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That could give more, but that her hand lacks And pity her for her good father's sake;

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Fare you well, fair gentleman. Orl. Can I not say, I thank you? My better

parts

Are all thrown down; and that which here stands
up

It is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block.
Ros. He calls us back.

fortunes:

And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady
Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well!
Hereafter, in a better world than this,
I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.
Orl. I rest much bounden to

you: fare you well! [Exit LE BEAU. Thus must I from the smoke into the smother; From tyrant Duke, unto a tyrant brother:

My pride fell with my But heavenly Rosalind !

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[Exit.

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 father's child.—0, how full of briars is this working-day world!

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Ros. I would try; if I could cry "Hem," and Tell me whereon the likelihood depends.

have him.

Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. 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. Cel. Why should I not? doth he not deserve well?

Ros. Let me love him for that; and do you love him because I do. Look, here comes the Duke.

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full of anger.

Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords.

Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter; there's enough.

Ros. So was I when your highness took his
dukedom;

So was I when your highness banished 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 stayed her for your sake,

Else had she with her father ranged 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, learned, played, eat together; 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,

Duke F. Mistress, despatch you with your saf- Speak to the people, and they pity her.

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Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine.
I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than I am.
Ros. I have more cause.
Cel.

Thou hast not, cousin :

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

Pr'y thee, be cheerful: know'st thou not the Duke Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will) Hath banished me, his daughter?

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We'll have a swashing and a martial outside;
As many other mannish cowards have,

Cel. No? hath not! Rosalind lacks, then, the That do outface it with their semblances.

love

Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one.
Shall we be sundered? 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 in the forest of Arden.
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;
The like do you: so shall we pass along,
And never stir assailants.

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ACT II.

SCENE I. The Forest of Arden.

Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say,-
This is no flattery: these are counselors,

Enter DUKE Senior, AMIENS, and other Lords, in That feelingly persuade me what I am!—

the dress of Foresters.

Sweet are the uses of adversity;

Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,

Duke S. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;

exíle,

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,

And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,

Sermons in stones, and good in everything.

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.

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The melancholy Jaques grieves at that;
And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp
Than doth your brother that hath banished 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 sequestered stag,
That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt,
Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord,
The wretched animal heaved 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 markéd 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? 1st 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

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Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, and Attendants. 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.

1st 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 untreasured of their mistress. 2nd 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 she secretly o'erheard

Your daughter and her cousin much commend
The parts and graces of the wrestler
That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles;

To that which had too much." Then, being there And she believes, wherever they are gone,

alone,

Left and abandoned of his velvet friends;

""T is right," quoth he; "thus misery doth part

The flux of company." Anon, a careless herd, Full of the pasture, jumps along by him,

That youth is surely in their company.

Duke F. Send to his brother: fetch that gallant

hither;

If he be absent, bring his brother to me;

I'll make him find him. Do this suddenly;

And never stays to greet him: "Ay," quoth And let not search and inquisition quail

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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 you be so fond to overcome
The bony priser of the humorous Duke?
Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.
Know you not, master, to some kind of men
Their graces serve them but as enemies?
No more do yours: your virtues, gentle master,
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.
O, what a world is this, when what is comely
Envenoms him that bears it!

Orl. Why, what's the matter?
Adam.

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;· I will not call him son
Of him I was about to call his father)
Hath heard your praises; and this night he means
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.

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 appears
The 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 prun'st 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,
To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty.—
From seventeen years till now almost fourscore
Here livéd I, but now live here no more.

Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have At seventeen years many their fortunes seek; me go?

But at fourscore it is too late a week:

Adam. No matter whither, so you come not Yet fortune cannot recompense me better,

here.

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, and bloody brother.

Adam. But do not so. I have five hundred

crowns,

The thrifty hire I saved 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;

Than to die well, and not my master's debtor.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. - The Forest of Arden.

Enter ROSALIND, in boy's clothes; CELIA, dressed
like a Shepherdess; and 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 shew 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

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