_Em._ Can I think That my lov'd brother's life has been in danger, Nor feel a strong emotion? _Ber._ (_ironically._) Generous pity! But when that danger has so long been past, You should forget your terrors. _Em._ I shall never. For when I think that danger sprung from friendship; That Rivers, to preserve another's life, Incurr'd this peril, still my wonder rises. _Ber._ And why another's life? Why not Orlando's? Such caution more betrays than honest freedom. _Guild._ He's still the same, the gibing, thoughtless Bertrand, Severe of speech, but innocent of malice. _Exit_ GUILDFORD: EMMELINA _going_. _Ber._ Stay, my fair cousin! still with adverse eyes Am I beheld? Had I Orlando's form, I mean, were I like him, _your brother's friend_, Then would your looks be turn'd thus coldly on me? _Em._ But that I know your levity means nothing, And that your heart accords not with your tongue, This would offend me. _Ber._ Come, confess the truth, That this gay Florentine, this Tuscan rover, Has won your easy heart, and given you his: I know the whole; I'm of his secret council; He has confess'd---- _Em._ Ha! what has he confess'd? _Ber._ That you are wond'rous fair: nay, nothing further: How disappointment fires her angry cheek! [_Aside._ Yourself have told the rest, your looks avow it; Your eyes are honest, they conceal no secrets. _Em._ Know, Sir, that virtue no concealment needs: So far from dreading, she solicits notice, And wishes every secret thought she harbours Bare to the eye of men, as 'tis to Heav'n. _Ber._ Yet mark me well: trust not Orlando's truth; The citron groves have heard his amorous vows Breath'd out to many a beauteous maid of Florence; Bred in those softer climes, his roving heart Ne'er learn'd to think fidelity a virtue: He laughs at tales of British constancy. But see, Orlando comes--he seeks you here. With eyes bent downwards, folded arms, pale cheeks Disorder'd looks, and negligent attire, And all the careless equipage of love, He bends this way. Why does the mounting blood Thus crimson your fair cheek? He does not see us-- I'll venture to disturb his meditations, And instantly return. [_Exit_ BERTRAND. _Em._ No more; but leave me. He's talkative but harmless, rude but honest; Fuller of mirth than mischief.--See they meet-- This way they come: why am I thus alarm'd? What is't to me that here Orlando comes? Oh for a little portion of that art Ungenerous men ascribe to our whole sex! A little artifice were prudence now: But I have none; my poor unpractis'd heart Is so unknowing of dissimulation, So little skill'd to seem the thing it is not, That if my lips are mute my looks betray me. _Re-enter_ BERTRAND _with_ ORLANDO. _Ber._ Now to alarm her heart, and search out his. [_Aside._