SCENE IV.

An Apartment 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. But is all this for your father?

Ros. No, some of it is for my child's father: Oh, how full of briars 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. Oh, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself.

Cel. Oh, a good wish upon you!-But turning these jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest: Is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so strong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son? Ros. The duke, my father, loved 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.

1

Ros. No, 'faith, hate him not, for my sake.
Cel. Why should I 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.

Fred. Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste,

And get you from our court!
Ros. Me, uncle?

Fred. You, cousin :

Within these ten days, if that thou be'st found
So near our public court as twenty miles,
Thou diest for it!

Ros. [Kneeling.] 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 my own desires;
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.

Fred. Thus do all traitors;
If their purgation did consist in words,
They are as innocent as grace itself :-
Let it suffice thee, that I trust thee not.

Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor : Tell me, whereon the likelihood depends.

Fred. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's enough. Ros. So was 1, when your highness took his duke

dom.

So was I, when your highness banish'd him :
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 :
Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much,
To. think my poverty is treacherous.

Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak!

Fred. Ay, Celia; we but 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;
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'r we went, like Juno's swans,

Still we went coupled, and inseparable.

Fred. She is too subtle for thee; and her smooth

ness,

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 vir

tuous,

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.

Fred. You are a fool!-You, niece, provide your

self;

If you outstay the time, upon mine honour,
And in the greatness of my word, you die!

[Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK, &c.

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. Thou hast not, cousin;
Pr'ythee, be cheerful: know'st thou not, the 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 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:
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 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.
Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire;
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.

Ros. Now, go we in content,
To liberty, and not to banishment.

ACT THE SECOND.

SCENE I.

[Exeunt.

OLIVER'S House.

Enter ORLANDO. - Knocks at the Door.

Orl. Who's there?

Enter ADAM.

Adam. What! my young master?-Oh, my gentle

master,

Oh, my sweet master! Oh, 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, strong, and valiant?
Why would you be so 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 serve them but as enemies ?
No more do yours; your virtues, gentle master,
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.

D