Ros.

And with a kind of umber smirch my face.
The like do you. So shall we pass along
And never stir assailants.

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-axe upon my thigh,

115

A boar-spear in my hand; and - in my heart 120
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.

125

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.

130

135

139 Exeunt.

ACT SECOND

SCENE I

[The Forest of Arden.]

Enter Duke senior, Amiens, and two or three Lords, like 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 not 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,

10

Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;

And this our life, exempt from public haunt,

brooks,

15

Finds tongues in trees, books in the running

Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

28

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
Have their round haunches gor'd.

1. Lord.

20

26

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

30

Under an oak whose antique root peeps out
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood;
To the which place a poor sequest❜red 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 leathern

coat

35

40

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, into a thousand similes.

45

First, for his weeping into the needless stream:
"Poor deer," quoth he, "thou mak'st a testa-

ment

As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more

To that which had too much." Then, being there 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

50

And never stays to greet him. "Ay," quoth
Jaques,

"Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens.

55

60

"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 commenting 65 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.

1. Lord. I'll bring you to him straight.

SCENE II

[A room in the palace.]

Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords.

Exeunt.

Duke F. Can it be possible that no man saw them? It cannot be. Some villains of my court

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.
2. Lord. My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft
Your Grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.
Hisperia, the princess' gentlewoman,
Confesses that she secretly o'erheard

10

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.

15

Duke F. Send to his brother. Fetch that gallant

hither.