Duke. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's enough. [Dukedom Rof. So was I when your Highness took his. So was I when your Highnefs banished him; Treafon 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. Ay, Celia, fhe but ftaid here for your fake; Elfe had the with her father ranged along.

Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay; It was your pleasure, and your own remorfe; I was too young that time to value her; But now I know her; if the be a traitor, Why fo am I; we ftill have flept together; Rofe at an inftant, learned, played, ate together; And wherefoe'er we went, like Juno's fwans, Still we went coupled, and infeparable..

Duke. She is too fubtle for thee; and her fmooth

Her very filence and her patience,

Speak to the people, and they pity her:
Thou art a fool; fhe robs thee of thy name,.

[nefs,

And thou wilt fhow more bright, and seem more

virtuous,

When he is gone. Then open not thy lips :
Firm and irrevocable is my doom,
Which I have pait upon

her;

fhe is banished.

Gel. Pronounce that fentence then on me, my I cannot live out of her company.

[Liege, Duke. You are a fool: you, niece, provide your If you out-ftay the time, upon mine honour, [felf; And in the greatness of my word, you die.

[Exeunt Duke, &c. Cel. O my poor Rofalind ! where wilt thou go?

Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine:: I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than I am. Ref. I have more cause..

Cel. Thou haft not, coufin;

Pr'ythee be chearful; knoweft thou not, the Duke Has banished me his daughter?

Rof. That he hath not.

Cel. Na? hath not? (8) Rofalind lacks then the Which teacheth me that thou and I are one: [love Shall we be fundered? fhall we part, fweet girl? No, let my father feek another heir.

Therefore devife with me how we may fly,
Whither to go, and what to bear with us;
And do not feek to take your charge upon you,
To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out
For by this Heaven, now at our forrows pale,
Say what thou can't, I'll go along with thee.
Rof. Why, whither fhall we go?

Cel. To feek my uncle in the foreft of Arden..
Ref. Alas, what danger will it be to us,
Maids as we are, to travel forth fo far!
Beauty provoketh thieves fooner than gold.

Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire,
And with a kind of umber fairch my face;

(8)

--Rosalind lacks then the love,

Which teaches thee that thou and I are me,]

Though this be the reading of all the printed copies, 'tis · evident the Poet wrote,

Which teacheth me

For if Rofalind had learnt to think Celia one part of herself, she could not lack that love which Celia complains he does. My emendation is confirmed by what Celia fays when thei frit comes upon the frage:

Herein I fee thou loveft me not with the full weight that I love thee, &c. I could have taught my love to take the Father for mine; fo wouldest thou, if the truth of thy loves to me were fo righteously tempered as mine is to thee.

The like do you; fo fhall we pass along,

And never ftir affailants.

Rof. Were't not better,

Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did fuit me all points like a man?
A gallant curtle-ax upon my thigh,

A boar-spear in my hand, and (in my heart
Ly there what hidden woman's fear there will)
We'll have a swashing and a martial outfide,
As many other mannith cowards have,

That do outface it with their femblances.

Cel, What fhall I call thee when thou art a -man ?

Rof. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own

page;

And therefore look you call me Ganymede;
But what will you be called?

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

Rof. But, coufin, what if we aflay'd to steal The clownish fool out of your father's court? Would he not be a comfort to our travail ?

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;
Devife 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,

A CT II.

SCENE, Arden Foreft.

Enter Duke Senior, AMIENS, and two or three Lords like Forefters.

DUKE Senior.

NOW, my co-mates, and brothers in exile,

Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
Than that of painted pomp? are not thefe woods.
More free from peril than the envious court?
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, (9)
The feafons' difference; as, the icy phang,
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind;
Which, when it bites and blows upon my body,
Even 'till I fhrink with cold, I fmile, and fay,
This is no flattery; thefe are counsellors
That feelingly perfuade me what I am.
Sweet are the ufes of adverfity,

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 ftones, and good in every thing.

Ami. I would not change it; happy is your Grace, That can tranflate the ftubbornnels of fortune Into fo quiet and so sweet a stile.

(9) Here feel we not the penalty What was the penalty of Adam, hinted at by our Poet? the being fenfible of the difference of the feafons. The Duke fays, the cold and effects of the winter feelingly perfuade him what he is. How does he not then feel the penalty? doubtless the text must be reftored as I have corrected it; and 'tis obvious in the courfe of these Notes, how often not and but by mistake have changed place in our Author's former editions.

Duke Sen. Come, fhall we go and kill us venison? And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools, Being native burghers of this defart city, Should, in their own confines, with forked heads Have their round haunches goared.

I Lord. Indeed, my Lord,

The melancholy Jaques grieves at that;
And in that kind fwears you do more ufurp
Than doth your brother, that hath banished you:
To-day my Lord of Amiens, and myself,
Did fteal behind him, as he lay along

Under an oak, whofe antique root peeps out
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood;
To the which place a poor fequeftered ftag,
That from the hunters' aim had ta'en a hurt,
Did come to languifh; and, indeed, my Lord,
The wretched animal heaved forth fuch groans,
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat
Almoft to bursting, and the big round tears
Courfed one another down his innocent nofe
In piteous chafe; and thus the hairy fool,
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
Stood on th' extremest verge of the fwift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.

¿Duke Sen. But what faid Jaques ? Did he not moralize this spectacle?

1 Lord. Yes, into a thousand fimilies. Firft, for his weeping in the needless stream; Poor deer, quoth he, thou makest a testament As worldlings do, giving thy fum of more To that which had too much. Then being alone, Left and abandoned of his velvet friends; 'Tis right, quoth he, thus mifery doth part The flux of company: anon a careless herd, Full of the pafture, jumps along by him, And never stays to greet him. Ay, quoth Jaques,