Alack, in me what strange effect Sil. Call you this chiding? Ros. 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 love 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. [Exit Silvius. Enter Oliver. Oli. Good-morrow, fair ones: Pray you, if you know Where, in the purlieus2 of this forest, stands Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom, The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream, Left on your right hand, brings you to the place: But at this hour the house doth keep itself, There's none within. (1) Nature. (2) Environs of a forest. Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, Then I should know you by description; Such garments, and such years: The boy is fair, Of female favour, and bestows himself Like a ripe sister: but the woman low, And browner than her brother. Are not you The owner of the house I did inquire for? Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say, we are. Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both; And to that youth, he calls his Rosalind, He sends this bloody napkin ; Are you he? Ros. 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 stain'd. Cel. I pray you, tell it. Oli. When last the young Orlando parted from you, He left a promise to return again Within an hour; and, pacing through the forest, A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, And with indented glides did slip away Lay couching, head on ground, with cat-like watch, To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead: (1) Handkerchief. This seen, Orlando did approach the man, And found it was his brother, his elder brother. Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that same brother; And he did render1 him the most unnatural, Oli. And well he might do so, For well I know he was unnatural. Ros. But, to Orlando ;-Did he leave him there, Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness? Oli. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd 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,2 From miserable slumber I awak'd. Cel. Are you his brother? Ros. Was it you he rescu'd? Cel. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him? Oli. '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 ?— Oli. There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted, And cry'd, in fainting, upon Rosalind. Brief, I recover'd him; bound up his wound; And, after some small space, being strong at heart, He sent me hither, stranger as I am, To tell this story, that you might excuse Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede? sweet Gany Oli. Many will swoon when they do look on blood. Cel. There is more in it :-Cousin-Ganymede ! Oli. Look, he recovers. Ros. I would I were at home. Cel. We'll lead you thither : pray you, will you take him by the arm? ́Oli. 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.-Heigh ho! Oli. This was not counterfe; there is too great testimony in your complexion, that it was a passion of earnest. Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you. Oli. 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. Oli. 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. ACT V. SCENE I.-The same. Enter Touchstone and Audrey. Touch. We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey. Aud. '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. Touch. It is meat and drink to me, to see a clown: By my troth, we that have good wits, have much to answer for; we shall be flouting; we cannot hold. Will. Good even, Audrey. Aud. God 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?" Will. Five and twenty, sir. Touch. A ripe age; Is thy name William? Touch. A fair name: Wast born i'the forest here? Touch. Thank God;-a good answer : Art rich? Will. 'Faith, sir, so, so. Touch. So, so, is good, very good, very excellent good:-and yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thou wise? Will. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. |