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withal; that either you might stay him from his intendment, or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into; in that it is a thing of his own search, and altogether against my will.

Oli. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I had myself notice of my brother's purpose herein, and have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him from it; but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles,-it is the stubbornest young fellow of France; full of ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good parts, a secret and villainous contriver against me his natural brother; therefore use thy discretion; I had as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger: And thou wert best look to't; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by some treacherous device, and never leave thee, till he hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other for, I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there is not one so young and so villainous this day living. I speak but brotherly of him; but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder.

Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to you: If he come to-morrow, I'll give him his payment: If ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize more: And so, God keep your worship!

Exit. Oli. Farewell, good Charles.-Now will I stir this gamester: I hope, I shall see an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle; never school'd, and yet learned; full of noble device; of all sorts enchantingly beloved; and, indeed, so much in the heart of the world, and especially of my own people, who best know him, that I am altogether misprised: but it shall not be so long; this wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains, but that I kindle the boy thither, which now I'll go about. [Exit.

SCENE II.—A lawn before the Duke's palace.

Enter ROSALIND and CELIA.

Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be

merry.

Ros. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of; and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget a banished father, you must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure.

Cel. Herein, I see, thou lovest me not with the full weight that I love thee: if my uncle, thy banished father, had banished thy uncle, the duke my father, so thou hadst been still with me, I could have taught my love to take thy father for mine; so would'st thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously temper'd as mine is to thee.

Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to rejoice in yours.

Cel. You know, my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to have; and, truly, when he dies, thou shalt be his heir: for what he hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render thee again in affection; by mine honour, I will; and when I break that oath, let me turn monster: therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry.

Ros. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports: let me see; What think you of falling in love?

Cel. Marry, I pr'ythee, do, to make sport withal: but love no man in good earnest; nor no further in sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou may'st in honour come off again.

Ros. What shall be our sport then? Cel. Let us sit and mock the good housewife, Fortune, from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally.

Ros. I would we could do so; for her benefits are mightily misplaced: and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her gifts to women.

Cel. 'Tis true: for those that she makes fair, she scarce makes honest; and those that she makes honest, she makes very ill-favour'dly.

Ros. Nay, now thou goest from fortune's office to nature's: fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of nature.

Enter TOUCHStone.

Cel. No? When nature hath made a fair creature, may she not by fortune fall into the fire?-Though nature hath given us wit to flout at fortune, hath not fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument?

Ros. Indeed, there is fortune too hard for nature; when fortune makes nature's natural the cutter off of nature's wit.

Cel. Peradventure, this is not fortune's work neither, but nature's; who perceiving our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, hath sent this natural for our whetstone : for always the dulness of the fool is the whetstone of his wits.-How now, wit? whither wander you? Touch. Mistress, you must come away to your father.

Cel. Were you made the messenger? Touch. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come for you.

Ros. Where learned you that oath, fool?

Touch. Of a certain knight, that swore by his honour they were good pancakes, and swore by his honour the mustard was naught: now, I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught, and the mustard was good; and yet was not the knight forsworn.

Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge?

Ros. Ay, marry; now unmuzzle your wisdom. Touch. Stand you both forth now: stroke

your chins, and swear by your beards, that I am a knave.

Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou art. Touch. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were: but, if you swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn: no more was this knight, swearing by his honour, for he never had any; or, if he had, he had sworn it away, before ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard.

Cel. Pr'ythee, who is't that thou mean'st? Touch. One that old Frederick, your father, loves.

Cel. My father's love is enough to honour him. Enough! speak no more of him; you'll be whipp'd for taxation, one of these days.

Touch. The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely, what wise men do foolishly.

Cel. By my troth, thou say'st true: for since the little wit, that fools have, was silenced, the little foolery, that wise men have, makes a great show. Here comes Monsieur Le Beau.

Enter LE BEAU.

Ros. With his mouth full of news.

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Touch. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies have lost?

Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of. 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 musick 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.

Čel. Yonder, sure, they are coming: Let us now stay and see it.

Flourish. Enter Duke FREDERICK, Lords, OR-
LANDO, CHARLES, and Attendants.
Duke F. Come on; since the youth will not

Cel. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed be entreated, his own peril on his forwardness.

their young.

Ros. Then shall we be news-cramm'd.
Cel. All the better; we shall be the more
marketable.-Bon jour, Monsieur Le Beau:
What's the news?

Le Beau. Fair princess, you have lost much good sport.

Cel. Sport? Of what colour?

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

Le Beau. What colour, madam? How shall can tell you, there is such odds in the men: In

I answer you?

Ros. As wit and fortune will.

Touch. Or as the destinies decree.

Cel. Well said; that was laid on with a trowel.
Touch. Nay, if I keep not my rank,-

Ros. Thou losest thy old smell.

Le Beau. You amaze me, ladies: I would have told you of good wrestling, which you have lost the sight of.

Ros. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling. Le Beau. I will tell you the beginning, and, if it please your ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is yet to do; and here, where you are, they are coming to perform it.

Cel. Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried.

Le Beau. There comes an old man and his three sons,

Cel. I could match this beginning with an old tale.

Le Beau. Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence ;

Ros. With bills on their necks,-Be it known unto all men by these presents,

Le Beau. The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the duke's wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him, and broke three of his ribs, that there is little hope of life in him: so he served the second, and so the third: Yonder

pity of the challenger's youth, I would fain dis-
suade him, but he will not be entreated: Speak
to him, ladies; see if you can move him.
Cel. Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau.
Duke F. Do so; I'll not be by.

[Duke goes apart. Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the princesses call for you.

Orl. I attend them, with all respect and duty. Ros. Young man, have you challenged 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 judgment, the fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal enterprize. 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, punish 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 foiled, there is but one shamed, that was never gracious; if killed, but one dead, that is willing to be so: I shall do my friends no wrong, for I 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.

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 deceived 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 mocked 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.

[Charles and Orlando wrestle. Ros. O excellent young man! Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should down. [Charles is thrown. Shout. Duke F. No more, no more.

Orl. Yes, I beseech your grace; I am not yet well breathed.

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

Orl. Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of sir Rowland de Bois.

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 Rowland's son,
His youngest son ;-and would not change that
calling,

To be adopted heir to Frederick.

Ros. My father lov'd sir Rowland 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, Ere he should thus have ventur'd.

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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 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

means.

Shall we go, coz?

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

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by manners;

But yet, indeed, the shorter is his daughter;
The other is daughter to the banish'd duke,
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,

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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 lamed with reasons, and the other mad without any.

Cel. But is all this for your father?

Ros. No, some of it for my child's father: 0, 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. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself.

| If that I do not dream, or be not frantick, (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 I trust thee not. Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor:

Tell me whereon the likelihood 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:
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.
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,

Cel. O, 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 good earnest : Is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so strong a liking with old sir Rowland's Her very silence, and her patience, youngest son ? 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

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?

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.

Enter Duke FREDERICK, with Lords. Duke F. Mistress, despatch 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 So near our publick 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;

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, pro

vide 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. 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:
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.

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, 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 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

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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 exile,

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 but 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 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;
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
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 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 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 sequester'd stag,
That from the hunter's 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. But what said Jaques ?
Did he not moralize this spectacle?

1 Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes. First, for his weeping in the needless stream; Poor deer, quoth he, thou makʼst 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;

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