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and, if it please your ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is yet to do; and here, where you are, they are coming to perform it. Cel. Well,-the beginning, that is dead and buried.

Le Beau. There comes an old man, and his three sons,-~

Cel. I could match this beginning with an old tale.

Le Beau. Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence;

Ros. With bills on their necks,-Be it known unto all men by these presents,Le Beau. The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the duke's wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him, and broke three of his ribs, that there is little hope of life in him: so he served the second, and so the third Yonder they lie; the poor old man, their father, making such pitiful dole over them, that all the beholders take his part with weeping.

Ros. Alas!

Touch. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies have lost?

Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of. Touch. Thus men may grow wiser every day! it is the first time that ever I heard, breaking of ribs was sport for ladies.

Cel. Or I, I promise thee.

Ros. But is there any else longs to see this broken music in his sides? is there yet another dotes upon rib-breaking?-Shall we see this wrestling, cousin?

Le Beau. You must, if you stay here: for here is the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to perform it.

Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming: Let us now stay and see it. Flourish, Enter Duke FREDERICK, Lords, ORLANDO, CHARLES, and Attendants. Duke F. Come on; since the youth will not be entreated, his own peril on his forwardness.

Ros. Is yonder the man?

Le Beau. Even he, madam.

Cel. Alas, he is too young: yet he looks successfully.

Duke F. How now, daughter, and cousin? are you crept hither to see the wrestling? Ros. Ay, my liege! so please you give us leave.

Duke F. You will take little delight in it, I can tell you, there is such odds in the men: In pity of the challenger's youth, I would fain dissuade him, but he will not be entreated: Speak to him, ladies; see if you can move him.

Cel. Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau.

Duke F. Do so; I'll not be by. [Duke goes apart. Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the princesses call for you.

Orl. I attend them, with all respect and duty.

Ros. Young man, have you

Charles the wrestler?

Orl. No, fair princess; he is the general challenger: I come but in, as others do, to try with him the strength of my youth.

Cel. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your years: You have seen cruel proof of this man's strength :-if you saw yourself with your eyes, or knew yourself with your judgment, the fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own safety, and give over this attempt.

Ros. Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore be misprised: we will make it our suit to the duke, that the wrestling might not go forward.

Orl. I beseech you, punish me not with your hard thoughts; wherein I confess me much guilty, to deny so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let your fair eyes, and gentle wishes, go with me to my trial: wherein if I be foiled, there is but one shamed that was never gracious; if killed, but one dead that is willing to be so: I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me; the world no injury, for in it I have nothing; only in the world I fill up a place, which may be better supplied when I have made it empty.

Ros. The little strength that I have, I would it were with you.

Cel. And mine, to eke out hers. Ros. Fare you well. Pray heaven, I be deceived in you!

Cel. Your heart's desires be with you.

Cha. Come, where is this young gallant, that is so desirous to lie with his mother earth?

Orl. Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working.

Duke F. You shall try but one fall. Cha. No, I warrant your grace; you shall not entreat him to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him from a first.

Örl. You mean to mock me after; you should not have mocked me before: but come your ways.

Ros. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young


Cel. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the leg.

[CHARLES and ORLANDO wrestle. Ros. O excellent young man! Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should down.

[CHARLES is thrown. Shout. Duke F. No more, no more. Orl. Yes, I beseech your grace; I am not yet well breathed.

Duke F. How dost thou, Charles? Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord. Duke F. Bear him away. [CHARLES is borne out.] What is thy name, young man? Orl. Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of sir Rowland de Bois.

Duke F. I would, thou hadst been son to some man else.

challenged The world esteem'd thy father honourable, do. But I did find him still mine enemy:

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[Giving him a chain from her neck. Wear this for me; one out of suits with for[lacks means.

tune +; That could give more, but that her hand Shall we go, coz? Cel.

Ay-Fare you well, fair gentleman. [ter parts Orl. Can I not say, I thank you? My betAre all thrown down; and that which here stands up,

Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. Ros. He calls us back: My pride fell with my fortunes: [sir? I'll ask him what he would:-Did you call, Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown More than your enemies. Cel. Will you go, coz? Ros. Have with you:-Fare you well. [Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA. Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue?


I cannot speak to her, yet she urged confer-
Re-enter LE BEAU.

O poor Orlando! thou art overthrown;
Or Charles, or something weaker, masters
[counsel you
Le Beau. Good sir, I do in friendship
To leave this place: Albeit you have deserv'd
High commendation, true applause, and love;
Yet such is now the duke's conditions,
That he misconstrues all that you have done.
The duke is humorous; what he is, indeed,
More suits you to conceive, than me to speak
[me this;
Orl. I thank you, sir: and, pray you, tell
Which of the two was daughter of the duke
That here was at the wrestling?


Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners;

But yet, indeed, the shorter is his daughter:
The other is daughter to the banish'd duke,
And here detain'd by her usurping uncle,
To keep his daughter company; whose loves
Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters.
But I can tell you, that of late this duke
Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece;
Grounded upon no other argument,
But that the people praise her for her virtues,
And pity her for her good father's sake;
And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady
Will suddenly break forth.-Sir, fare you

Hereafter, in a better world than this,
I shall desire more love and knowledge of

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SCENE III. A Room in the Palace. Enter CELIA and ROSALIND. Cel. Why, cousin; why, Rosalind ;-Cupid have mercy!-Not a word?

Ros. Not one to throw at a dog.

Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs, throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons.

Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up; when the one should be lamed with reasons, and the other mad without any.

Cel. But is all this for your father? Ros. No, some of it for my child's father: O, how full of briers is this working-day world!

Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery; if we walk not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats will catch them.

Ros. I could shake them off my coat; these burs are in my heart.

Cel. Hem them away.

Res. I would try; if I could cry hem, and have him.

Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affec


Ros. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself.

Cel. O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in despite of a fall.-But, turning these jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest: Is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so strong a liking with old sir Rowland's youngest son?

Ros. The duke my father loved his father dearly.

Cel. Doth it 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.

Ros. No 'faith, hate him not, for my sake.

Appellation. + Turned out of her service. exercises. § Temper, disposition.

The object to dart at in martial || Inveterately.

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If with myself I hold intelligence,

Or have acquaintance with mine own desires;
If that I do not dream, or be not frantic,
(As I do trust I am not,) then, dear uncle,
Never, so much as in a thought unborn,
Did I offend your highness.

Duke F.

Thus do all traitors;
If their purgation did consist in words.
They are as innocent as grace itself:-
Let it suffice thee, that I trust thee not.
Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make mé a

Tell me, whereon the likelihood depends.
Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter,
there's enough.
[his dukedom;
Ros. So was I, when your highness took
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 sovereign, hear me speak.
Duke F. Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your

Else had she with her father rang'd along.
Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay,
It was your pleasure, and your own remorse*;
I was too young that time to value her,
But now I know her: if she be a traitor,
Why so am I; we still have slept together,
Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat toge-

And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans,
Still we went coupled, and inseparable.
Duke F. She is too subtle for thee; and
her smoothness,

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 pass'd upon her; she is banish'd.

* Compassion.

Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, I cannot live out of her company. [my liege; Duke F. You are a fool:-You, niece, pro

vide yourself;

If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour,
And in the greatness of my word, you die.
[Exeunt Duke FRED. and Lords.
Cel. O my poor Rosalind! whither wilt thou
Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee
I charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than
Ros. I have more cause.
[I am.
Thou hast not, cousin;
Pr'ythee, be cheerful: know'st thou not, the
Hath banish'd me his daughter?
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
No; let my father seek another heir. [girl?
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?
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 umbert 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, 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 mau? [own page, Ros. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's And therefore look you call me, Ganymede. But what will you be call'd?

Cel. Something that hath a reference to my 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 Leave me alone to woo him: Let's away, [me; 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.

+ A dusky, yellow-coloured earth. t Cutlass.



SCENE I. The Forest of Arden.


And never stays to greet him; Ay, quoth Jaques,
Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;

Enter DUKE senior, AMIENS, & other Lords,"Tis just the fashion: Wherefore do you look

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

Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.
Ami. I would not change it: Happy is

your grace,

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 con-

2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and com-
Upon the sobbing deer.
Duke S.
Show me the place;

I love to copet him in these sullen fits,
For then he's full of matter.

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


SCENE II. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Duke FREDERICK, Lords, & Attendants.
Duke F. Can it be possible, that no man
saw them?

Are of consent and sufferance in this.
It cannot be some villains of my court


Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.
Hesperia, the princess' gentlewoman,
Your daughter and her cousin much commend
Confesses, that she secretly o'er-heard
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.

Duke F. Send to his brother; fetch that
gallant hither;

That can translate the stubbornness of fortune
Into so quiet and so sweet a style. [son?
Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us veni-The ladies, her attendants of her chamber,
1 Lord. I cannot hear of any that did see
And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools,-- Saw her a-bed; and, in the morning early,
Being native burghers of this desert city,-
Should, in their own confines, with forked They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress.
2 Lord. My lord, the roynish clown, at
Have their round haunches gor❜d. [heads*
whom so oft
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, aud 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 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
Almost to bursting; and the big round tears
Coursed 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.
First, for his weeping in the needless stream;
Poor deer, quoth be, thou makest 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 flux of company: Anon, a careless herd,
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him,

Barbed arrows. + Encounter.

I'll make him find him: do this suddenly;
If he be absent, bring his brother to me,
And let not search and inquisition quail ĝ
To bring again these foolish runaways.


SCENE III. Before Oliver's House.
Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting.
Orl. Who's there?
[gentle master,
Adam. What! my young master?-0, my.
O, my sweet master, O you memory
Of old sir Rowland! why, what make you
Why are you virtuous? Why do people love
And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and

Why would you be so fond ¶ to overcome
The bony prizer of the humorous duke? [you.
Your praise is come too swiftly home before
§ Sink into dejection.

+ Scurvy.

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Know you not, master, to some kind of men
Their graces serve them but as enemies?
No more do yours; your virtues, gentle mas-
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. [ter,
O, what a world is this, when what is comely
Envenoms him that bears it?

Orl. Why, what's the matter?
O unhappy youth,
Come not within these doors; within this roof
The enemy of all your graces lives:
Your brother-(no, no brother; yet the son-
Yet not the son;-1 will not call him son-
Of him I was about to call his father,)—
Hath heard your praises; and this night he


To burn the lodging where you use to lie,
And you within it: if he fail of that,
He will have other means to cut you off:
I overheard him, and his practices.
This is no place, this house is but a butchery;
Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.
Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou
have me go?
[not here.
Adam. No matter whither, so you come
Orl. What, wouldst thou have me go and
beg my food?

Or, with a base and boisterous sword, enforce
A thievish living on the common road?
This I must do, or know not what to do:
Yet this I will not do, do how I can;
I rather will subject me to the malice
Of a diverted blood t, and bloody brother.
Adam. But do not so: I have five hundred

The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father,
Which I did store, to be my foster-nurse,
When service should in my old limbs lie lame,
And unregarded age in corners thrown;
Take that and He that doth the ravens feed,
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,
Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold;
All this I give you: Let me be your servant;
Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty:
For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood;
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo
The means of weakness and debility;
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty, but kindly let me go with you;
I'll do the service of a younger man
In all your business and necessities.


Orl. O good old man; how well in thee apThe constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat, but for promotion; And having that, do choke their service up Even with the having: it is not so with thee. But, poor old man, thou prunest a rotten tree, That cannot so much as a blossom yield, In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry: But come thy ways, we'll go along together; And ere we have thy youthful wages spent, We'll light upon some settled low content. Adam. Master, go on; and I will follow thee,

• Mansion, residence.

To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty.—
From seventeen years till now almost fourscore
Here lived I, but now live here no more.
At seventeen years many their fortunes seek;
But at fourscore, it is too late a week:
Yet fortune cannot recompense me better,
Than to die well, and not my master's debtor.

SCENE IV. The Forest of Arden, Enter ROSALIND in boy's clothes, CELIA drest like a Shepherdess, & ToUCHSTONE.

Ros. O Jupiter! how weary are my spirits! Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary.

Ros. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel, and to cry like a woman: but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat: therefore, courage, good Aliena.

Cel. I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go no further.

Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you, than_bear you: yet I should bear no cross, if I did bear you; for, I thirk, you have no money in your purse.

Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden. Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden: the more fool I; when I was at home, I was in a better place; but travellers must be content.

Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone:-Look you, who comes here; a young man, and an od, in solemn talk.

Enter CORIN and SILVIUS. Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still. [love her! Sil. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do Cor. I partly guess; for I have loved ere now. Sil. No,Corin, being old, thou canst notguess; Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow: But if thy love were ever like to mine, (As sure I think did never man love so,) How many actions most ridiculous Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?

Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten. Sil. O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily: If thou rememb'rest not the slightest folly That ever love did make thee run into, Thou hast not loved :

Or if thou hast not sat as I do now,
Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
Thou hast not loved :

Or if thou hast not broke from company,
Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,
Thou hast not loved: O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe!
Ros. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of

thy wound,

I have by hard adventure found mine own. Touch. And I mine: I remember, when I was in love, I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming a-night § to Jane Smile: and I remember the kissing of

Blood turned from its natural course. money stamped with a cross. In the night. i

A piece of

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