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I will physick your rankness, and yet give no thou- this gamester: I hope, I shall see an end of him; sand crowns neither. Holla, Dennis!

Enter Dennis.

Den. Calls your worship?

Oli. Was not Charles, the Duke's wrestler, here to speak with me.

Den. So please you, he is here at the door, and importunes access to you.

Oli. Call him in. [Exit Dennis.]-Twill be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is. Enter Charles.

Cha. Good morrow to your worship. Oli. Good monsieur Charles!-what's the new news at the new court?

Cha. There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news: that is, the old duke is banished by his younger brother the new duke; and three or four loving lords have put themselves into voluntary exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke; therefore he gives them good leave to wander.

Oli. Can you tell, if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, be banished with her father?

Cha. O, no; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves her, being ever from their cradles bred together, that she would have followed her exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at the court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter; and never two ladies loved as they do. Oli. Where will the old duke live?

Cha. They say, he is already in the forest of Arden, and a many merry men with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England: they say many young gentlemen flock to him every day; and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world.

oli. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new

duke?

Cha. Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand, that your younger brother, Orlando, hath a disposition to come in disguis'd against me to try a fall: To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he that escapes me without some broken limb, shall acquit him well. Your brother is but young and tender; and, for your love, I would be loath to foil him, as I must, for my own honour, if he come in therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you withal; that either you might stay him from his intendment, or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into; in that it is a thing of his own search, and altogether against my will.

for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing
more than he. Yet he's gentle; never school'd, and
yet learned; full of noble device; of all sorts en-
chantingly beloved; and, indeed, so much in the
heart of the world, and especially of my own peo-
ple, who best know him, that I am altogether
misprised: but it shall not be so long; this wrestler
shall clear all: nothing remains, but that I kindle
the boy thither, which now I'll go about. [Exit.

SCENE II-A Lawn before the Duke's Palace.
Enter Rosalind and Celia.

Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.

Ros. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of; and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget a banished father, you must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure

Cel. Herein, I see, thou lovest me not with the full weight that I love thee: if my uncle, thy banished father, had banished thy uncle, the duke my father, so thou hadst been still with me, I could have taught my love to take thy father for mine: so would'st thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously temper'd as mine is to thee. Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to rejoice in yours.

Cel. You know, my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to have: and, truly, when he dies, thou shalt be his heir: for what he hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render thee again in affection; by mine honour, I will; and when I break that oath, let me turn monster; therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry. Ros. From henceforth, I will, coz, and devise sports: let me see; What think you of falling in love?

Cel. Marry, I pr'ythee, do, to make sport withal. but love no man in good earnest; nor no further in sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou may'st in honour come off again.

Ros. What shall be our sport then?

Cel. Let us sit and mock the good housewife, Fortune, from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally.

Ros. I would, we could do so; for her benefits are mightily misplaced: and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her gifts to women.

Cel. 'Tis true: for those, that she makes fair, she scarce makes honest; and those, that she makes honest, she makes very ill-favour'dly.

Enter Touchstone.

Ros. Nay, now thou goest from fortune's office Oli. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, to nature's: fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I in the lineaments of nature. had myself notice of my brother's purpose herein, and have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him from it; but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Cel. No? When nature hath made a fair creaCharles, it is the stubbornest young fellow of ture, may she not by fortune fall into the fire?-France; full of ambition, an envious emulator of Though nature hath given us wit to flout at forevery man's good parts, a secret and villainous con- tune, hath not fortune sent in this fool to cut off triver against me his natural brother; therefore use the argument? thy discretion; I had as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger: And thou wert best look to't; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise | Cel. Peradventure, this is not fortune's work neiagainst thee by poison, entrap thee by some ther, but nature's; who, perceiving our natural treacherous device, and never leave thee till he wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, hath sent hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or this natural for our whetstone: for always the other; for, I assure thee, and almost with tears I dulness of the fool is the whetstone of his wits.-speak it, there is not one so young and so villainous this day living. I speak but brotherly of him; but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder.

Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to you: If he come to-morrow, I'll give him his payment: If ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize more: And so, God keep your worship! [Exit. Oli. Farewell, good Charles.-Now will I stir

Ros. Indeed, there is fortune too hard for nature; when fortune makes nature's natural the cutter off of nature's wit.

How now, wit? whither wander you?

Touch. Mistress, you must come away to your father.

Cel. Were you made the messenger? Touch. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come for you.

Ros. Where learned you that oath, fool?

Touch. Of a certain knight, that swore by his honour they were good pancakes, and swore by his honour the mustard was naught: now, I'll stand to

it, the pancakes were naught, and the mustard was good; and yet was not the knight forsworn.

Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge?

Ros. Ay, marry; now unmuzzle your wisdom. Touch. Stand you both forth now stroke your chins, and swear by your beards, that I am a knave. Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou art. Touch. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were: but if you swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn no more was this knight, swearing by his honour, for he never had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away, before ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard.

Cel. Pr'ythee, who is't thou mean'st ?

Touch. One that old Frederick, your father, loves. Cel. My father's love is enough to honour him. Enough! speak no more of him: you'll be whipp'd for taxation, one of these days.

Touch. The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely, what wise men do foolishly.

Cel. By my troth, thou say'st true: for since the little wit, that fools have, was silenced, the little foolery, that wise men have, makes a great show. Here comes Monsieur Le Beau.

Enter Le Beau.

Ros. With his mouth full of news.

Cel. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young.

Ros. Then shall we be news-cramm'd. Cel. All the better; we shall be the more marketable. Bonjour, Monsieur Le Beau: What's the

news?

Le Beau. Fair princess, you have lost much good sport.

is the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to perform it.

Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming: Let us now stay and see it.

Flourish. Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, Orlando,
Charles, and Attendants.

Duke F. Come on; since the youth will not be
entreated, his own peril on his forwardness.
Ros. Is yonder the man?

Le Beau. Even he, madam.

Cel. Alas, he is too young: yet he looks successfully.

Duke F. How now, daughter, and cousin? are you crept hither to see the wrestling?

Ros. Ay, my liege: so please you give us leave. Duke F. You will take little delight in it, I can tell you, there is such odds in the men: In pity of the challenger's youth, I would fain dissuade him, but he will not be entreated: Speak to him, ladies; see if you can move him.

Cel. Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau. Duke F. Do so; I'll not be by. [Duke F. goes apart. Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the princesses call for you.

Orl. I attend them, with all respect and duty. Ros. Young man, have you challenged Charles the wrestler ?

Orl. No, fair princess; he is the general challenger: I come but in, as others do, to try with him the strength of my youth.

Cel. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your years: You have seen cruel proof of this man's strength: if you saw yourself with your eyes, or knew yourself with your judgment, the fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to Le Beau. What colour, madam? How shall I embrace your own safety, and give over this atanswer you?

Cel. Sport? of what colour ?

Ros. As wit and fortune will.

Touch. Or as the destinies decree.

tempt.

Ros. Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore be misprised: we will make it our suit to Cel. Well said; that was laid on with a trowel.the duke, that the wrestling might not go forward. Touch. Nay, if I keep not my rank, Ros. Thou losest thy old smell.

Le Beau. You amaze me, ladies: I would have told you of good wrestling, which you have lost the sight of.

Ros. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling. Le Beau. I will tell you the beginning, and, if it please your ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is yet to do; and here, where you are, they are coming to perform it.

Orl. I beseech you, punish me not with your hard thoughts: wherein I confess me much guilty, to deny so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let your fair eyes, and gentle wishes, go with me to my trial: wherein if I be foiled, there is but one shamed that was never gracious; if killed, but one dead that is willing to be so I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me: the world no injury, for in it I have nothing; only in the world I fill up a place, which may be better sup

Cel. Well, the beginning, that is dead and bu-plied when I have made it empty. ried.

Le Beau. There comes an old man, and his three sons,

Cel. I could match this beginning, with an old tale.

Le Beau. Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence ;

Ros. The little strength that I have, I would it were with you.

Cel. And mine to eke out her's.

Ros. Fare you well. Pray heaven, I be deceived in you!

Cel. Your heart's desires be with you. Cha. Come, where is this young gallant, that is Ros. With bills on their necks,- Be it known un-so desirous to lie with his mother earth? to all men by these presents,

Le Beau. The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the duke's wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him, and broke three of his ribs, that there is little hope of life in him: so he served the second, and so the third: Yonder they lie; the poor old man, their father, making such pitiful dole over them, that all the beholders take his part with weeping.

Ros. Alas!

Orl. Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working.

Duke F. You shall try but one fall.

Cha. No, I warrant your grace; you shall not entreat him to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him from a first.

Orl. You mean to mock me after; you should not have mocked me before: but come your ways. Ros. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man! Cel. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong

Touch. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the fellow by the leg. [Charles and Orlando wrestle.

ladies have lost?

Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of.

Touch. Thus men may grow wiser every day! it is the first time that ever I heard, breaking of ribs was sport for ladies.

Cel. Or I, I promise thee.

Ros. But is there any else longs to see this broken musick in his sides? is there yet another dotes upon rib-breaking ?-Shall we see this wrestling, cousin? Le Beau. You must, if you stay here: for here

Ros. O excellent young man!

Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should down. [Charles is thrown. Shout. Duke F. No more, no more.

Orl. Yes, I beseech your grace; I am not yet well breathed.

Duke F. How dost thou, Charles ?
Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord.
Duke F. Bear him away. [Charles is borne out.
What is thy name, young man?

Orl. Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of sir Lowland de Bois.

Duke F. I would, thou hadst heen son to some man else.

The world esteem'd thy father honourable,
But I did find him still mine enemy:

Thou shouldst have better pleas'd me with this deed,
Hadst thou descended from another house.
But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth;
I would, thou hadst told me of another father.
[Exeunt Duke Fred. Train, and Le Beau.
Cel. Were I my father coz, would I do this?
Orl. I am more proud to be sir Rowland's son,
His youngest son;-and would not change that
calling,

To be adopted heir to Frederick.

Ros. My father lov'd sir Rowland as his soul,
And all the world was of my father's mind:
Had I before known this young man his son,
I should have given him tears unto entreaties,
Ere he should thus have ventur'd.

Cel.

Gentle cousin, Let us go thank him, and encourage him : My father's rough and envious disposition Sticks me at heart.-Sir, you have well deserv'd: If you do keep your promises in love, But justly, as you have exceeded promise, Your mistress shall be happy.

Ros.

Gentleman,

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Will you go, coz?

Ros. Have with you :-Fare you well.
[Exeunt Rosalind and Celia.
Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon my
tongue?

I cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference.
Re-enter Le Beau.

O poor Orlando! thou art overthrown:
Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee.
Le Beau. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you
To leave this place: Albeit you have deserv'd
High commendation, true applause, and love;
Yet such is now the duke's condition,
That he misconstrues all that you have done.
The duke is humorous; what he is, indeed,
More suits you to conceive, than me to speak of.
Orl. I thank you, sir: and, pray you, tell me this;
Which of the two was daughter of the duke
That here was at the wrestling?

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Cel. Why, cousin; why, Rosalind ;-Cupid have mercy!-Not a word?

Ros. Not one to throw at a dog.

Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cas away upon curs, throw some of them at me; come lame me with reasons.

Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up; when the one should be lamed with reasons, and the other mad without any.

Cel. But is all this for your father?

Ros. No, some of it for my child's father: O, how full of briars is this working-day world!

Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery; if we walk not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats will catch them.

Ros. I could shake them off my coat; these burs are in my heart.

Cel. Hem them away.

Ros. I would try; if I could cry hem, and have him.

Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. Ros. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself.

Cel. O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in despite of a fall.-But, turning these jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest: Is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so strong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son?

Ros. The duke my father lov'd his father dearly. Cel. Doth it therefore ensue, that you should love his son dearly? By this kind of chase, I should hate him, for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando.

Ros. No 'faith, hate him not, for my sake.

Cel. Why should I not? doth he not deserve well?

Ros. Let me love him for that; and do you love him, because I do.-Look, here comes the duke. Cel. With his eyes full of anger.

Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords. Duke F. Mistress, despatch you with your safest haste,

And get you from our court.

Ros. Duke.

Me, uncle?

You, cousin: Within these ten days if that thou be'st found So near our publick court as twenty miles, Thou diest for it. I do beseech your grace, Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me: If with myself I hold intelligence,

Ros.

Or have acquaintance with mine own desires;
If that I do not dream, or be not frantick,
(As I do trust I am not,) then, dear uncle,
Never so much as in a thought unborn,

Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by Did I offend your highness.

manners;

But yet, indeed, the shorter is his daughter:
The other is daughter to the banish'd duke,
And here detain'd by her usurping uncle,
To keep his daughter company; whose loves
Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters.
But I can tell you, that of late this duke
Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece;
Grounded upon no other argument,

But that the people praise her for her virtues,
And pity her for her good father's sake;
And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady
Will suddenly break forth.-Sir, fare you well!
Hereafter, in a better world than this,
I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.
Orl. I rest much bounden to you: fare you well!
[Exit Le Bean.

Thus do all traitors;

Duke. If their purgation did consist in words, They are as innocent as grace itself:Let it suffice thee, that I trust thee not. Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor: Tell me, whereon the likelihood depends.

Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's enough.

Ros. So was I, when your highness took his dukedom;

So was I when your highness banish'd him:
Treason is not inherited, my lord:

Or, if we did derive it from our friends,
What's that to me? my father was no traitor:
Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much,
To think my poverty is treacherous.

Cel. Dear sovereign, hear ine speak.

Duke F. Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake, Else had she with her father rang'd along.

Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay, It was your pleasure, and your own remorse; I was too young that time to value her, But now I know her; if she be a traitor, Why so am 1: we still have slept together, Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together; And where.oe'er we went, like Juno's swans, Still we went coupled, and inseparable.

Duke F. She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness,

Her very silence, and her patience,
Speak to the people, and they pity her.
Thou art a fool she robs thee of thy name;

And thou wilt show more bright, and seem more virtuous,

When she is gone: then open not thy lips;
Firm and irrevocable is my doom
Which I have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd.
Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my
I cannot live out of her company.
[liege;
Duke F. You are a fool-You, nieee, provide
yourself;

If you cut-stay the time, upon mine honour,
And in the greatness of my word, you die.

[Exeunt Duke Frederick and Lords. Cel. O my poor Rosalind: whither wilt thou go?

Ros.

Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine.
I charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than I am.
Ros. I have more cause.
Cel.
Thou hast not, cousin;
Pr'ythee, be cheerful: know'st thou not, the duke
Hath banish'd me his daughter?
That he hath not.
Cel. No? hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love
Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one:
Shall we be sunder'd? shall we part, sweet girl?
No; let my father seek another heir.
Therefore devise with me, how we may fly,
Whither to go, and what to bear with us:
And do not seek to take your change upon yon,
To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out;
For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale,
Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee.
Ros. Why, whither shall we go?

Cel.
To seek my uncle.
Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to us,
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far?
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.
Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire,
And with a kind of umber smirch my face;
The like do you; so shall we pass along,
And never stir assailants.

Ros.
Were it not better,
Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did suit me all points like a man?
A gallant curtle-ax upon my thigh,
A boar-spear in my hand; and (in my heart
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will,)
We'll have a swashing and a martial outside;
As many other mannish cowards have,
That do outface it with their semblances.
Cel. What shall I call thee, when thou art a man?
Ros. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own
page,

And therefore, look you call me, Ganymede.
But what will you be call'd?

Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state: No longer Celia, but Aliena.

Ros. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal The clownish fool out of your father's court? Would he not be a comfort to our travel?

Cel. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me; Leave me alone to woo him: Let's away, And get our jewels and our wealth together; Devise the fittest time, and safest way To hide us from pursuit that will be made After my flight: Now go we in content, To liberty, and not to banishment

ACT II.

SCENE I.-The Forest of Arden.

Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, and other Lords, in the dress of Foresters.

Duke S. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile,

Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods
More free from peril than the envious court?
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
The seasons' difference; as, the icy fang,
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind;
Which when it bites and blows upon my body,
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say,-
This is no flattery: these are counsellors
That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Sweet are the uses of adversity;
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life, exempt from publick haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running
brooks,

Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

Ami. I would not change it: Happy is your grace,

That can translate the stubbornness of fortune
Into so quiet and so sweet a style.

Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison ?
And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools,-
Being native burghers of this desert city,-
Should, in their own confines, with forked heads
Have their round haunches gor'd.

1 Lord.

Indeed, my lord, The melancholy Jaques grieves at that; And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. To-day, my lord of Amiens, and myself, Did steal behind him, as he lay along Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out Upon the brook that brawls along this wood: To the which place a poor sequester'd stag, That from the hunters' aim had ta'en a hurt, Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord, The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans, That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat Almost to bursting; and the big round tears Cours'd one another down his innocent nose In piteous chase: and thus the hairy fool, Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, Augmenting it with tears.

Duke S. But what said Jaques? Did he not moralize this spectacle?

1 Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes. First, for his weeping in the needless stream; Poor deer, quoth he, thou mak'st a testament As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more To that which had too much: Then, being alone, Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends; 'Tis right, quoth he; this misery doth part The flux of company: Anon, a careless herd, Full of the pasture, jumps along by him, And never stays to greet him; Ay, quoth Jaques, Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens; 'Tis just the fashion: Wherefore do you look Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there? Thus most invectively he pierceth through The body of the country, city, court, Yea, and of this our life: swearing, that we Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse, To fright the animals, and to kill them up, In their assign'd and native dwelling place. [tion? Duke S. And did you leave him in this contempla2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping, and comUpon the sobbing deer. [menting

Duke S.

Show me the place;

I love to cope him in these sullen fits,
For then he's full of matter.

[Exeunt.

2 Lord. I'll bring you to him straight. [Exeunt

SCENE II.-A Room in the Palace.
Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, and Attendants.
Duke F. Can it be possible, that no man saw them?
It cannot be some villains of my court
Are of consent and sufferance in this.

1 Lord. I cannot hear of any that did see her.
The ladies, her attendants of her chamber,
Saw her a-bed; and, in the morning early,
They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress.
2 Lord. My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so
Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. [oft
Hesperia, the princess' gentlewoman,
Confesses, that she secretly o'erheard
Your daughter and her cousin much commend
The parts and graces of the wrestler
That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles ;
And she believes, wherever they are gone,
That youth is surely in their company.
Duke F. Send to his brother; fetch that gallant
If he be absent, bring his brother to me, [hither:
I'll make him find him: do this suddenly;
And let not search and inquisition quail
To bring again these foolish runaways.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.-Before Oliver's House.
Enter Orlando and Adam, meeting.

Orl. Who's there?

The means of weakness and debility;
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty, but kindly let me go with you;
In all your business and necessities.
I'll do the service of a younger man

Orl. O good old man; how well in thee appears
The constant service of the antique world,
When service sweat for duty, not for meed !
Thou art not for the fashion of these times,
Where none will sweat, but for promotion;
Even with the having: it is not so with thee.
And having that, do choke their service up
But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree,
That cannot so much as a blossom yield,
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry:
But come thy ways, we'll go along together;
And ere we have thy youthful wages spent,
We'll light upon some settled low content.

Adam. Master, go on; and I will follow thee,
From seventeen years till now almost fourscore
To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty.--
Here lived I, but now live here no more.
At seventeen years many their fortunes seek ;
But at fourscore, it is too late a week:
Yet fortune cannot recompense me better,
Than to die well, and not my master's debtor.
[Exeun!.

SCENE IV.-The Forest of Arden.

Adam. What! my young master ?-0, my gen- Enter Rosalind in boy's clothes, Celia drest like a

tle master,

O, my sweet master, O you memory

Of old sir Rowland! why, what make you here?
Why are you virtuous? Why do people love you?
And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant ?
Why would you be so fond to overcome
The bony priser of the humorous duke ?
Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.
Know you not, master, to some kind of men
Their graces serve them but as enemies?

No more do yours; your virtues, gentle master,
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.
O, what a world is this, when what is comely
Envenoms him that bears it!

Orl. Why, what's the matter?
Adam.

O unhappy youth,
Come not within these doors; within this roof
The enemy of all your graces lives :
Your brother-(no, no brother; yet the son-
Yet not the son ;-I will not call him son-
Of him I was about to call his father,)-

Hath heard your praises; and this night he means
To burn the lodging where you use to lie,

And you within it: if he fail of that,

He will have other means to cut you off;
I overheard him, and his practices.
This is no place, this house is but a butchery;
Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.

Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have
me go?

Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here.
Orl. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my
food?

Or, with a base and boisterous sword, enforce
A thievish living on the common road?
This I must do, or know not what to do:
Yet this I will not do, do how I can ;
I rather will subject me to the malice
Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother.
Adam. But do not so: I have five hundred crowns,
The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father,
Which I did store, to be my foster-nurse,
When service should in my old limbs lie lame,
And unregarded age in corners thrown;
Take that: and He that doth the ravens feed,
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,
Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold;
All this I give you : Let me be your servant;
Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty:
For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood;
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo

Shepherdess, and Touchstone.

Ros. O Jupiter! how weary are my spirits! Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary.

Ros. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel, and to cry like a woman: but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat: therefore, courage, good Aliena.

Cel. I pray you, bear with me; I can go no further.

Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you, than bear you: yet I should bear no cross, if I did bear you; for, I think, you have no money in your purse.

Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden.

Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden: the more fool I; when I was at home, I was in a better place; but travellers must be content.

Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone :-Look you, who comes here; a young man, and an old, in

solemn talk.

Enter Corin and Silvius.

Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still.
Sil. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love
her!

Cor. I partly guess; for I have lov'd ere now.
Sil. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess;
Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover
As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow:
But if thy love were ever like to mine,
(As sure I think did never man love so,)
How many actions most ridiculous
Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?

Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.
Sil. O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily:
If thou remember'st not the slightest folly
That ever love did make thee run into,
Thou hast not lov'd:

Or if thou hast not sat as I do now,
Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
Thou hast not lov'd:

Or if thou hast not broke from company,
Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,
Thou hast not lov'd: O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe !
[Exit Silvius.

Ros. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of tny
wound,

I have by hard adventure found mine own.
Touch. And I mine: I remember, when I was

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