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Rof. I have more cause.
Cel. Thou hast not, cousin; Pr’ythee, be cheerful; know'st thou not, the Duke Has banish'd me his daughter ?
Roj. That he hath not.
Cel. No ? hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love,
Which teacheth me 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 yourself, 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 seek 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 myself in poor and mean attire,
And with a kind of umber smirch my face;
The like do you ; fo shall we pass along,
And never stir assailants.
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-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?
Rof. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own
And therefore, look, you call me Ganimed ;
But what will you be call'd ?
Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state : No longer Celia, but Aliena.
- Rof. But, Cousin, what if we allaid 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.
Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, and two or three. Lords like
DUK E Senior.
ow, 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 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 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 Sen. Come, shall we go and kill us venison?
And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools,
Being native burghers of this desart city,
Should, in their 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 bath 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 sequestred ftag, .
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 ftretch his leathern coat
Almoft to bursting ; and the big round tears
Cours’d one another down his innocent nose
In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fook,
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
Stood on th' extremeit verge of the swift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.
Duke Sen. But what said Jaques? Did he not moralize this spectacle ? i Lord. O
into a thousand fimilies. First, for his weeping in the needless stream; Poor Deer, quoth he, thou mak'ít a teftament 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, 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
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 Sen. And did you leave him in this contem•
plation? 2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and comment
Upon the lobbing deer.
Duke Sen. 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.
Changes to the PALACE again.
Enter Duke Frederick with Lords. Duke.
it be possible? It cannot be; fome villains of
Court Are of consent and sufferance in this.
i 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. 2 Lord. My Lord, the roynish Clown at whom so
oft Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing : Hesperia, the Princess' Gentlewoman,
Confesses, that the secretly o'er-heard
Your Daughter and her Cousin much commend
graces of the Wrestler,
That did but lately foil the finewy Charles;
And she believes, where ever they are gone,
That Youth is surely 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 suddenly;
And let not Search and Inquisition quail
To bring again these foolish runaways.
Changes to Oliver's House.
Enter Orlando and Adam. Orla. HO's there?
Adam. What! my young master? oh,
my gentle master, Oh, my sweet master, 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, strong, and valiant ? Why would
be fo fond to overcome
The boney Priser of the humorous Duke?
Your Praise is come too swiftly home before you.
Know you not, malter, to some kind of men
serve them but as enemies ?
No more do yours; your virtues, gentle master,
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.
Oh, what a world is this, when what is comely
Envenoms him that bears it !
Orla. Why, what's the matter?
Adam. O unhappy youth,
Come not within these doors; within this roof
your graces lives: Your brother-(no; no brother; yet the son,-