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Ros. O they take the part of a better Wrestler than my self.
Cel. O, a good Wish upon you; you will try in time in despight of a Fall; but turning these Tests out of Service, let us talk in good earnest : Is it possible on such a sudden you should fall into so strange a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest Son?
Rof. The Duke my Father lov’d his Father dearly.
Cel. Doch ic' 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.
Rof. No Faith, hate him not for my Sake.
Cel. Why should I not? Doth not he deserve well?
Enter Dake with Lords.
Rer. 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.
Duke. Mistress, dispatch you with your fafest haste,
And get you from our Court.
Rof. Me, Uncle!
Duke. You, Cousin.
Within these ten Days if that thou beest found
So near our publick Court as twenty Miles,
Thou dieft for it.
· Rof. I do beseech your Grace
Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me :
If with my self I hold Intelligence,
Or have Acquaintance with my own Defires,
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. Thus do all Traitors,
If their Purgation did consist in Words,
They are as innocent as Grace it self;
Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not.
Rof. Yet your Mistrust can not make me a Traitor;
Tell me whereon the likelihood depends.
Duke. Thou art thy Father's Daughter, there's enough.
Rof. 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 Soveraign hear me speak.
Duke. Ay Celia, we staid her for your fake,
Else had the with her Father rang'd along.
Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay;
I was too young that time to value her,
But now I know her; if the be a Traitor,
Why so am I; we still have slept together,
Rose ar an Instant, learn’d, plaid, eat together,
And whereloe'er we went, like Juno's Swans,
Suill we went coupled and inseparable.
Duke. She is too subtile for thee, and her Smoothnefs,
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 virtuous
When she is gone; then open not thy Lips,
Firm and irrevocable is my Doom,
Which I have past upon her; she is banishid.
Cel. Pronounce that Sentence then on me, my Liege, I cannot live out of her Company.
Duke. You are a Fool; you Neice provide your self, If you out-stay the time, upon mine Honour, And in the Greatness of my Word, you die.
[Exit Duke, &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,
Prethee be cheerful; know'st thou not the Duke
Hath banish'd me his Daughter?
Rof. That he hath not.
Cel. No, hath not? Rosalind lacks then the Love Which teacherh thee that thou and I am one: Shall we be sundred? 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 Charge upon you,
To bear your Griefs your self, and leave me out:
For by this Heav'n, now at our Sorrows pale,
Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee.
Rof. Why, whither shall we go?
Cel. To leek my Uncle in the Forest of Arden.
Rof. 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 my self in poor and mean Attire, . And with a kind of Umber smutch my Face,
The like do you, so shall we pass along,
And never stir Assailants.
Ref. Were it not better,
Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did fuit me all Points like a Man;
A gallant Curtelax upon my Thigh,
1 A Bore-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 mannilh Cowards have, ,
B4 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 Ganimed;
But what will you be called ?
- Cel. Something that hath a Reference to my State:
No longer Celia, but Aliena.
Ref. But Cousin, what if we aslaid 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 Jeu els 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.
:: A CT II. SCENE I.
SCENE a Forest.
Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, and two or thee Lords
like Foresters. Duke Sen. N OW my Co-mates, and Brothers in Exile, N Hath not old Custom made this Life more
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,
The Season's Difference, as the Icie phang'
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 perfuade me what I am.
Sweet are the Ufes of Adversity,
Which like the Toad, ugly and venemous,
Wears yet a precious Jewel in his Head:
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.
Amien. I would not change it; happy is your Grace
That can translate the Stubbornness of Fortune
Into lo quiet and so sweet a Style.
Duke Son. Come, shall we go and kill us Venison?
And yet it irks me, the poor dapled 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 swears you do more usurp,
Than doth your Brother that hath banish'd you:
To Day my Lord of Amiens, and my felf,
Did fteal behind him as he lay along
Under an Oak, whose antick Root peeps out
Sermmien. I would the Stubbo Style
Upon the Brook that brawls along this Wood,
To the which Place a poor fequeftred 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 melancholly Jagues,
Stood on th’extreameft Verge of the swift Brook, i
Augmenting it with Tears. i
Duke Sen. But what said Jaques?
Did he not moralize this spectacle?
I Lord. O yes, into a thousand Similies.
First, for his Weeping into the needless Stream;
Poor Deer, quoth he, thou mak’ft 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;
'Tis right, quoch 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 greazy Citizens,
'Tis just the Fashion; wherefore do you look
Upon that poor and broken Bankrupi there?
Thus most inveđively he pierceth through
The Body of the Country, City, Court,
Yea, and through this our Life, swearing that we
Are meer Usurpers, Tyrants; and what's worse,
To fright the Animals, and to kill them up
In their assign'd and native dwelling Place.
Duke Sen. And did you leave him in this Contemplation?
2 Lord. We did, my Lord, weeping and commenting Upon the sobbing Deer,
Duke Sen. Show me the Place, I love to cope him in these Cullen Fits, For then he's full of Matter. . 2 Lord, I'll bring you to him straight. [Excunt.
Sweet the Faland broken. Breech throus