And thou wilt show more bright, and seem more vir tuous, 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. 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 your self: If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour, [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 chearful: know'st thou not, the duke 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; Ros. Were it not better, Cel. What shall I call thee, when thou art a man? And therefore look you call me, Ganymede. 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, After my flight: Now go we in content, [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 exile, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Ami. I would not change it: Happy is your grace, 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 confínes, with forked heads 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 Duke S. But what said Jaques? 1 Lord. O, yes, into 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 flux of company: Anon, a careless herd, Full of the pasture, jumps along by him, Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens; 'Tis just the fashion : Wherefore do you look Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there? Yea, and of this our life: swearing, that we Duke S. And did you leave him in this contempla tion ? 2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting Upon the sobbing deer. Duke S. Show me the place; I love to cope him in these sullen fits, 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 |