And then I'll ftudy how to die.

Sil. Call you this chiding?
Cel. Alas, poor fhepherd!

Rof. Do you pity him? no, he deferves no pity-Wilt thou love fuch a woman--what, to make the an inftrument, and play false strains upon thee? no to be endured!—Well, go your way to her; for I fe love hath made thee a tame fnake, and fay this t her; "that if the love me, I charge her to love thee "If fhe will not, I will never have her, unlefs tho "intreat for her." If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more company.

Exit Silvius

SCENE VI

Enter Oliver.

Oli. Good-morrow, fair ones: pray you, if

know

Where, in the purlews of this foreft, ftands
A fheep-cote fenc'd about with olive-trees?

Youth and Kind.] Kind is the old word for nature.

you

Cel

Cel. Weft of this place, down in the neighbour
bottom,

The rank of ofiers, by the murmuring stream,
Left on your right-hand, brings you to the place;
But at this hour the houfe doth keep itself,

There's none within.

Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
Then fhould I know you by defcription,
Such garments, and fuch years: " the boy is fair,
"Of female favour, and bestows himself
Like a ripe Sifter: but the woman low,
"And browner than her brother." Are not you
The owner of the house, I did enquire for?

Cel. It is no boaft, being afk'd, to fay, we are.
Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both,
And to that youth, he calls his Rofalind,
He fends this bloody napkin. Are you he?
Rof. 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 ftain'd.

Cel. I pray you, tell it.

Oli. When laft the young Orlando parted from you, He left a promife to return again

*Within an hour; and pacing through the foreft,
Chewing the food of fweet and bitter fancy,
Lo, what befel! he threw his eye afide,
And mark what object did prefent itself.
Under an oak, whofe boughs were mofs'd with age,
And high top bald with dry antiquity;

A wretched ragged man, o'er-grown with hair,
Lay fleeping on his back; about his neck

A green and gilded fnake had wreath'd itfelf,
Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'd
The opening of his mouth, but fuddenly
Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itfelf,

And with indented glides did flip away

* We must read, within two hours.
G 4

Into