No, let my father feek another heir.
Therefore devife with me how we may fly;
Whither to go, and what to bear with us;
And do not feek 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.
Rof. Why, whither fhall we go?

Cel. To feek my uncle in the foreft of Arden.
Rof. Alas, what danger will it be to us,
Maids as we are, to travel forth fo far!
Beauty provoketh thieves fooner than gold.

Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire,
'And with a kind of umber fmirch my face;
The like do you; fo fhall we pafs along,
And never ftir affailants.

Rof. Were't not better,

Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did fuit me all points like a man?
A gallant curtle-ax upon my thigh,

A boar-fpear 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 call'd?

Cel. Something that hath a reference to my ftate :* No longer Celia, but Aliena.

Rof. But, coufin, what if we affaid 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;
Devife the fittest time, and fafeft way
To hide us from purfuit that will be made
After my flight: now go we in content
To liberty, and not to banishment.

[Exeunt.

ACT II. SCENE I.

Arden foreft,

Enter Duke fenior, Amiens, and two or three Lords like forefters.

OW, my co-mates, and brothers in

Duke fenior. N exile,

• Hath not old cuftom made this life more sweet
Than that of painted pomp? are not thefe woods
More free from peril, than the envious court?
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,

The feafon'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 fhrink with cold, I fmile, and fay,
This is no flattery: thefe are counsellors,
That feelingly perfuade me what I am.
Sweet are the ufes of adverfity,

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 ftubbornness 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 fools,

Being native burghers of this defart 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 fwears you do more ufurp
Than doth your brother, that hath banish'd you.
To-day my Lord of Amiens, and myself,
Did fteal 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 flag,

That from the hunters' aim had ta'en a hurt,
Did come to languish; and, indeed, my Lord,
The wretched animal heav'd forth fuch groans
That their discharge did ftretch his leathern-coat
Almoft to burfting; and the big round tears
Cours'd one another down his innocent nofe
In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool,
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
Stood on th' extremeft verge of the swift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.

Duke fen. But what faid Jaques ?
Did he not moralize this fpectacle?

I Lord. O yes, into a thousand fimilies.
Firft, for his weeping in the needlefs ftream;
Poor deer, quoth he, thou mak'ft a teftamient
As worldlings do, giving thy fum of more
To that which had too much. Then being alone,
Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends;
"Tis right, quoth he, thus mifery doth part
The flux of company. Anon a careless herd,
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him,
And never Яays to greet him: Ay, quoth Jaques,
Sweep on, you fat and greafy citizens,

Tis juft 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; fwearing, that we
Are mere ufurpers, tyrants, and what's worfe,
To fright the animals, and to kill them up
In their affign'd and native dwelling-place.

Duke fen. And did you leave him in this contem-
plation?

2 Lard. We did, my Lord,, weeping and commentUpon the fobbing deer.

Duke fen. Show me the place;

I love to cope him in these fullen fits,
For then he's full of matter..

[ing

Lord. I'll bring you to him ftraight.

[Exeunt

SCENE II. Changes to the palace again.

Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords.

Duke. Can it be poffible, that no man faw them?
It cannot be; fome villains of my court
Are of confent and sufferance in this.

1 Lord. I cannot hear of any that did fee her.
The ladies, her attendants of her chamber,
Saw her a-bed, and in the morning early
They found the bed untreafur'd of their miftrefs.

2 Lord. My Lord, the roynifh clown at whom
fo oft

Your Grace was wont to laugh, is also miffing:
Hefperia, the Princefs' gentlewoman,
Confeffes, that the fecretly o'erheard

Your daughter and her coufin much commend
The parts and graces of the wrestler,
That did but lately foil the finewy Charles;

And the believes, where-ever they are gone,
That youth is furely in their company.

Duke. Send to his brother, fetch that gallant hither:
If he be abfent, bring his brother to me,
I'll make him find him; do this fuddenly;
And let not fearch and inquifition quail
To bring again these foolish runaways.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. Changes to Oliver's house.
Enter Orlando and Adam.

Orla. Who's there?

Adam. What! my young mafter? oh, my gentle mafter,

Oh, my sweet mafter, 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 prifer of the humorous Duke?
Your praife is come too fwiftly home before you
Know you not, Mafter, to fome kind of men
Their graces ferve 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

Your brother

lives:

-(no; no brother; yet the fon,Yet not the fon; I will not call him fon

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,
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 houfe is but a butchery;
Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.

Orla. Why, whither, Adam, wouldft thou have

Adam. No matter whither, fo you come not here. Orla. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my Or with a base and boisterous fword 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 fubject me to the malice
Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother.

Adam. But do not fo; I have five hundred crowns, The thrifty hire I fav'd under your father, • Which I did store, to be my fofter-nurfe 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 fparrow, Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold, All this I give you, let me be your fervant; Though I look old, yet I am ftrong and lufty; For in my youth I never did apply

Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood;
Nor did I with unbafhful forehead woo
The means of weakness and debility;