Ros.
How say you now, is it not past two a Clock?
And here much Orlando.

Cel.
I warrant you, with pure Love and troubled Brain. Enter Sylvius.
He hath ta'en his Bow and Arrows, and is gone forth
To sleep: Look who comes here.

Syl.
My Errand is to you, fair Youth,
My gentle Phebe bid me give you this:
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 tenure; pardon me,
I am but as a guiltless Messenger.

Ros.
Patience her self would startle at this Letter,
And play the Swaggerer; bear this, bear all.
She says I am not fair, that I lack Manners,
She calls me proud, and that she could not love me
Were Man as rare as Phenix: 'Od's my will,
Her Love is not the Hare that I did hunt,
Why writes she so to me? Well, Shepherd, well,
This is a Letter of your own device.

Syl.
No, I protest, I know not the Contents,
Phebe did write it.

Ros.
Come, come, you are a Fool,
And turn'd into the extremity of Love.
I saw her Hand, she has a leathern Hand,
A Free-stone coloured Hand; I verily did think
That her old Gloves were on, but 'twas her Hands:
She has a Huswife's Hand, but that's no matter;
I say, she never did invent this Letter,
This is a Man's Invention, and his Hand.

Syl.
Sure it is hers.

Ros.
Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel Stile,
A Stile 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?

Syl.
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.]
Art thou God, to Shepherd turn'd,
That a Maiden's Heart hath burn'd?
Can a Woman rail thus.

Syl.
Call you this Railing? Ros. [Reads.]
Why, thy Godhead laid apart,
War'st thou with a Woman's Heart?
Did you ever hear such Railing?
Whiles the Eye of Man did woo me,
That could do no Vengeance to me.
Meaning me a Beast.
If the Scorn of your bright Eyne
Have power to raise such Love in mine,
Alack, in me, what strange effect
Would they work in mild Aspect?
Whiles you chide 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 seal up thy Mind,
Whether that thy Youth and Kind
Will the faithful Offer take
Of me, and all that I can make;
Or else by him my Love deny,
And then I'll study how to die.

Syl.

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 Instrument, and play false Strings 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.

Enter Oliver.

Oli.
Good morrow, fair ones: Pray you, if you know,
Where in the Purlews of this Forest stands
A Sheep-coat, fenc'd about with Olive-trees.

Cel.
West of this place down in the Neighbour bottom,
The rank of Osiers, by the murmuring Stream
Left on your Right-hand, bring you to the place;
But at this hour the House doth keep it self,
There's none within.

Oli.
If that an Eye may profit by a Tongue,
Then should I 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 enquire 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,
Chewing the Food of sweet and bitter Fancy,
Lo what befel! he threw his Eye aside,
And mark what Object did present it self
Under an old Oak, whose Boughs were moss'd with Age,
And high Top bald with dry Antiquity;
A wretched ragged Man, o'er-grown with Hair,
Lay sleeping on his Back; about his Neck
A green and gilded Snake had wreath'd it self,
Who with her Head, nimble in threats, approach'd
The opening of his Mouth; but suddenly
Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd it self,
And with indented glides did slip away

Into a Bush, under whose Bushes shade
A Lioness, with Udders all drawn dry,
Lay couching Head on Ground, with Catlike watch
When that the sleeping Man should stir; for 'tis
The Royal Disposition of that Beast
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 liv'd amongst Men.

Oli.
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 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 Battel to the Lioness,
Who quickly fell before him, in which hurtling
From miserable Slumber I awak'd.

Cel.
Are you his Brother?

Ros.
Was't 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.
By and by.
When from the first to last, betwixt us two,
Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd,
As how I came into that desart Place.
In brief, he led me to the gentle Duke,
Who gave me fresh Array and Entertainment,
Committing me unto my Brother's Love,
Who led me instantly unto his Cave,
There strip'd himself, and here upon his Arm
The Lioness had torn some Flesh away,
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
His broken Promise, and to give this Napkin,
Dy'd in his Blood, unto the Shepherd Youth,
That he in sport doth call his Rosalind.

Cel.
Why, how now Ganimed, sweet Ganimed?

Oli.
Many will swoon when they do look on Blood.

Cel.
There is no more in it: Cousin Ganimed!

Oli.
Look, he recovers.

Ros.
I would I were at home.

Cel.
We'll lead you thither.
I pray 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, Sirra, 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 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?

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