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?

C. 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.

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 dullness 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.

Touch. Or as the destinies decree.

Cel. Well said; that was laid on with a trowel. 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 they lie; the poor old man, their father, making such pitiful dole over them, that all the beholders take his part with weeping.

Ros. Alas!

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 I ever 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.

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

Flourish. Enter Duke Frederick, Lords,

Orlando, Charles, and Attendants.

cessfully.1

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 can tell you, there is such odds in the men: In pity of the challenger's youth, I would fain dissuade 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 enterprise. 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.

[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; [deed,
Thou shouldst have better pleas'd me with this
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
To be adopted heir to Frederick. [calling,
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.

Gentleman,

ceived in you!

1

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.

Duke F. You shall try but one fall.

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?

Re-enter Le Beau.

Orl. You mean to mock me after; you should not have mocked me before; but come your ways.

O, poor Orlando! thou art overthrown;

Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee. Le B. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you 1 The object to tilt at with the lance.」

To leave this place: Albeit you have deserv'd
High commendation, true applause, and love;
Yet such is now the duke's condition,1
That he misconstrues all that you have done.
The duke is humorous; what he is, indeed,
More suits you to conceive, than me to speak of.

O. I thank you, sir; and pray you tell me this; Which of the two was daughter of the duke, That here was at the wrestling?

Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge
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 talen 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,

I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.
0. I rest much bbunden to you: fare you well.
[Exit Le Beau.
Thus must I from the smoke into the smother;
From tyrant duke, unto a tyrant brother:-
But heavenly Rosalind!
[Exit.

SCENE III-A ROOM IN THE PALACE.
Enter Celia and Rosalind.

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.
R. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor:
Tell me whereon the likelihood depends.
Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's
[dukedom;
Ros. So was I, when your highness took his
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.

enough.

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 father's child: O, how full of briars is this working-day world!

C. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery; if we walk notin 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.

Cel. O, 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?

R. 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.

1 Disposition.

To think my poverty is treacherous.

Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak. Duke F. Ay, Celia; westay'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; Roseat an instant, learned, played, 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 Her very silence, and her patience, [smoothness, 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 banished.

Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my I cannot live out of her company. [liege; 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. Omy 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.

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 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,
And with a kind of umber1 smirch2 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-ax3 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 mannishs cowards have,
That do outface it with their semblances.

C. 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.

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 confines, 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 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 leatheru coat
Almost to bursting; and the big round tears
Cours'a 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.
But what said Jaques?

Duke S.

Ros. But, cousin, what if we essay'd to steal The clownish fool out of your father's court? Would he not be a comfort to our travel?

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 mak'st a testament As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more To that which had too much: Then, being alone, Left and abandoned of his velvet friends; 'Tis right, quoth he; thus 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 con

templation? 2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and comUpon the sobbing deer. [menting Duke S. Show me the place;

I love to cope 1 him in these sullen fits,
For then he's full of matter.

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

SCENE II. -A ROOM IN THE PALACE, Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, and Attendants. Duke F. Can it be possible, that no man saw It cannot be: some villains of my court [them?

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. 2L. Mylord, 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
Your daughter and her cousin much commend
The parts and graces of the wrestler
That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles;
And she believes, wherever they are gone,
That youth is surely in their company.

Duke F. Send to his brother; fetch that

gallant hither;

If he be absent, bring his brother to me,
I'll make him find him: do this suddenly;
And let not search and inquisition quail

To bring again these foolish runaways. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. - BEFORE OLIVER'S HOUSE.
Enter Orlando and Adam, meeting.
Orl. Who's there?

Ad. What! my young master?-0, my gentle O, my sweet master, O you memory4 [master, 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 should you be so fonds to overcome
The bony prizer 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.
O, what a world is this, when what is comely
Envenoms him that bears it?

Orl. Why, what's the matter?

Adam.

O unhappy youth,
Come not within these doors; within this roof
The enemy of all your graces lives:
Your brother-(no, no brother; yet the son-
Yet not the son; - I will not call him son-

Of him I was about to call his father,)-
Hath heard your praises; and this night he means
To burn the lodging where you used 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 house is but a butchery;
Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.

[me go?

Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have A. No matter whither, so you come not here. Orl. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food?

Or, with a base and boisterous sword, enforce
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; ho
I rather will subject me to the malice
Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother.

A. But do not so: I have five hundred crowns, The thrifty hire I sav'd. under your father,

Which I did store, to be my foster-nurse, 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 sparrow,
Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold;
All this I give you: Let me be your servant;

Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty:

For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood;
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty, but kindly: let me go with you;
I'll do the service of a younger man
In all your business and necessities.

Orl. O good old man; how well in thee appears
The constant service of the antique world,
When service sweet for duty, not for meed !
Thou art not for the fashion of these times,
Where none will sweat, but for promotion:
And having that, do choke their service up!
Even with the having: it is not so with thee.
But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree,
That cannot so much as a blossom yield,
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry:
But come thy ways, we'll go along together;
And ere we have thy youthful wages spent,
We'll light upon some settled low content.

Adam. Master, go on; and I will follow thee, To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty.From seventeen years till now almost fourscore Here lived I, but now live here no more. At seventeen years many their fortunes seek; But at fourscore, it is too late a week:けい Yet fortune cannot recompense me better, Than to die well, and not my master's debtor. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. -THE FOREST OF ARDEN. Enter Rosalind in Boy's clothes, Celia drest like a Shepherdess, and Touchstone. Ros. O Jupiter! how weary are my spirits! Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary.

Ros. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel, and to cry like a woman: but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat: therefore, courage, good Aliena.

C. I pray you, bear with me; I can go no further. Touch. For my part I had rather bear with you than bear you: yet I should bear no cross, 1 if I did bear you: for, I think, you have no money in your purse.

Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden.

Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden: the more fool I; when I was at home I was in a better place; but travellers must be content.

Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone:-Look you, 1 Money stamped with a cross.