Rof. The Duke my father lov'd his father dearly. Cel. Doth it therefore enfue, that you fhould love his fon dearly? by this kind of chafe, I should hate him; for my father hated his father dearly; yet I

hate not Orlando. J

Rof. No, faith, hate him not, for my fake.
Cel. Why fhould I? doth he not deferve well?,
SCENE IX.

Enter Duke, with Lords.

Rof. LET me love him for that; and do you love

Duke.

Cel. With his eyes full of anger.

Duke. Miftrefs, difpatch you with your safest hafte, And get you from our Court.

Rof. Me Uncle!

Duke, You, Coufin.

Within these ten days if that thou be'ft found
So near our public Court as twenty miles,

Thou dieft for it.

Rof. I do befeech your Grace,

Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me:
If with myfelf I hold intelligence,

Or have acquaintance with my own defires;
If that I do not dream, or be not frantic,
(As I do truft, I am not,) then, dear Uncle,
Never fo much as in a thought unborn
Did I offend your Highnefs..

Duke. Thus do all traitors;

If their purgation did confift in words,
They are as innocent as grace itfelf:
Let it fuffice thee, that I trust thee not.

Rof. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor;

Tell me wherein the likelihood depends.

Duke. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's enough. Rof. So was I, when your Highness took his Duke

dom;

So

So was I, when your Highnefs banifh'd 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 fo much,
To think my poverty is treacherous...
Cel. Dear Sovereign, hear me speak.

Duke. Ay, Celia, we but ftaid her for your fake;) Elfe had the with her father rang'd along.

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

[nefs, Duke. She is too fubtle for thee; and her smooth

Her very filence and her patience,

Speak to the people, and they pity her:

Thou art a fool; fhe robs thee of thy name,

And thou wilt fhow more bright, and fhine more virtuous,

When fhe is gone; then open not thy lips:

Firm and irrevocable is my doom,

Which I have paft upon her; fhe is banish'd.

Cel. Pronounce that fentence then on me, my Liege;

I cannot live out of her company.

Duke. You are a fool: you, Neice, provide yourself; If you out-ftay the time, upon mine Honour, And in the Greatness of my word, you die.

SCENE

[Exeunt Duke, &c.

X.

My poor Rofalind; where wilt thou go?
Wilt thou change fathers! I will give thee

mine:

I charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than I am.

Rof.

Rof. I have more cause.

Cel. Thou haft not, coufin;

Pr'ythee, be cheerful; know'st thou not, the Duke Has banish'd me his daughter?

Rof. That he hath not.

Cel. No? hath not? Rofalind lacks then the love, Which teacheth me that thou and I am one : Shall we be fundred? fhall we part, fweet Girl? No, let my father feek another heir.

Therefore devise 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 heav'n, now at our forrows pale,
Say what thou canft, I'll go along with thee.
Ref. Why, whither shall we go?

Cel. To feek my Uncle in the foreft of Arden.
Rof. 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 fmirch my face;
The like do you; fo fhall we pass along,
And never flir affailants.

Ref. 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-fpear 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 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 Ganimed;

But what will you be call'd?

Cel.

Cel. Something that hath a reference to my ftate: No longer Celia, but Aliena.

Rof. But, Coufin, what if we affaid to feal 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;
Devife the fitteft time, and fafeft 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 II. SCENE I.

Arden FOREST.

Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, and two or three Lords like

Foreflers.

DUKE Senior.

Now, my co-mates a made this life more fweet

O W, my co-mates and brothers in exile,

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 Seafons' 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: these 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 ftubbornnefs of fortune Into fo quiet and so sweet a style.

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 Confines, with forked heads Have their round haunches goar'd.

1 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 banifh'd 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 fequeftred flag,
That from the hunters' aim had ta'en a hurt,
Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord,
The wretched Animal heav'd forth fuch groans
That their discharge did ftretch his leathern coat
Almost to burfting; and the big round tears
Cours'd one another down his innocent nofe
In piteous chafe; and thus the hairy fool,
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
Stood on th' extremeft verge of the swift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.

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

1 Lord. O yes, into a thousand fimilies. Firft, for his weeping in the needlefs ftream; Poor Deer, quoth he, thou mak'st a testament As worldlings do, giving thy fum of more To that which had too much. Then being alone, Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends; Tis right, quoth he, thus mifery doth part

The