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“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,

       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 aspéct?

       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 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.”

       SILVIUS

       Call you this chiding?

       CELIA

       Alas, poor shepherd!

       ROSALIND

       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.]

       OLIVER

       Good morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you know,

       Where in the purlieus of this forest stands

       A sheepcote fenc’d about with olive trees?

       CELIA

       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.

       OLIVER

       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: the woman low,

       And browner than her brother.” Are not you

       The owner of the house I did inquire for?

       CELIA

       It is no boast, being ask’d, to say we are.

       OLIVER

       Orlando doth commend him to you both;

       And to that youth he calls his Rosalind

       He sends this bloody napkin:—are you he?

       ROSALIND

       I am: what must we understand by this?

       OLIVER

       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.

       CELIA

       I pray you, tell it.

       OLIVER

       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 befell! he threw his eye aside,

       And, mark, what object did present itself!

       Under an oak, whose boughs were moss’d with age,

       And high top bald with dry antiquity,

       A wretched ragged man, o’ergrown with hair,

       Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck

       A green and gilded snake had wreath’d itself,

       Who, with her head nimble in threats, approach’d

       The opening of his mouth; but suddenly,

       Seeing Orlando, it unlink’d itself,

       And with indented glides did slip away

       Into a bush: under which bush’s shade

       A lioness, with udders all drawn dry,

       Lay couching, head on ground, with cat-like 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.

       CELIA

       O, I have heard him speak of that same brother;

       And he did render him the most unnatural

       That liv’d amongst men.

       OLIVER

       And well he might so do,

       For well I know he was unnatural.

       ROSALIND

       But, to Orlando:—did he leave him there,

       Food to the suck’d and hungry lioness?

       OLIVER

       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

       From miserable slumber I awak’d.

       CELIA

       Are you his brother?

       ROSALIND

       Was it you he rescued?

       CELIA

       Was’t you that did so oft contrive to kill him?

       OLIVER

       ‘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.

       ROSALIND

       But, for the bloody napkin?—

       OLIVER

       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 desert 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 stripp’d himself, and here upon his arm

      

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