Cel. O, a good with upon you! you will try in time, in defpight of a fall;-but, turning these 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 son? Ref. The Duke my father lov'd his father dearly. Cel. Doth it therefore enfue that you fhould love his fon dearly? By this kind of chafe I fhould hate him; for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando. Ref. No, faith, hate him not for my fake. Cel. Why fhould I? doth he not deferve well!H 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. Cel. With his full of anger. eyes Duke. Miftrefs, dispatch you And get you from our court. Rof. Me, uncle! Duke. You, coufin. with your fafest hafte Within these ten days, if that thou be'ft found Thou dieft for it. Rof. I do befeech your Grace, Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me: Or have acquaintance with my own defires; Duke. Thus do all traitors; If their purgation did confift in words, Let it fuffice thee that I trust thee not. Rof. Yet your mistrust 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 dukeSo was I when your Highnefs banifh'd him; [dom; Treason is not inherited, my Lord; Or Or if we did derive it from our friends, Gel. Dear Sovereign, hear me fpeak. Duke. Ay, Celia, we but ftaid here for your fake; Elfe had the with her father range'd along. Gel. I did not then intreat to have her stay; Duke. She is too fubtle for thee; and her finoothnefs, 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 fhine more virtuous, When she is gone; then open not thy lips: Firm and irrevocable is my doom, Which I have pafs'd upon her; fhe is banish'd. Gel. Pronounce that fentence then on me, my Liege; I cannot live out of her company. Duke. You are a fool: you, niece, provide yourself; you out-stay the time, upon mine honour, And in the greatnefs of my word, you die. [Exeunt Duke, &c. SCENE X. Cel. O my poor Rofalind, where wilt thou go ? Wilt thou change fathers! I will give thee mine: Cel. Thou haft not, coufin : Pr'ythee, be chearful; know'st 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, No, let my father feek another heir. Therefore devife with me how we may fly; Cel. To feek my uncle in the foreft of Arden. Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire, Ref. Wer't not better, Because that I am more than common tall, A boar-fpear in my hand, and (in my heart That do outface it with their femblances. Gel. 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 call'd? Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state's No longer Celia, but Aliena. Rof. But, coufin, what if we affaid to steal Cel. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me. To hide us from purfuit that will be made [Exeunt ACT A CT 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 Hath not old cuftom made this life more sweet And churlish chiding of the winter's wind; 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 fortune 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 fool, Being native burghers of this defert city, Should, in their own confines, with forked heads 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. Under an oak, whofe antique root peeps out VOL. II. That That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, Duke fen. But what faid Jaques ? Lord. yes, into a thousand fimilies. First, for his weeping in the needless stream; 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. 2 Lord. I'll bring you to him ftraight. [Exeunt. SCENE |