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Touch. Thus men may grow wiser every day. It is the first time that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport for ladies.

Cel. Or I, I promise thee.

Ros. But is there any else longs to see this broken music in his sides? Is there yet another dotes upon rib-breaking ? Shall we see this wrestling, cousin ?

Le Beau. You must, if you stay here ; for here is the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to perform it.

Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming. Let us now stay and see it. Flourish. Enter DUKE (FREDERICK), Lords,

ORLANDO, CHARLES, and Attendants. Duke F. Come on. Since the youth will not be entreated, his own peril on his forwardness.

Ros. Is yonder the man?
Le Beau. Even he, madam.

Cel. Alas, he is too young! Yet he looks successfully.

Duke F. How now, daughter and cousin! Are you crept hither to see the wrestling?

Ros. Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave.

Duke F. You will take little delight in it, I can tell you, there is such odds in the man. In pity of the challenger's youth I would fain (170 dissuade him, but he will not be entreated. Speak to him, ladies ; see if you can move him.

Cel. Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Bean.

Duke F. Do so; I 'll not be by.

Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the princess calls for yon.

Orl. I attend them with all respect and duty.

Ros. Young man, have you challeng'd Charles the wrestler ?

Orl. No, fair princess; he is the general challenger. I come but in, as others do, to try with him the strength of my youth.

Cel. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your years. You have seen cruel proof of this man's strength. If you saw yourself with your eyes, or knew yourself with your (186 judgement, the fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own safety, and give over this attempt.

Ros. Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore be misprised. We will make it our suit to the Duke that the wrestling might not go forward. Orl

. I beseech you, panish me not with your hard thoughts, wherein I confess me much guilty, to deny so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my trial; wherein if I be foil'd, there is but one sham'd that was never gracious ; if kill'd, but one dead that is willing (200 have none to lament me; the world no injury, for in it I have nothing. Only in the world I fill up a place, which may be better supplied when I have made it empty.

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Ros. The little strength that I have, I would it were with you.

Cel. And mine, to eke out hers.

Ros. Fare you well! Pray heaven I be deceiv'd in you! Cel. Your heart's desires be with you!

Cha. Come, where is this young gallant that is so desirous to lie with his mother earth?

Orl. Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working. Duke F. You shall try but one fall.

Cha. No, I warrant your Grace, you shall not entreat him to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him from a first.

Orl. You mean to mock me after ; you should not have mock'd me before. But come your ways.

Ros. Now Hercules be thy speed, young man !

Cel. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the leg. [They wrestle.

Ros. O excellent young man!

Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye I can tell who should down.

[Shout. (Charles is throun.] Duke F. No more, no more.

Orl. Yes, I beseech your Grace. I am not yet well breath'd.

Duke F. How dost thou, Charles ?
Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord.
Duke F. Bear him away. What is thy name,

young man ?
Orl. Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of
Sir Roland de Boys.
Duke F. I would thou hadst been son to

some man else. The world esteem'd thy father honourable, But I did find him still mine enemy. Thou shouldst have better pleas'd me with this

deed, Hadst thou descended from another house. But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth. I would thou hadst told me of another father.

(Exeunt Duke (Fred., train, and

Le Beau).
Cel. Were I my father, coz, would I do this?

Orl. I am more proud to be Sir Roland's son, His youngest son, -- and would not change that

calling, To be adopted heir to Frederick.

Ros. My father lov'd Sir Roland as his soul, And all the world was of my father's mind. Had I before known this young man his son, I should have given him tears unto entreaties, 250 Ere he should thus have ventur'd. Cel.

Gentle cousin, Let us go thank him and encourage him. My father's rough and envious disposition Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well deserv'd. If you do keep your promises in love But justly, as you have exceeded all promise, Your mistress shall be happy. Ros.

Gentleman, (Giving him a chain from her neck.] Wear this for me, one out of suits with fortune, That could give more, but that her hand lacks Shall we go, coz?

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Cel. Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman.
Orl. Can I not say, I thank you ? My better

parts Are all thrown down, and that which here

stands up Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. Ros. He calls us back. My pride fell with

my fortunes ; I'll ask him what he would. Did you call,

sir ?
Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown
More than your enemies.
Cel.

Will you go, coz ?
Ros. Have with you. Fare you well.

(Exeunt (Rosalind and Celia). Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon

my tongue ? I cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference.

Re-enter LE BEAU. O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown! Or Charles or something weaker masters thee. Le Beau. Good sir; I do in friendship counsel

you To leave this place. Albeit you have deserv'd High commendation, true applause, and love, 278 Yet such is now the Duke's condition, That he misconstrnes all that you have done. The Duke is humorous: -- what he is, indeed, More suits you to conceive than I to speak of. Orl. I thank you, sir; and, pray you, tell me

this : Which of the two was daughter of the Duke, That here was at the wrestling? Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge

by manners; But yet, indeed, the taller is his daughter. The other is daughter to the banish'd Duke, 285 And here detain'd by her usurping uncle To keep his daughter company; whose loves Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters. 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 praise her for her virtues, And pity her for her good father's sake; And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you

well. Hereafter, in a better world than this, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. Orl. I rest much bounden to you; fare you well.

[Èxit Le Beau.] Thus must I from the smoke into the smother, From tyrant Duke unto a tyrant brother. But heavenly Rosalind !

(Exit. SCENE III. (A room in the palace.)

Enter CELIA and ROSALIND, Cel. Why, cousin! why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy ! not a word ?

Ros. Not one to throw at a dog.

Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs; throw some of them at me. Come, lame me with reasons.

Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up,

when the one should be lam'd with reasons and the other mad without any.

Cel. But is all this for your father? Ros. No, some of it is for my child's father. O, how full of briers is this working-day world!

Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery. If we walk not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats will catch them.

Ros. I could shake them off my coat. These burs are in my heart.

Cel. Hem them away.

Ros. I would try, if I could cry hem and have him.

Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections.

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

Cel. 0, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in despite of a fall. But, turning these jests out of service, let us talk in (as good earnest. Is it possible, on such a sudden you should fall into so strong a liking with old Sir Roland's youngest son ?

Ros. The Duke my father lov'd his father dearly.

Cel. Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his son dearly? By this kind of chase, I should hate him, for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando.

Ros. No, faith, hate him not, for my sake.

Cel. Why should I not ? Doth he not deserve well ?

Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords.
Ros. Let me love him for that, and do you
love him because I do. Look, here comes the
Duke.

Cel. With his eyes full of anger.
Duke F. Mistress, dispatch you with your

safest haste,
And get you from our court.
Ros.

Me, uncle ? Duke F.

You, cousin. Within these ten days if that thou be’st found 45 So near our public court as twenty miles, Thou diest for it. Ros.

I do beseech your Grace, Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with

me. If with myself I hold intelligence, Or have acquaintance with mine own desires ; 50 If that I do not dream, or be not frantic, As I do trust I am not then, dear uncle, Never so much as in a thought unborn Did I offend your Highness. Duke F.

Thus do all traitors. If their purgation did consist in words, They are as innocent as grace itself. Let it suffice thee that trust thee not. Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a

traitor. Tell me whereon the likelihoods depends. Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter;

there's enough. Ros. So was I when your Highness took his

dukedom. So was I when your Highness banish'd him.

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And with a kind of umber smirch my face.
The like do you. So shall we pass along
And never stir assailants.
Ros,

Were it not better,
Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did suit me all points like a man?
A gallant curtle-axe 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 mannish cowards have That do outface it with their semblances, Cel. What shall I call thee when thou art a

man? Ros. I'll have no worse a name than Jove'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

state : No longer Celia, but Aliena. Ros. But, cousin, what if we assay'd 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. (Exeunt. 149

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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, 65
Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much
To think my poverty is treacherous.
Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak.
Duke F. Ay, Celia ; we stay'd her for your

sake,
Else had she 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 she 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 F. She is too subtle for thee; and her

smoothness, Her very silence, 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 pass'd upon her; she is banish'd. Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me,

my liege; I cannot live out of her company. Duke F. You are a fool. You, niece, provide

yourself. If you outstay the time, upon mine honour, no And in the greatness of my word, you die.

|Exeunt Duke Frederick and Lords. Cel. O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt thou Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee

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

Ros. I have more cause.
Cel.

Thou hast not, cousin ; Prithee, be cheerful. Know'st thou not, thé

Duke
Hath banish'd me, his daughter ?
Ros.

That he hath not.
Cel. No, hath not ? Rosalind lacks then the

love Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one. Shall we be sund'red ? 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 change upon you, To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me

out; For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee.

Ros. Why, whither shall we go?
Cel. To seek my uncle in the forest of Ar-

den,
Ros. 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 me attire,

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go?

ACT II

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SCENE I. (The Forest of Arden.]
Enter DUKE senior, AMIENS, and two or three

LORDS, like foresters.
Duke S. Now, my co-mates and brothers in

exile, Hath not oíd 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 not the penalty of Adam, The seasons' 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 shrink with cold, I smile and say,

This is no Aattery: 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, 15 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 for

tune Into so quiet and so sweet a style.

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Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us ven

ison? And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools, Being native burghers of this desert 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, swears you do more usurp 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 sequest'red stag, That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, Did come to languish ; and indeed, my lord, 35 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 the extremest verge of the swift

brook, Augmenting it with tears. Duke S.

But what said Jaques ? Did he not moralize this spectacle ?

1. Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes. First, for his weeping into the needless stream: Poor deer," quoth he, “thou mak'st a testa

ment As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more To that which had too much." Then, being

there alone, Left and abandoned 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 stays to greet him. Ay," quoth

Jaques, “Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens. 'T is just the fashion. Wherefore do you look 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 usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse, To fright the animals and to kill them up In their assign'd and native dwelling-place. Duke S. And did you leave him in this con

templation ? 2. Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and com

menting Upon the sobbing deer. Duke S.

Show me the place. I love to cope him in these sullen fits, For then he's full of matter. 1. Lord. I'll bring you to him straight.

[Ereunt,

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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 mis-

tress. 2. Lord. My lord, the roynish clown, at

whom so oft
Your Grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.
Hisperia, the princess' gentlewoman,
Confesses that she secretly o'erheard
Your daughter and her cousin much commend
The parts and graces of the wrestler
That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles ;
And she believes, wherever they are gone,
That youth is surely in their company.
Duke F. 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.

(Ereunt. SCENE III. (Before Oliver's house.)

Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting. Orl. Who's there? Adam. What, my young master ? O my

gentle master! O my sweet master ! O you memory Of öld Sir Roland! Why, what make yon

here? Why are you virtuous ? Why do people love And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and val

iant ? Why would you be so fond to overcome The bonny priser of the humorous Duke ? Your praise is come too swiftly home before

you. Know you not, master, to some kind of men 10 Their graces serve them but as enemies ? No more do yours. Your virtues, gentle mas

ter,
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.
O, what a world is this, when what is comely
Envenoms him that bears it!

Orl, 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 son -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 To burn the lodging where you use to lie And you within it. 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. Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou

have me go?

you?

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SCENE II. (A room in the palace.] Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with LORDS. Duke F. Can it be possible that no man saw

them?

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Adam. No matter whither, so you come not

here. Orl. What, wouldst thou have me go and

beg my food ? Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce 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 saved 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. Let me be your servant. 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 not with unbashful forehead woo The means of weakness and debility; Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, Frosty, but kindly. Let me go with you; I'll do the service of a younger man In all your business and necessities.

Orl."O good old man, how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed ! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat but for promotion, And having that do choke their service up Even with the having. It is not so with thee. But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree, That cannot so much as a blossom yield In lien of all thy pains and husbandry. But come thy ways; we'll go along together, And ere we have thy youthful wages spent, We'll light upon some settled low content.

Adam. Master, go on, and I will follow thee To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty. From seventeen years till now almost fourHere lived I, but now live here no more. At seventeen years many their fortunes seek, But at fourscore it is too late a week; Yet fortune cannot recompense me better Than to die well and not my master's debtor.

(Exeunt. SCENE IV. (The Forest of Arden.) Enter ROSALIND for Ganymede, CELIA for

Aliena, an Clown, alias TOUCHSTONE,
Ros. O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits !

Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary.

Ros. I coald find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel and to cry like a woman; but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet [8 and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat; therefore, courage, good Aliena.

Cel. I pray yon, bear with me; I cannot go Do further.

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Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear you. Yet I should bear no cross if I did bear you, for I think you have no money in your purse. Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden.

Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden, the moro fool I. When I was at home, I was in a better place; but travellers must be content.

Enter CORIN and SILVIUS. Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone. Look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in solemn talk. Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you

still. Sil. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do

love her! Cor. I partly guess ; for I have lov'd ere Sil. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not

guess, Though in thy youth thon wast as true a lover As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow. But if thy love were ever like to mine, As sure I think did never man love so — How many actions most ridiculous Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy ?

Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.

Sil. O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily! If thou rememb'rest not the slightest folly That ever love did make thee run into, Thou hast not lov'd; Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, Wearing thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, Thou hast not lov'd; Or if thou hast not broke from company Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, Thou hast not lov'd. O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe!

[Exit. Ros. Alas, poor shepherd I searching of thy

wound, I have by hard adventure found mine own.

Touch. And I mine. I remember, when I was in love I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming a-night to Jane Smile; and I remember the kissing of her batlet and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopt hands had milk'd ; and I remember the woo- (60 ing of a peascod instead of her; from whom I took two cods and, giving her them again, said with weeping tears, " Wear these for my sake.” We that are true lovers run into strange capers ; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.

Ros. Thou speakest wiser than thou art

Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I break my shins against it. Ros. Jove, Jove! this shepherd's passion

Is much upon my fashion. Touch. And mine ; but it grows something stale with me.

Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond If he for gold will give us any food, I faint almost to death. Touch.

Holla, you clown!

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