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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 seek 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.
Ros. 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 myself in poor and mean attire,
And with a kind of umber smirch my face ;
The like do you; fo shall we pass along,
And never fir assailants,
Rof. Were't not better,
Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did suit 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 fwashing 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 Ganymede. But what will you be calld?
Cel. Something that hath a reference to my ftate : No longer Celia, but Aliena.
Rof. But, coulin, what if we afraid 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 we in content To liberty, and not to banishment.
Duke senior. Now my co-mates, and brothers in
A C T II. SCENE I.
Arden forest, Enter Duke senior, Amiens, and two or three Lords like forefters.
• 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 but the penalty of Adam,
· The season'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 shrink with cold, I smile, and say,
This is no flattery : these are counsellors,
• That feelingly persuade me what I am.
« Sweet are the uses of adversity,
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 stones, and good in every thing.'
Ami. I would not change it ; happy is your Grace,
That can translate the stubbornness of fortune
Into fo quiet and so sweet a ftyle.
Duke sen. Come, shall we go, and kill us venison !
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.
i 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 banith'd you..
To-day my Lord of Amiens, and myself,
Did steal 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 ftaga
That from the hunters' aim had ta'en a hurt,
Did come to fanguish ; 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 chafe; and thus the hairy fool,
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
Stood on th’extremest verge of the swift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.
Duke fen. 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 testament
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 misery doth part
The flux of company. Anon a careless herd,
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him,
And never Aays to greet him: Ay, quoth Jaques,
Sweep on, you fat and greafy citizens,
"Tis just the fashion : wherefore do you
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?
Thus most invectively he pierceth 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 align'd and native dwelling-place.
Duke fent. And did you leave him in this contem-
plation? 2 Lard. We did, my Lord, weeping and commentUpon the fobbing deer.
[ing Duke fen. Show me the place; I love to cope him in these sullen fits, For then he's full of matter..
1. Lard. I'll bring you to him straight, [Exeunt.
SCENE II. Changes to 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 confent and sufferance in this.
i Lord. I cannot hear of any that did fee her.
The ladies, her attendants of her chainber,
Saw her a-bed, and in the morning carly
They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress.
2 Lord. My Lord, the roynish clown at whom
Your Grace was wont to laugh, is also miffing :
Hesperia, the Princess' gentlewoman,
Confeffes, that she secretly o'erheard
Your daughter and her cousin much commend
The parts and graces of the wreftler,
That did but lately foil the finewy Charles;
And she believes, where-ever they are gone,
That 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 inquisition quail
To bring again these foolish runaways, [Exeunte
SCENE III. Changes to Oliver's house.
Enter Orlando and Adam.
Orla. Who's there?
Adam. What! my young master? oh, my gentle
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, ftrong, and valiant ?
Why would you be fo fond to overcome
The bony priser of the humorous Duke?
Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.
Know you not, Master, to some kind of men
Their graces ferye them but as enemies?
No more do your's; your virtues, gentle Master,
Are fanctified and holy traitors to you.
Oh, what a world is this, when what is comely
Invenoms him that bears it !
Orla. Why, what's the matter?
Adam. O unhappy youth,
Come not within these doors; within this roof
The enemy of all your graces lives :
Your brother- (no; no brother; yet the fon,-
Yet not the son; I will not call him son
Of him I was about to call his father),
Hath heard your praises, and this night he means
To burn the lodging where you use to lie,
if he fail of that,
He will have other means to cut you off ;
I overheard him, and his practices :
This is no place, this house is but a butchery;
Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.'
Orla. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have
me go? Adam. No matter whither, fo you come not here.
Orla. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my Or with a base and boifterous sword enforce [food? A thievish living on the common road? This I must do, or know not what to do: Yet this I will not do, do how I can; I rather will subject me to the malice Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother.
Adam. But do not so; I have five hundred crowns, • The thrifty hire I fav’d under your father, • Which I did store, to be my foster-nurse
When service should in my old limbs lie lame, • And unregarded age in corners thrown: * Take that; and he that doth the ravens feed, • Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, • Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold, « All this I give you,
your Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty; • For in my youth I never did apply • Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood; • Nor did I with unbashful forehead woo
The mcans of weakness and debility: