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 chase, 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? 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 eyes full of anger.

Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords.

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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 To3 think my poverty is treacherous.

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.

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2 Cousin, here = niece.

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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?

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.1

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;

No longer Celia, but Aliena.

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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.

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 exile,

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,

1 Semblances, i.e. their appearance of being brave. 2 But, the Folios read "not."

10

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, exempt3 from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running
brooks,

Sermons in stones, and good in every thing:
I would not change it.

Ami. Happy is your grace, That can translate the stubbornness of fortune Into so quiet and so sweet a style.

20

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, Have their round haunches gor'd.

First Lord.

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Indeed, my lord, The melancholy Jaques grieves at that; And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself Did steal benind him, as he lay along Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out Upon the brook that brawls along this wood: To the which place a poor sequester'd stag, That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord, The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans, That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat Almost to bursting; and the big round tears Cours'd one another down his innocent nose In piteous chase: and thus the hairy fool, Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, Stood on th' extremest verge of the swift brook, Augmenting it with tears.

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Duke S. But what said Jaques? Did he not moralize1 this spectacle?

First Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes. First, for his weeping in the needless stream; "Poor deer,” quoth he, “thou mak'st a testa

10

Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.
Hesperia, the princess' gentlewoman,
Confesses that she secretly o'erheard
Your daughter and her cousin much commend
The parts and graces of the wrestlers
That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles;
And she believes, wherever they are gone,
That youth is surely in their company.

Duke F. Send to his brother's; fetch that gallant hither:

If he be absent, bring his brother to me;
I'll make him find him: do this suddenly;
And let not search and inquisition quail 20
To bring again these foolish runaways.

Why would you be so fond to overcome
The bonny priser of the humorous duke?
Your praise is come too swiftly home before
you.

Know you not, master, to some kind of men
Their graces serve them but as enemies?

11

Yet this I will not do, do how I can;
I rather will subject 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

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1 An allusion to the poisoned shirt of Nessus by which Hercules was killed.

2 Diverted, i.e. unnatural, that has been turned from its proper course.