Are dearer than the natural bond of fifters.
But I can tell you, that of late this Duke
Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece;
Grounded upon no other argument,

But that the people praife her for her virtues,
And pity her for her good father's fake :
And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady
Will fuddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well
Hereafter, in a better world than this,

I shall defire more love and knowledge of you. [Exit. Orla. I reft much bounden to you: fare you well! Thus must I from the fmoak into the smother;

From tyrant Duke, unto a tyrant brother:

But, heav'nly Rofalind!

SCENE VIII.

Changes to an apartment in the palace.
Re-enter Celia and Rofalind.

[Exit.

Cel. Why, coufin; why, Rofalind; Cupid have mer cy; not a word!

Rof. Not one to throw at a dog.

Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be caft away upon curs, throw fome of them at me; come, lame me with reafons.

Rof. Then there were two coufins laid up; when the one fhould be lam'd with reafons, and the other mad without any.

Cel. But is all this for your father?

Rof. No, fome of it is for my father's child. Oh, how full of briars is this working-day-world!

Gel. They are but burs, coufin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery; if we walk not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats will catch them.

Rof. I could thake them off my coat; these burs are in my heart.

Cel. Hem them away.

Rof. I would try, if I could cry, Hem, and have him. Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. Rof. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself.

Á& i. Cel. O, a good with upon you! you will try in time, in defpight of a fall;but, turning thefe jefts out of fervice, let us talk in good earneft: is it poffible on fuch a fudden you fhould fall into fo ftrong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest fon?

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 chase I should hate him ; for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando.

Rof. No, faith, hate him not, for my fake.

Cel. Why fhould I? doth he not deserve well?

SCENE IX. 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 fafest 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 Highness.

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 truft thee not.

Rof. Yet your miftruft 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 dukedom; So was I when your Highness banish'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, miftake me not fo much,
To think my poverty is treacherous.

Cel. Dear Sovereign, hear me fpeak.
Duke. Ay, Celia, we but ftaid her for your
Elfe had the with her father rang'd along.

fake ;

Cel. I did not then intreat to have her ftay;
It was your pleasure, 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, 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 Imooth

Her very filence and her patience,

[nefs,

Speak to the people, and they pity her:

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

And thou wilt fhow more bright, and fhine more vire When she is gone; then open not thy lips :

Firm and irrevocable is my doom,

Which I have pafs'd upon her; she is banish'd.

[tuous,

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-ftay the time, upon mine honour,

And in the greatnefs of my word, you die.

SCENE

[Exeunt Duke, &c.

X.

Cel. O 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. I have more caufe.

Cel. Thou haft not, coufin :

Pr'ythee, be chearful; know't 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 funder'd? fhall we part, fweet girl?

No, let my father feek another heir.
Therefore devife 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 can'ft, I'll go along with thee.
Ref. Why, whither fhall we go?

Cel. To feek my uncle in the forest 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 ftir affailants.

Raf. 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-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 mannifh 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 Joye'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

No longer Celia, but Aliena.

Raf. But, coufin, what if we affaid to fteal The clownish fool out of your father's court? Would he not be a comfort to our travel?

ftate

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 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.

A C T II.

SCENE I.

Arden foreft.

Enter Duke fenior, Amiens, and two or three Lords like forefters.

Duke fenior. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in

exile,

• Hath not old cuftom 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 feafon's 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 fertune Into fo quiet and fo fweet a ftyle.

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

Being native burghers of this defart city,

Should, in their own 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 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 fequeftred Mag,