Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections.

Rof. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself.

Cel. O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in defpight of a fall.-But turning thefe jefts out of fervice, let us talk in good earnest: Is it poffible on fuch a fudden you should fall into fo ftrong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son ?

Rof. The duke my father lov'd his father dearly.

Cel. Doth it therefore enfue, that you should love his fon dearly? By this kind of chafe, I fhould hate him, for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Or/lando.

Rof. No, faith, hate him not, for

my Take. Cel. Why should I? doth he not deferve well?

Enter Duke, with Lords.

Rof. Let me love him for that; and do you love him because I do.-Look, here comes the duke.

Gel. With his eyes full of anger.

Duke. Miftrefs, dispatch you with your safest haste, And get you from our court.

Rof. Me, uncle?

Duke. You, coufin :

Within these ten days if that thou be'st 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 myself I hold intelligence,

Or have acquaintance with my own defires;

If that I do not dream, or be not frantic,
(As I do trust I am not) then, dear uncle,
Never, fo much as in a thought unborn,
Did I offend your highness.

Duke. Thus do all traitors;

If their purgation did confist in words,
They are as innocent as grace itself ;-
Let it fuffice thee, that I trust thee not.

Rof. Yet your miftruft 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 highnefs took his dukedom;

So was I, when your highnefs banish'd him :
VOL. II. K

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 fovereign, hear me speak.

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

Cel. I did not then intreat 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 fhe be a traitor,
Why fo am I; we ftill have flept together,
Rofe at an inftant, learn'd, play'd, eat 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 fmoothness, 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 feem more virtuous,
When she is gone.[6] 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, niece, provide yourself; If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour, And in the greatnefs of my word, you die.

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

Pr'ythee, be cheerful: know'st thou not the duke
Hath banish'd me his daughter?

Rof. That he hath not.

Gel. No hath not? Rofalind lacks then the love Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one: Shall we be funder'd? fhall we part, fweet girl? No; let my father feek another heir.

[6] i. e. Her virtues would appear more fplendid, when the luftre of her coufin's was away. WARB,

Therefore devife with me, how we may fly;
Whither to go, and what to bear with us:
And do not feek to take your change upon you,
To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out :
For, by this heaven, now at our forrows pale,
Say what thou cahft, I'll go along with thee.
Rof. Why, whither fhall 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 ; so shall we pass along,
And never ftir affailants.

Rof. Were it not better,

Because that I am more than common tall,,
That I did fuit me all points like a man?
A gallant curtle-axe[7] upon my thigh,

A boar-fpear in my hand; and (in my heart
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will)
I'll have a swashing and a martial outfide;
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. Something that hath a reference to my state; No longer Celia, but Aliena.

Rof. But, coufin, what if we affay'd to fteal
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 fittest 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.

[7] Curtle-axe, or Cutlace, a broad fword. JOHNS.

[Exeunt.

ACT II. SCENE I.

Arden Foreft. Enter Duke fenior, AMIENS, and two or three Lords, like Foresters.

Duke fenior.

NOW, my co-mates, and brothers in exile,
Hath not old cuftom made this life more fweet
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,
The feafons' 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 fhrink with cold, I smile, 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 :[8]
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 translate the stubbornnefs of fortune

Into fo quiet and so sweet a style.

Duke fen. Come, fhall we go and kill us venison ? And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools,

Being native burghers of this defert city,

Should in their own confines, with forked heads
Have their round haunches gor'd.

1 Lord. Indeed, my lord,

The melancholy Jaques grieves at that;

And, in that kind, fwears you do more ufurp

[8] It was the current opinion in Shakespeare's time, that in the head of an old toad was to be found a ftone, or pearl, to which great virtues were afcribed. This ftone has been often fought, but nothing has been found more than accidental or perhaps morbid indurations of the skull. JOHNS. In a book called, A Green Foreft, or a Natural Hiftory, &c. by John Maplett, 1567, is the following account of this imaginary gem: "In this ftone is apparently feene verie often the verie forme of a tode, with defpotted "and coloured feete, but thofe uglye and defusedly. It is available against "envenoming." STEEV.

Than doth your brother, that hath banish'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 fequefter'd ftag,
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 stretch his leathern coat
Almost to bursting; 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 the extremeft verge of the fwift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.

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

I Lord. O yes, into a thousand fimilies.
Firft, for his weeping in the needless stream;
Poor deer, quoth he, thou mak' a teftament
As wordlings 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 flux of company. Anon, a careless herd,
Full of the pafture, jumps along by him,
And never ftays to greet him: Ay, quoth Jaques,
Sweep on, you fat and greafy citizens;

'Tis just the fashion: wherefore do you look
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?
Thus moft invectively he pierceth through
The body of the country, city, court,

Yea, and of this our life: fwearing, 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 fen. And did you leave him in this contemplation? 2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting. Upon the fobbing deer.

Duke fen. Show me the place;

I love to cope him in thefe fullen fits.
For then he's full of matter.

2-Lord. I'll bring you to him ftraight.

[Exe