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morous than a parrot against rain; more new- 158 fangled than an ape; more giddy in my desires than a monkey: I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you are disposed to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when thou art inclined to sleep. Orl. But will my Rosalind do so?

164 Ros. By my life, she will do as I do. Orl. O! but she is wise.

Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the wiser, the waywarder: make the doors 168 upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole; stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney.

172 Orl. A man that hath a wife with such a wit, he might say, 'Wit, whither wilt?'

Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for it till you met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed.

177 Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse that? Ros. Marry, to say she came to seek you

there. You shall never take her without her answer, unless you take her without her tongue. 0! that woman that cannot make her fault her husband's occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed it like a fool.

185 Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee.

Ros. Alas! dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours.

189 158 against: in expectation of new-fangled: fond of what is new 161 Diana fountain; cf. n.

(163 hyen: hyena 168 make: bar

174 'Wit ... wilt'; cf. n. 184 husband's occasion; cf. n.

175 check: rebuke

Orl. I must attend the duke at dinner: by two o'clock I will be with thee again.

Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew what you would prove, my friends told me as much, and I thought no less: that flattering tongue of yours won me: 'tis but one cast away, and so, come, death! Two o'clock is your hour? Orl. Ay, sweet Rosalind.

197 Ros. 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 promise or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical breakpromise, and the most hollow lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind, that may be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful. Therefore, beware my censure, and keep your promise.

207 Orl. With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind: so, adieu.

Ros. Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let Time try. 211 Adieu.

Exit [Orlando]. Cel. You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate: we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head, and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest. 216

Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But it cannot be sounded: my affection hath

an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal. 195 cast away: forsaken

199 mend: amend 202 pathetical: 'miserable' (?)

205 gross: whole 208 religion: fidelity

211 Time try: i.e., prove your fidelity 213 simply: completely misused: reviled 216 bird ... nest; cf. n.

220 bay of Portugal; cf. n. 12 The rest shall bear this burden.

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

222 Ros. No; that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen, and born of madness, that blind rascally boy that abuses every 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 sight of Orlando: I'll go find a shadow and sigh till he come. Cel. And I'll sleep.



Scene Two



[Another Part of the Forest] Enter Jaques and Lords, Foresters. Jaq. Which is he that killed the deer? [First] Lord. Sir, it was I.

Jaq. Let's present him to the duke, like a Roman conqueror; and it would do well to set the deer's horns


his head for a branch of victory. Have you no song, forester, for this purpose?

[Second] Lord. Yes, sir.

Jaq. Sing it: 'tis no matter how it be in tune so it make noise enough.

Music. Song.
'What shall he have that kill'd the deer?
His leather skin and horns to wear.
Then sing him home.

224 thought: melancholy spleen: impulse
S. d. Lords, Foresters: (Lords dressed as foresters)
5 branch; cf. n.

S. d. The . . . burden; cf. n.

Take thou no scorn to wear the horn;
It was a crest ere thou wast born:

Thy father's father wore it,

And thy father bore it:
The horn, the horn, the lusty horn
Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.'



Scene Three

[The Forest of Arden]

Enter Rosalind and Celia. Ros. How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? And here much Orlando!

Cel. I warrant you, with pure love and a troubled brain, he hath ta'en his bow and ar- 4 rows, and is gone forth to sleep.

Enter Silvius.
Look, who comes here.

Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth.
My gentle Phebe did bid me give you this:


[Giving a letter.] I know not the contents; but, as I guess By the stern brow and waspish action Which she did use as she was writing of it, It bears an angry tenour: pardon me; I am but as a guiltless messenger.

Ros. Patience herself would startle at this letter, And play the swaggerer: bear this, bear all: She

says I am not fair; that I lack manners; 16 She calls me proud, and that she could not love me Were man as rare as phonix. 'Od's my will! 18 phenix; cf. n.

12 a


Her love is not the hare that I do hunt:
Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well, 20
This is a letter of your own device.

Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents:
Phebe did write it.

Come, come, you are a fool,
And turn'd into the extremity of love.

24 I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand, A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands: She has a housewife's hand; but that's no matter: I say she never did invent this letter; This is a man's invention, and his hand.

Sil. Sure, it is hers.

Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style, 32 A style for challengers; why, she defies me, Like Turk to Christian; woman's gentle brain Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention, Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect

36 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. Ros. She Phebes me. Mark how the tyrant writes. [Reads. ]

40 ‘Art thou god to shepherd turn’d,

That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?'
Can a woman rail thus ?
Sil. Call you this railing?

44 Ros. [reads.]

'Why, thy godhead laid apart,
Warr'st thou with a woman's heart?'

25 hand: handwriting
34 Turk to Christian; cf. n.
36 Ethiop: dark

26 freestone-colour'd: brick-colored
35 giant-rude: excessively rude

45 laid apart: put away

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