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 nonest; and those, that she makes honest, she makes very ill-favour'dly.

Ros. Nay, now thou goest from fortune's office to nature's: fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of nature.

Enter Touchstone. *

Ros. As wit and fortune will.
Touch. Or as the destinies decree.
Cel. Well said; that was laid on with a trowel.
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 Cel. No? When nature hath made a fair crea- best is yet to do; and here, where you are, they ture, may she not by fortune fall into the fire!-are coming to perform it.

Though nature hath given us wit to flout at for- Cel. Well, the beginning, that is dead and tune, hath not fortune sent in this fool to cut off buried. the argument?

Le bm. There comes an old man, and his

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

Cel. ould match this beginning with an old tale. . Three proper young men, of excellent nd presence;

Le Cel. Peradventure, this is not fortune's work growth neither, but nature's; who perceiving our natural| Ros wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, hath sent unto a this natural for our whetstone: for always the dullness of the fool is the whetstone of his wits.-How now, wit? whither wander you?

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

Cel. Were you made the messenger?

Vith bills on their necks,-Be it known nen by these presents. Leau. 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

Touch. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to dole over them, that all the beholders take his part 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?

with weeping.
Ros. Alas!

Touch. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies have lost?

it

Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of.

Touch. Thus men may grow wiser every day 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 broke music in his sides? is there yet another dotes upen rib-breaking ?-Shall we see this wrestling, cousin? Le Beau. You must, if you stay here; for here is the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to perform it.

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 Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming: Let us now 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 that 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.

1

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.

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 et the challenger's youth, I would fain dissuade him,

Cel. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed but he will not be entreated: Speak to him, ladies: their young.

Ros. Then shall we be news-cramm'd.

Cel. All the better; we shall be the more marketable. Bon jour, monsieur Le Beau: What's the news?

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

Cel. Of what colour?

see if you can move him.

Cel. Call him hither, good monsieur Le Beau.
Duke F. Do so; I'll not be by.

(Duke 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

Le Beau. What colour, madam? How shall I the wrestler? answer you?

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 I should have given him tears unto entreaties, for your years: You have seen cruel proof of this Ere he should thus have ventur'd. man's strength: if you saw yourself with your eyes, Cel.

Gentle cousin, or knew yourself with your judgment, the fear Let us go thank him, and encourage him: of your adventure would counsel you to a more My father's rough and envious disposition equal enterprise. We pray you, for your own Sticks me at heart.-Sir, you have well deserv'd: sake, to embrace your own safety, and give over If you do keep your promises in love, this attempt. But justly, as you have exceeded promise, Ros. Do, young sir; your reputation shall not Your mistress shall be happy. therefore be misprized; we will make it our suit to the duke, that the wrestling might not go forward.

[Giving him a chain from her neck. Orl. I beseech you, punish me not with your Wear this for me; one out of suits with fortune: hard thoughts; wherein I confess me much guilty, That could give more, but that her hand lacks to deny so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let your fair eyes, and gentle wishes, go with me Shall we go, coz? to my trial: wherein if I be foiled, there is but Cel. Ay:-Fare you well, fair gentleman. one shamed that was never gracious; if killed, but Orl. Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts one dead that is willing to be so: I shall do my Are all thrown down; and that which here stands friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me; Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. the world no injury, for in it I have nothing; only in the world I fill up a place, which may be better supplied when I have made it empty.

Thou should'st have better pleas'd me with this Will suddenly break forth.-Sir, fare you well;

away upon curs, throw some of them at me; come,| Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay, lame me with reasons. It was your pleasure, and your own remorse;1 Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up; when I was too young that time to value her, the one should be lamed with reasons, and the other But now I know her if she be a traitor, mad without any. Why so am I; we still have slept together, Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together; And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, Still we went coupled, and inseparable.

Cel. But is all this for your father?

Ros. No, some of it for my child's father: O, how full of briers 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.

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
liege;

I

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 pos-
sible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so
strong a liking with old sir Rowland's youngest son? If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour,
Ros. The duke my father lov'd his father dearly. And in the greatness of my word, you die.
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.

cannot live out of her company.
Duke F. You are a fool:-You, niece, provide
yourself;

Ros.

I do beseech your grace,
Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me:
If with myself I hold intelligence,

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

Duke F.

Thus do all traitors;

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 me speak.

I

[Exeunt Duke Frederick and lords.

Cel. O my poor Rosalind! whither wilt thou go?
Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine.
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?
Ros.
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 you,
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 nct better,
Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did suit me all points like a man?
A gallant curtle-axe 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 swashings 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,

Duke F. Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake, No longer Celia, but Aliena.

Else had she with her father rang'd along.

(1) Inveterately. (2) Compassion. (3) A dusky, yellow-coloured earth.

Ros. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal The clownish fool out of your father's court?

(4) Cutlass.

(5) Swaggering.

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 used 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, would'st thou have
me go?

Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here.
Orl. What, would'st 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 subjéct 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
The means of weakness and debility;
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty, but kindly: Let me go with you;
I'll do the service of a younger man
In all your business and necessities.

Orl. O good old n.an; 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;
And having that, do choke their service up
Even with the having: it is not so with thee.
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,
To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty.-
From seventeen years till now almost fourscore
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.

[Exeunt.

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 cannot 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 has 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 thy
wound,

I have by hard adventure found mine own.

Touch. And I mine: I remember, when I was in love, I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming anight4 to Jane Smile: and I remember the kissing of her batlet, and the cow's dugs that her pretty chop'd hands had milk'd: and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her; from whom I took two cods, and giving her them again, said with weeping tears, Wear these for my sake. We, that are true lovers, run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.

Ros. Thou speak'st wiser, than thou art 'ware of. Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own wit, till I break my shins against it.

Ros. Jove! Jove! this shepherd's passion

Is much upon my fashion.

Touch. And mine; but it grows something stale

with me.

Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man,
Enter If he for gold will give us any food;
I faint almost to death.

SCENE IV.-The Forest of Arden.
Rosalind in boy's clothes, Celia drest like a
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

(1) Mansion, residence.

(2) Blood turned from its natural course.
(3) A piece of money stamped with a cross.

Touch. Holla; you, clown!

Ros.

Peace, fool; he's not thy kinsman.

Cor. Who calls?

Touch. Your betters, sir.

Cor. Else are they very wretched.