Or, if we did derive it from our friends, Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me 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 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; virtuous, When she is gone: then open not thy lips; Which I have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd. I cannot live out of her company. yourself; You, niece, provide If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour, [Exeunt Duke FREDERICK and Lords. 8 Compassion. 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 in the forest of Arden. Ros. A boar-spear in my hand; and (in my heart 2 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, 9 A dusky, yellow-coloured earth. 2 Swaggering. 1 Cutlass. And therefore look you call me, Ganymede. 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. [Exeunt. ACT THE SECOND. 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 say, This is no flattery: these are counsellors Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, grace, That can translate the stubbornness of fortune 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 confínes, with forked heads 3 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 Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, 3 Barbed arrows. Duke S. But what said Jaques? Did he not moralize this spectacle? 1 Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes. 'Tis just the fashion: Wherefore do you look Duke S. And did you leave him in this contem- 2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting Upon the sobbing deer. Duke S. Show me the place; I love to cope him in these sullen fits, For then he's full of matter. 2 Lord. I'll bring you to him straight. [Exeunt. 4 Encounter. VOL. III. |