Duke F. She is too subtle for thee; and her smooth

Her very silence, and her patience,

[ness,

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 out-stay the time, upon mine honour,

And in the greatness of my word, you die.

[Exeunt Duke FREDERICK and Lords. Cel. O my poor Rosalind: whither wilt thou go? Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine. I charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than I am. Ros. I have more cause. Cel. Pr'ythee, be cheerful: know'st thou not, the duke Hath banish'd me his daughter?

Ros.

Thou hast not, cousin

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 sunder'd? 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 changed 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 alone with thee.
Ros. Why, whither shall we
Cel. To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden.
Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to us,
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far?
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.

go

?

Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire,

d change,] Reverse, of fortune, the second folio reads charge.— STEEVENS.

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-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 swashings 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.

e And with a kind of umber smirch my face ;] Umber is a dusky yellow-coloured earth, brought from Umbria in Italy.-MALONE.

f

curtle-ax-] Or cutlace, a broad sword.

swashing,] Noisy, rattling, bullying.—STEEVENS.

ACT II.

SCENE I.-The Forest of Arden.

Enter Duke senior, AMIENS, and other Lords, in the dress of Foresters.

Duke S. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exíle,
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 not the penalty of Adam,h
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 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 ;i

And this our life, exempt from publick haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

h Here feel we not the penalty of Adam,] The modern editors all read but for not.-The alteration was made by Theobald, and is not only unnecessary but palpably wrong. The duke's sentiment is as follows:-Here we do not feel the penalty of Adam, the difference of seasons, because the slight physical suffering that it occasions, only raises a smile and suggests a moral reflection.

i — a precious jewel in his head ;] It was the current opinion of Shakspeare's time, that in the head of an old toad a stone called Crapaudina was to be found, to which great virtues were ascribed. "In this stone," says Maplett, Green Forest, 1567, "is apparently seen verie often the verie forme of a tode, with despotted and coloured feete, but these uglye and difusedly. It is available against poison."-It was also considered "a soveraigne remedy for the stone." To know whether the stone was perfect or not, Lupton, in his seventh book of Notable Things, recommends that the proprietor of this great treasure "shouldholde the stone before a tode, so that he may see it; and if it be a ryght and true stone, the tode will leape towarde it; and make as though he would snatch it. He envieth so much that man should have that stone." This stone has been often sought, but nothing has been found more than accidental or perhaps morbid indurations of the skull.-JOHNSON and STEEVENS. I saw it somewhere suggested that the eye, which in the toad is so bright and beautiful, was perhaps "the precious jewel" alluded to.

Ami. I would not change it: Happy is your grace,
That can translate the stubbornness of fortune
Into so quiet and so sweet a style.

Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison?
And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools,-
Being native burghers of this desert city,-
Should, in their own confínes, with forked heads1
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 sequester'd stag,
That from the hunters' aim had ta'en a hurt,
Did come to languish; 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 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.

Did he not moralize this spectacle?

But what said Jaques ?

1 Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similies.

First, for his weeping in the needless stream;m
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;

I would not change it :] Mr. Upton with great probability gives these words to the duke.

1

with forked heads-] i. e. With arrows, the points of which were barbed.-STEEVENS.

m

needless stream;] The stream that wanted not such a supply of moisture.-MALONE,

'Tis right, quoth he; this 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 ;

'Tis 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 contemplation? 2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting Upon the sobbing deer.

Duke S.

I love to cope him" in these sullen fits,

For then he's full of matter.

Show me the place :

[Exeunt.

2 Lord. I'll bring you to him straight.

SCENE II.

A Room in the Palace.

Enter Duke FREDERICK, Lords, and Attendants.

Duke F. Can it be possible, that no man saw them? 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 mistress.

2 Lord. My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft
Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.
Hesperia, the princess' gentlewoman,
Confesses, that she secretly o'erheard