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Come, come, you are a fool,
And turned into the extremity of love.
I saw her hand; she has a leathern hand,
A freestone-colored hand; I verily did think
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands;
This is a man's invention, and his hand.
Sil. Sure, it is hers.
Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style, 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 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. Art thou god to shepherd turned,
That a maiden's heart hath burned?
Can a woman rail thus?
Sil. Call you this railing?
Ros. Why, thy godhead laid apart,
Warr'st thou with a woman's heart?
Did you ever hear such railing?
Whiles the eye of man did woo me,
If the scorn of your bright eyne
Sil. Call you this chiding?
Cel. Alas, poor shepherd!
Ros. Do you pity him? No, he deserves no pity.-Wilt thou love such a woman?-What, to make thee an instru
ment, 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.
Oli. Good-morrow, fair ones. Pray you, if you know Where, in the purlieus of this forest, stands
A sheep-cote, fenced about with olive-trees?
Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbor bottom, The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream,
Left on your right hand, brings you to the place;
Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
Cel. It is no boast, being asked, to say we are.
Ros. I am. What must we understand by this?
I pray you, tell it.
Within an hour; and, pacing through the forest,
Lo, what befell! He threw his eye aside,
A wretched, ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,
Seeing Orlando, it unlinked itself,
And with indented glides did slip away
Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch.
To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead.
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 render him the most unnatural
That lived 'mongst men.
And well he might so do,
For well I know he was unnatural.
Ros. But, to Orlando.-Did he leave him there, Food to the sucked and hungry lioness?
Oli. Twice did he turn his back, and purposed 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
Cel. Are you his brother?
Was it you he rescued?
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 ?
Who gave me fresh array and entertainment.
There stripped himself, and here upon his arm
Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted,
And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind.
Brief, I recovered him; bound up his wound;
And, after some small space, being strong at heart,
To tell this story, that you might excuse
His broken promise, and to give this napkin,
Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede? Sweet Ganymede?
[ROSALIND faints. Oli. Many will swoon when they do look on blood. Cel. There is more in it.- Cousin Oli. Look, he recovers.
I would I were at home. Cel. We'll lead you thither.
I 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 counterfeit; 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?
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.
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?
Will. William, sir.
Touch. A fair name. Wast born i' the forest here?
Touch. Thank God;-a good answer. Art rich?
Touch. So, 80, 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.
Touch. Why, thou say'st well. I do now remember a saying; The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool. The heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a grape, would open his lips when he put it into his mouth; meaning thereby that grapes were made to eat, and lips to open. You do love this maid?
Will. I do, sir.
Touch. Give me your hand.
Art thou learned?
Touch. Then learn this of me. To have, is to have; for it is a figure in rhetoric, that drink, being poured out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty the other; for all your writers do consent, that ipse is he; now you are not ipse, for I am he.
Will. Which he, sir?
Touch. He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, you clown, abandon, which is in the vulgar, leave,—the society, which in the boorish is, company,-of this female, -which in the common is, woman, which together is, abandon the society of this female; or, clown, thou perishest; or, to thy better understahding, diest; or, to wit, I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into death, thy liberty into bondage. I will deal in poison with thee, or in