« PreviousContinue »
And thou wilt show more bright, and seem more vir
Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege;
self: you out-stay the time, upon mine honour, And in the greatness of my word, you die.
[Ereunt 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;
Ros. That he hath not.
Cel. No? hath not ? Rosalind lacks then the love,
Ros. Why, whither shall we go?
Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to us,
Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire,
Ros. Were it not better,
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 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.
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, –
do more usurp
Being native burghers of this desert city, Should, in their own confines, with forked heads Have their round haunches gor’d.
i Lord. Indeed, my lord, The melancholy Jaques grieves at that; And, in that kind, swears you 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?
1 Lord. O, yes, inlo 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 abandon’d of his velvet friends; 'Tis right, quoth he; this misery doth part The flur of company: Anon, a careless berd,
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him,
tion ? 2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting Upon the sobbing deer.
Duke S. Show me the place;
2 Lord. I'll bring you to him straight. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.- A Room in the Palace.
Enter Duke FREDERICK, Lords, and Attendants.
1 Lord. I cannot hear of any that did see her.
2 Lord. My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft