ROSALIND 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.

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

ROSALIND 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 everyone’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.

CELIA And I’ll sleep. Exeunt

4.2 Enter Jaques and Lords dressed as foresters JAQUES Which is he that killed the deer? FIRST LORD Sir, it was I.

JAQUES (to the others) Let’s present him to the Duke like a Roman conqueror. And it would do well to set the deer’s horns upon his head for a branch of victory. Have you no song, forester, for this purpose?

SECOND LORD Yes, sir.

JAQUES Sing it. ’Tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough.

LORDS (sing)

What shall he have that killed the deer?

His leather skin and horns to wear.

Then sing him home; the rest shall bear

This burden.

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.

Exeunt

4.3 Enter Rosalind as Ganymede and Celia as Aliena

ROSALIND How say you now? Is it not past two o’clock? And here much Orlando.

CELIA I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain he hath ta’en his bow and arrows and is gone forth to sleep.

⌈Enter Silvius⌉

Look who comes here.

SILVIUS (to Rosalind)

My errand is to you, fair youth.

My gentle Phoebe did bid me give you this.

He offers Rosalind a letter, which she takes and reads

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 tenor. Pardon me;

I am but as a guiltless messenger.

ROSALIND

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;

She calls me proud, and that she could not love me

Were man as rare as Phoenix. ‘Od’s my will,

Her love is not the hare that I do hunt.

Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well,

This is a letter of your own device.

SILVIUS

No, I protest; I know not the contents.

Phoebe did write it.

ROSALIND Come, come, you are a fool,

And turned 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 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.

SILVIUS Sure, it is hers.

ROSALIND

Why, ’tis a boisterous and a cruel style,

A style for challengers. Why, she defies me,

Like Turk to Christian. Women’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?

SILVIUS

So please you, for I never heard it yet,

Yet heard too much of Phoebe’s cruelty.

ROSALIND

She Phoebes me. Mark how the tyrant writes:

(reads) ‘Art thou god to shepherd turned,

That a maiden’s heart hath burned?’

Can a woman rail thus?

SILVIUS Call you this railing?

ROSALIND (reads)

‘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 aspect?

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. (To Silvius) 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 fenced 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