Most truly limn'd, and living in your face,
Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke
That lov'd your father: The residue of your fortune,
Go to my cave and tell me.-Good old man,
Thou art right welcome as thy master is;

Support him by the arm.-Give me your hand,
And let me all your fortunes understand.

[Exeunt

IV.

ACT IV.-SCENE III.

Enter OLIVER.

Oli. Good morrow, fair ones: Pray you, if you know Where, in the purlieus of this forest, stands

A sheep-cote, 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,a brings you to the place:
But at this hour the house doth keep itself,
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: the woman low,
And browner than her brother." Are not you
The owner of the house I did inquire 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 handkercher 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

a Left on your right hand-being, as you pass, left.

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 itself!

Under an old 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 catlike watch,
When that the sleeping man should stir; for 't is
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 a him the most unnatural

That liv'd 'mongst 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,b
Made him give battle to the lioness,

Who quickly fell before him; in which hurtling
From miserable slumber I awak'd.

Cel. Are you his brother?

Ros.

Was it you he rescued ?

Cel. Was 't you that did so oft contrive to kill him?
Oli. 'T was I; but 't is 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.

a Render-represent.

By and by,

b Just occasion-such reasonable ground as might have amply justi fiad or given just occasion for, abandoning him.

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
The lioness had torn some flesh away,

Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted,

And cried, 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

am,

To tell this story, that you might excuse

His broken promise, and to give this napkin,
Dyed in this blood, unto the shepherd youth
That he in sport doth call his Rosalind.

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-Ganymede! Oli. Look, he recovers.

Ros.

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, sirrah, 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?

[Exeunt