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, 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. 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 ;8

And with a kind of umber smirch my face ;] Umber is a dusky yellow-coloured earth, brought from Umbria in Italy.

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 calld?

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: Now go we in content, To liberty, and not to banishment. [Exeunt.

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

exíle, 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 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.

• Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,

Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ;] It was the current opinion in Shakspeare's time, that in the head of an old toad was to be found a stone, or pearl, to which great virtues were ascribed. Thomas Lupton, in his First Booke of Notable Things, 4to. bl, l. bears repeated testimony to the virtues of the “ Todestone, called Crapaudina." In his Seventh Booke he instructs us how to procure it; and afterwards tells us“ You shall knowe whether the Tode-stone be the ryght and perfect stone or not. Holde the stone before a Tode, so that he may see it ; and if it be a ryght and true stone, the Tode will leape towarde it; and make as though he would snateh it. He envieth so much that man should have that stone." STEEVENS.

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 heads 3 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 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 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?

i Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similies. First, for his weeping in the needless stream ; Poor deer, quoth he, thou mak'st a testament

3

with forked heads -] i. e. with arrows, the points of which were barbed.

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, quoth he; this 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 contemplation? 2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and com

menting
Upon the sobbing deer.
Duke S.

Show me the place;
I love to cope 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

them? It cannot be: some villains of

my court

to cope him ] To encounter, or engage with him.