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Sweet Portia,

Ner. Nor I in yours,
Till I again see mine.
Bass.
If you did know to whom I gave the ring,
If you did know for whom I gave the ring,
And would conceive for what I gave the ring,
And how unwillingly I left the ring,

When nought would be accepted but the ring,
You would abate the strength of your displeasure.
Por. If you had known the virtue of the ring,
Or half her worthiness that gave the ring,
Or your own honour to contain' the ring,
You would not then have parted with the ring.
What man is there so much unreasonable,
If you had pleas'd to have defended it
With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty
To urge the thing held as a ceremony ?2
Nerissa teaches me what to believe;
I'll die for't, but some woman had the ring.
Bass. No, by mine honour, madam, by my soul,
No woman had it, bút a civil doctor,

Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me,
And begg'd the ring; the which I did deny him,
And suffer'd him to go displeas'd away;
Even he that had held up the very life

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Por. I had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio: For by this ring the doctor lay with me.

Ner. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano; For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk, In lieu of this, last night did lie with me.

Gra. Why, this is like the mending of highways
In summer, where the ways are fair enough;
What! are we cuckolds, ere we have deserv'd it?
Por. Speak not so grossly.-You are all amaz'd:
Here is a letter, read it at your leisure;

It comes from Padua, from Bellario:
There you shall find, that Portia was the doctor;
Nerissa there, her clerk: Lorenzo here
Shall witness, I set forth as soon as you,
And but even now return'd: I have not yet

Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady? Enter'd my house.-Antonio, you are welcome;

I was enforc'd to send it after him;

I was beset with shame and courtesy ;

My honour would not let ingratitude

So much besmear it: Pardon me, good lady;
For, by these blessed candles3 of the night,
Had you been there, I think, you would have begg'd
The ring of me to give the worthy doctor.

house:

Por. Let not that doctor e'er come near my
Since he hath got the jewel that I lov❜d,
And that which you did swear to keep for me,
I will become as liberal as you:

I'll not deny him any thing I have,
No, not my body, nor my husband's bed:
Know him I shall, I am well sure of it:

Lie not a night from home; watch me, like Argus:
If you do not, if I be left alone,

Now, by mine honour, which is yet my own,
I'll have that doctor for my bedfellow.

Ner. And I his clerk; therefore be well advis'd,
How you do leave me to mine own protection.
Gra. Well, do you so: let not me take him then;
For, if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen.

Ant. I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels. Por. Sir, grieve not you; You are welcome notwithstanding.

Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong;
And, in the hearing of these many friends,
I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes,
Wherein I see myself,-

Por.

Mark you but that! In both my eyes he doubly sees himself: In each eye, one :-swear by your double self, And there's an oath of credit.

Bass. Nay, but hear me: Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear, I never more will break an oath with thee. Ant. I once did lend my body for his wealth;" Which, but for him that had your husband's ring, [TO PORTIA. 1 To contain had nearly the same meaning with to retain.

2 i. e. kept in a measure religiously, or superstitiously. 3 We have again the same expression in one of Shakspeare's Sonnets, in Macbeth, and in Romeo and Juliet.

4 Double is here used for deceitful, full of duplicity. 5 i. e. for his advantage; to obtain his happiness. Wealth was the term generally opposed to adversity or calamity

And I have better news in store for you,
Than you expect: unseal this letter soon;
There you shall find, three of your argosies
Are richly come to harbour suddenly;
You shall not know by what strange accident
I chanced on this letter.

Ant.

I am dumb.

Bass. Were you the doctor, and I knew you not? Gra. Were you the clerk, that is to make me

cuckold?

Ner. Ay; but the clerk that never means to do it ; Unless he live until he be a man.

Bass. Sweet doctor you shall be my bedfellow; When I am absent, then lie with my wife.

Ant. Sweet lady, you have given me life, and
living;

For here I read for certain, that my ships
Are safely come to road.
Por.
How now, Lorenzo?
My clerk hath some good comforts too for you.
Ner. Ay, and I'll give them him without a fee.-
There do I give to you, and Jessica,
From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift,
After his death, of all he dies possess'd of.
Lor. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way
Of starved people.

Por,
It is almost morning,
And yet, I am sure, you are not satisfied
Of these events at full: Let us go in
And charge us there upon inter'gatories,
And we will answer all things faithfully.

Gra. Let it be so: The first inter'gatory That my Nerissa shall be sworn on, is, Whether till the next night she had rather stay, Or go to bed now, being two hours to day: But were the day come, I should wish it dark, That I were couching with the doctor's clerk. Well, while I live, I'll fear no other thing So sore, as keeping safe Nerissa's ring." [Exeunt. OF the Merchant of Venice the style is even and easy, with few peculiarities of diction, or anomalies of con struction." The comic part raises laughter, and the serious fixes expectation. The probability of either one or the other story cannot be maintained. The union of two actions in one event is in this drama eminently hap py. Dryden was much pleased with his own address in connecting the two plots of his Spanish Friar, which yet, I believe, the critic will find excelled by this play. JOHNSON

AS YOU LIKE IT.

PRELIMINARY REMARKS.

DR. GREY and Mr. Upton asserted that this Play was certainly borrowed from the Coke's Tale of Gamelyn, printed in Urry's Chaucer, but it is hardly likely that Shakspeare saw that in manuscript, and there is a more obvious source from whence he derived his plot, viz. the pastoral romance of Rosalynde, or Euphues Golden Legacy,' by Thomas Lodge, first printed in 1590. From this he has sketched his principal characters, and constructed his plot; but those admirable beings, the melancholy Jaques, the witty Touchstone, and his Audrey, are of the poet's own creation. Lodge's novel is one of those tiresome (I had almost said unnatural) pastoral romances, of which the Euphues of Lyly and the Arcadia of Sidney were also popular examples: it has, however, the redeeming merit of some very beautiful verses interspersed, and the circumstance of its having led to the formation of this exquisite pastoral drama, is enough to make us with hold our assent to Steevens's splenetic censure of it as worthless'

Touched by the magic wand of the enchanter, the dull and endless prosing of the novelist is transformed into an interesting and lively drama. The forest of Arden converted into a real Arcadia of the golden age.

* The following beautiful Stanzas are part of what is called Rosalynd's Madrigal,' and are not unworthy of a place even in a page devoted to Shakspeare: Love in my bosom like a bee

Doth suck his sweet:

Now with his wings he plays with me,
Now with his feet.

Within mine eyes he makes his nest,
His bed amidst my tender breast,
My kisses are his daily feast,
And yet he robs me of my rest.

Ah, wanton, will ye?

And if I sleep, then percheth he
With pretty flight;
And makes a pillow of my knee
The livelong night.

Strike I my lute, he tunes the string
He music plays, if so I sing,

He lends me every lovely thing;
Yet cruel he my heart doth sting
Whist, wanton, still ye?

The highly sketched figures pass along in the versified succession: we see aiways the sha green landscape in the back ground, and br imagination the fresh air of the forest. The h here measured by no clocks, no regulated re of duty or toil; they flow on unnumbered in v occupation or fanciful idleness.-One throws down under the shade of melancholy boughs, dulges in reflection on the changes of fortune, hood of the world, and the self-created tormen cial life: others make the woods resound w and festive songs, to the accompaniment of the Selfishness, envy and ambition, have been le city behind them; of all the human passions, le has found an entrance into this silvan scene, dictates the same language to the simples and the chivalrous youth, who hangs his love tree?

And this their life, exempt from public hauna Finds tongues in trees, books in the running Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

How exquisitely is the character of Rosalind ed, what liveliness and sportive gaiety, comb the most natural and affectionate tenderness; th is as much in love with her as Orlando, and not at Phebe's sudden passion for her when dis Ganymede; or Celia's constant friendship. To is indeed a rare fellow he uses his folly as a horse, and under the presentation of that, he s wit: his courtship of Audrey, his lecture to defence of cuckolds, and his burlesque u 'duello' of the age, are all most exquisite for has been remarked, that there are few of Sha plays which contain so many passages that a and remembered, and phrases that have be manner proverbial. To enumerate them wo mention every scene in the play. And I must detain the reader from this most delightful o peare's comedies.

Malone places the composition of this play There is no edition known previous to that i of 1623. But it appears among the miscella tries of prohibited pieces in the Stationers' bo out any certain date.

† Schlegel.

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ACT I.

CORIN,
SRIUS, Shepherds.

WILLIAM, a country Fellow, in love with.
A Person representing Hymen.
ROSALIND, Daughter to the banished Duk
CELIA, Daughter to Frederick.
PHEBE, a Shepherdess,
AUDREY, a country Wench.

Lords belonging to the two Dukes; Pages ers, and other Attendants.

The SCENE lies, first, near Oliver's Hou wards, partly in the Usurper's Court, a in the Forest of Arden.

and, as thou say'st, charged my broth

SCENE I. An Orchard, near Oliver's House. blessing, to breed me well: and there 1

Enter ORLANDO and ADAM.
Orlando.

As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed me' by will: But a poor thousand crowns; 1 Sir W. Blackstone proposed to read, He bequeathed, &c. Warburton proposed to read, My father be queathed, &c. I have followed the old copy, which is sufficiently intelligible.

sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps and report speaks goldenly of his profit part, he keeps me rustically at home, or more properly, stays me here at home For call you that keeping for a gentlem birth, that differs not from the stalling

2 The old orthography staies was an easy of sties; which Warburton thought the trus!

Orl. I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good.

His horses are bred better; for, besides that they | are fair with their feeding, they are taught their manage, and to that end riders dearly hired : Oli. Get you with him, you old dog. but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but Adam. Is old dog my reward? Most true, I have growth: for the which his animals on his dung-lost my teeth in your service.-God be with my hills are as much bound to him as I. Besides this old master! he would not have spoke such a word. nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the some[Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM. thing that nature gave me, his countenance seems Oli. Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? to take from me: he lets me feed with his hinds, I will physic your rankness, and yet give no thou bars me the place of brother, and, as much as in sand crowns neither. Hola, Dennis! him lies, mines my gentility with my education. Enter DENNIS. This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit of my father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny against this servitude: I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy how to

avoid it.

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Oli. What mar you then, sir?

Orl. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours,

with idleness.

Oli. Marry, sir, be better employed, and be Daught awhile."

Orl. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them? What prodigal portion have I spent, that I should come to such penury?

Oli. Know you where you are, sir?

Orl. O, sir, very well: here in your orchard.
Oli. Know you before whom, sir?

Orl. Ay, better than he3 I am before knows me. I know you are my eldest brother; and, in the gentle condition of blood, you should so know me: The courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that you are the first-born; but the same tradition akes not away my blood, were there twenty brothtrs betwixt us: I have as much of my father in me, as you; albeit, I confess, your coming before me nearer to his reverence.4

Oli. What, boy!

Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too Young in this.

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.

news at the new court!
Oli. Good monsieur Charles!-what's the new

Cha. There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news; that is, the old duke is banished by his loving lords have put themselves into voluntary exyounger brother the new duke; and three or four ile 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 the court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at own daughter; and never two ladies loved as they

do.

Oli. Where will the old duke live?

Arden, and a many merry men with him; and Cha. They say, he is already in the forest of 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?

Ol. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain. Orl. I am no villain: I am the youngest son of Cha. Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint Sir Rowland de Bois; he was my father; and he is you with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to unthrice a villain, that says, such a father begot vil-derstand, that your younger brother, Orlando, hath lains: Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy throat, till this other had pulled out thy tongue for saying so: thou hast railed on thyself. Adam. Sweet masters, be patient; for your father's remembrance, be at accord. Oli. Let me go, I say.

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

Orl. I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. My father charged you in his will to give me good education: you have trained me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities: the spirit of my father grows strong in me, which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. Oli. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, and I will no longer endure it: therefore allow me had myself notice of my brother's purpose herein, such exercises as may become a gentleman, or give and have by underhand means laboured to dissuade me the poor allottery my father left me by testa-him from it; but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles, ment with that I will go buy my fortunes.

Oli. And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent? Well, sir, get you in: I will not long be troubled with you: you shall have some part of your will: I pray you, leave me.

-it is the stubbornest young fellow of France: full of ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good parts, a secret and villanous contriver against me his natural brother; therefore use thy discretion; worthless fellow; and by Orlando, for a man of base

1 i. e. what do you here? See note in Love's La-extraction. bour's Lost, Act iv. Sc. 3.

2 Be naught awhile. Warburton justly explained this phrase, which, he says, 'is only a north-country proverbial curse equivalent to a mischief on you.'

3 The first folio reads him, the second he more correctly.

4 Warburton proposed reading near his revenue,' which he explains, though you are no nearer in blood, yet it must be owned that you are nearer in estate.' 5 Villain is used in a double sense: by Oliver for a

6 He gives them good leave.' As often as this phrase occurs, it means a ready assent.

7 i. e. the banished duke's daughter.

8 i. e. the usurping duke's daughter; this may be sufficiently apparent by the words her cousin, yet it has been thought necessary to point out the ambiguity.

9 Ardenne is a forest of considerable extent in French Flanders, lying near the river Meuse, and be tween Charlemont and Rocroy.

10 Fleet, i. e. to flitte, to make to pass or flew.

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 practice against thee by poison, entrap thee by some treacherous device, and never leave thee till he hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other: for, I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there is not one so young and so villanous this day living. I sneak 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
this gamester; I hope, I shall see an end of him:
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 sorts2 enchant-
ingly beloved; and, indeed, so much in the heart!
of the world, and especially of my own people, 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 kindle3 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 wouldst 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.

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.

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Enter TOUCHSTONE.

Cel. No? When nature hath made a fair crea ture, may she not by fortune fall into the fire ?Though nature hath given us wit to flout at fortune, hath not fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument?

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

Cel. Peradventure, this is not fortune's work nei ther, but nature's; who perceiving our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, hath sent this natural for our whetstone: for always the dulness 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? 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 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'a 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.

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swer you?

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 best is yet to do; and here, where you are, they are coming to perform it.

6 you'll be whipp'd for turation This was the discipline usually inflicted upon focis.

7Laid on with a trowel. This is a proverbial phrase not yet quite disused. It is, says Mason, to do any thing strongly, and without delicacy. If a inan Batters grossly, it is a common expression to say, that he lays it on with a trowel.

Cel. Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried. I deny so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let 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. With bills on their necks,-Be it known unto all men by these presents,1.

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!

Touch. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the 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 music 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 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.

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 supplied when I have made it empty.

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

Cel. And mine, to eke out hers.

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 so desirous to lie with his mother earth?

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 fellow by the leg. [CHA. and ORL. wrestle. 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

Flourish. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, OR- well breathed.
LANDO, 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 succesfully.

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 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 ?2

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
Rowland de Bois.

Duke F. I would, thou hadst been son to some
The world esteem'd thy father honourable,
man else.
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 BEAJ. Cel. Were I my father, coz, would I do this? His youngest son; and would not change that Orl. I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son, calling,

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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:

Orl. No, fair princess; he is the general chal-Had I before known this young man his son, lenger: I come but in, as others do, to try with him I should have given him tears unto entreaties, 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 embrace your own safety, and give over this attempt. Ros. Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore be misprised: we will make it our suit to the duke, that the wrestling might not go forward. Orl. I beseech you, punish me not with your hard thoughts; wherein3 I confess me much guilty, to

1 Warburton thought the text should stand thus: Ros. With bills on their necks,

Ere he should thus have ventur'd.
Cel.

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

If

Your mistress shall be happy.
Ros.

Gentleman,

Wear this for me; one out of suits with fortune;"
[Giving him a Chain from her neck.
That could give more, but that her hand lacks
Shall we go, coz?
Cel.

means.

Ay:-Fare you well, fair gentleman. lian gratiato, i. e. graced, favoured, countenanced; Touch. Be it known unto all men by these presents, as well as for graceful, comely, well favoured, in which The ladies and the fool being at cross purposes, Rosa-sense Shakspeare uses it in other places. lind banteringly means bills or halberds. The Clown turns it jestingly to a law instrument.

2 This wrestling match is minutely described in Lodge's novel.

3 Johnson thought we should read 'therein.' Mason proposed to read herein.

4 Gracious was anciently used in the sense of the Ita

5 The words than to be descended from any other house, however high,' must be understood.

6 Calling here means appellation, a very unusua! if not unprecedented use of the word.

7 Out of suits appears here to signify out of favour, discarded by fortune. To suit with anciently signified to agree with.

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