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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 pass'd upon her; she is banish'd.

CEL. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my

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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.

CEL. O my poor Rosalind! whither wilt thou So 1632. 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 teacheth thee that thou and I am one;"

a the love, which teacheth thee, &c.] i. e. that warmth of feeling, which cannot do less than instruct thee, that, &c. John

whether. 1623.

Whether.

Shall we be sunder'd? shall we part, sweet girl?
No; let my father seek another heir.

So 1632. Therefore devise with me how we may fly,
Whither to go, and what to bear with us:

1623.

1632.

*

And do not seek to take your change + upon you,* + charge. 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.

So as above.

Ros. Why, whither shall we go?

CEL. To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden.

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. I'll 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-axe upon my thigh,

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son offers, as a similar phraseology: you know not the law, which teaches you to do right."

a take your change upon you] i. e. encounter this reverse. b For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale] This passage may be interpreted either " by this heaven, or the light of hea ven, with its lustre faded in sympathy with our feelings:" or, "for, by this heaven, now we have reached, now we are at the utmost verge or point, in this extremity or crisis of our fate," &c. (for such it was) as this word is used in the Wint. T. IV. 2. Autol.

"For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale."

MALONE.

And with a kind of umber smirch my face] Umber is a dusky
yellow-coloured earth, brought from Umbria in Italy.
It was used in stage exhibitions. In a MS. of mine, the Tell
tale, there is this direction, " He umbers her face."
In H. V. IV. Chor. we have, "the battle's umber'd face."
Smirch is soil, smear.
The smirchen worm-eaten tapestry.
Much ado &c. III. 3. Borach.

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curtle-axe] i. e. cutlace, broadsword. JOHNSON.

A boar-spear in my hand; and (in my heart
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will,)
We'll have a swashing(16) and a martial outside;
As many other mannish cowards have,

That do outface it (17) 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?

* So 1632.

CEL. Something that hath a reference to my by. 1623.

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 in wet content,
To liberty, and not to banishment.

[Exeunt.

† we in. 1632.

ACT II. 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 not 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
That feelingly persuade me what I am."

a

co-mates] i. e. associates. Copemates was also in the same sense the language of the day.

b Hath not old custom

Are not these woods-Here feel we not the penalty

That feelingly persuade me what I am] Wherever the course of thought admits it, Shakespeare is accustomed to continue the form of speaking which he first falls upon; and the sense of this passage, in which he repeats the word not, appears to be— "The penalty here, properly speaking, is not, or scarce is, physically felt, because the suffering it occasions, sharp as it otherwise might be called, turns so much to account in a moral sense." The construction of " which, when it blows," is" at which, or which blowing." And or for, instead of which, would have given a plain and clear sense; but the same forms and cold terms of reasoning, would have clogged the spirited and warm flow of the sentiment: and the recurrence of and at the beginning of this line would have offended the ear. The modern editors, following Theobald, for not, read but as we conceive, unnecessarily. Still the word "feelingly," used at the end of

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Sweet are the uses of adversity;

Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ;(1)
And this our life, exempt from publick haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running
brooks, (2)

Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

AMI. I would not change it: Happy is your grace, That can translate the stubbornness of fortune Into so quiet and so sweet a style.

DUKE S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison? And yet it irks me,(3) the poor dappled fools,Being native burghers of this desert city,(4) Should, in their own confínes, with forked heads, 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 Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. To-day, my lord of Amiens, and myself, Did steal behind him, as he lay along Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out Upon the brook that brawls along this wood: (5) To the which place a poor sequester'd stag, That from the hunters' 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 (6) Cours'd one another down his innocent nose In piteous chase: and thus the hairy fool, Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, Augmenting it with tears.

DUKE S.

But what said Jaques ? Did he not moralize this spectacle?

this passage in an affirmative sense, after "feel" had been brought forward, coupled with a negative, certainly makes a confusion, if it be not said to favour Theobald's substitution.

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