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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.

Orla. I thank you, sir: and, pray you, tell me this ;
Which of the two was daughter of the duke
That bere was at the wrestling ?

Le B. Neither his daughter, if we judge by 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 patural 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. Orla. I rest much bounden to you : fare you well!

[Exit Le Beau. Thus must I from the smoke into the smother; From tyrant duke, unto a tyrant brother : But heavenly Rosalind!


SCENE III. A Room in the Palace. Enter Celia and Rosalind. 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 cast 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?

my heart.

Ros. No, some of it for my child's father : 9 0, how full of briers is this working-day world!

Cel. They are bút 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
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. 0, 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 chace, 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


full of anger. Enter Duke FREDERICK, with Lords. Duke F. Mistress, despatch you with your safest haste, And get you from our court.

Ros. Me, uncle ?

Duke F. You, cousin :
Within these ten days if thou be’st found
So near our public court as twenty miles,
Thou diest for it.

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 ;

(9] i. e. for him whom I hope to marry, and have children by. THEOBALD.

{if That is. by this way of following the argument. Dear is used by Shakespeare in a double sense for beloved, and for hurtful, hated, baleful. Both senses are authorised, and both drawn from etymology; but properly, beloved, is dear, and hateful is dere. Rosalind uses dearly in the good, and Celia in the bad sense. JOHNSON.

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.

Duke F. Ay, Celia ; we stay'd ber 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 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.

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 past upon her; she is banish'd.

Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege ; I cannot liye out of her

company. Duke F. You are a fool :-You, niece, provide yourself; If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour, And in the greatness of my word, you die.

[Exeunt Duke FREDERICK and Lords. (2] Whop she was seen alone, she would be more noted.


Cel. O my poor Rosalind! whither wilt thou go?
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 ?

Ros. That he hath not.

Cel. No ? hath not ? Rosalind lacks then the love
Which teaches 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 Ay,
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


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. Pill 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-axs 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 ?

(3) i. e. to take your change or reverse of fortune on yourself, without any aid or participation. MÁLONE. (4) Umber-a dusky yellow-coloured earth, brought from Umbria in Italy,

MALONE [5] Curtle-armor cutlace, a broad sword. JOHNSON.

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

Ros. But, cousin, what if we essay'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.


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 exíle,
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

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 public 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, [6] It was the current opinion in Shakespeare's time, that in the head of an old toad was to be found a stone, or pearl, to which great virtues were ascribed. stone has been often sought, but nothing has been found more than accidental or perhaps morbid indurations of the skull.

In a book called A Green Forest, or a Natural History, &c. by J. Maplett, 1567, is the following account of this imaginary gem: “In this stone is apparently seene verie often the verie forme of a tode, with despotted and coloured feete, but those uglye and defusedly. It is available against envedoming." STEEVENS.



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