They are as innocent as grace it self: Let it fuffice thee that I trust thee not,
Rof. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor ;
Tell me whereon the likelihood depends.
Duke. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's enough, Rof. 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 To think my poverty is treacherous.
Cel. Dear Sovereign, hear me speak. Duke. Ay, Celia, we but staid her for your fake, Else had the with her father rang'd along.
Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay; It was your pleasure, and your own remorse; I was too young that time to value her; But now I know her; if the 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. She is too fubtle for thee; and her smoothness,
Her very filence 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 past upon her; she is banish'd.
Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my Liege; I cannot live out of her company.
Duke. You are a fool: you, niece, provide your self; If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour, And in the greatness of my word, you die. [Exe. Duke, &c.
Cel. O my poor Rosalind, 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. I have more cause, Cel. Thou haft not, dearest coufin; Pr'ythee, be cheerful; know'st thou not Has banished me his daughter? Rof. That he hath not.
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Cel. No? hath not? Rosalind lacks then Which teacheth me that thou and I are one Shall we be sundred ? 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 charge upon you, To bear your griefs your self, and leave me out : For by this heav'n, now at our forrows pale, Say what thou can'st, I'll go along with thee. Rof. Why, whither shall we go? Cel. To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden Rof. 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 my self in poor and mean attire, And with a kind of umber smutch my face; The like do you; so shall we pass along, And never ftir afsailants.
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 curtelax upon my thigh, A boar-spear in my hand, and (in my heart Lye there what hidden woman's fear there will) I'll have a swashing and a martial outside, As many other mannish cowards have, That do outface it with their semblances.
Cel. What shall 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. Something that hath a reference to my state : No longer Celia, but Aliena.
Ref. But, coufin, what if we assaid to steal
They wnish fool out of your father's court? Leid 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 !
A Foreft. Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, and two or three
OW, my co-mates, and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more
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 feafon's difference; as, the icie phang, And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even 'till I shrink with cold, I fmile, and say, This is no flattery: thefe are counsellors That feelingly perfuade me what I am. Sweet are the uses of adverfity, Which like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head : And this our life, exempt from publick haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.
Ami. I would not change it; happy is your Grace That can tranflate the stubbornness of fortune Into so quiet and so sweet a style.
Duke Sen, Come, shall we go and kill us venifon?
And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools, Being native burghers of this desart city, Should, in their own confines, with forked heads
Have their round haunches goar'd,
Lord. Indeed, my Lord,
The melancholy Jaques grieves at that, And in that kind swears you do more ufurp 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; To the which place a poor sequestred 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 fwift brook, Augmenting it with tears.
Duke Sen. But what faid Jaques ? Did he not moralize this spectacle?
1 Lord. O yes, into a thousand fimilies. First, for his weeping in the needless stream; Poor deer, quoth he, thou mak'st a teftament As worldlings do, giving thy sum 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 flux of company: anon a careless herd, Full of the pasture, jumps along by him, Another stays to greet him: ay, quoth Jaques, Sweep on, you fat and greazy citizens, 'Tis just the fashion; wherefore do you look Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there? Thus most invectively he pierced through The body of the country, city, court, Yea, and of this our life, swearing that we Are mere ufurpers, tyrants, and what's worse, To fright the animals, and to kill them up In their affign'd and native dwelling-place,
Duke, Sen. And did you leave him in this contemplation? 2 Lord.
2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting
Upon the sobbing deer.
Duke Sen. Show me the place;
I love to cope him in these sullen fits, For then he's full of matter.
2 Lord. I'll bring you to him straight.
SCENE II. The Palace again. Enter Duke Frederick with Lords.
Duke. Can it be possible that no man saw them? It cannot be; some villains of my court Are of consent and sufferance in this.
1 Lord. I cannot hear of any that did see her. The ladies, her attendants of her chamber, Saw her a-bed, and in the morning early They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress. 2. Lord. My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft Your Grace was wont to laugh, is also missing: Hifperia, the Princess' gentlewoman, Confeffes that the secretly o'erheard Your daughter and her cousin much commend The parts and graces of the wrestler That did but lately foil the finewy Charles; And she believes, where-ever they are gone, The youth is surely in their company.
Duke. Send to his brother, 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 inquifition quail
To bring again these foolish runaways.
SCENE III. Oliver's House. Enter Orlando and Adam.
Orla. Who's there?
Adam. What! my young master? oh my gentle master,
Oh my sweet master, O you memory
Of old Sir Rowland! why, what make you here? Why are you virtuous ? why do people love you ? And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant?
Why would you be so fond to overcome
The bonny priser of the humorous Duke?
Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.
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