And pity her for her good father's fake;
And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady
Will fuddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well;
Hereafter in a better world than this,

you well!

I fhall defire more love and knowledge of you.
Orla. I reft much bounden to you: fare
Thus muft I from the fioke into the fmother;
From tyrant Duke unto a tyrant brother:
But, heav'nly Rofalind!-

[Exit.

[Exit.

SCENE changes to an Apartment in the Palace.

Enter CELIA and ROSALIND.

Cel. Why, coufin; why, Rofalind; Cupid have mercy; not a word!

Rof. Not one to throw at a dog.

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

Rof Then there were two coufins laid up; when the one fhould be lam'd with reafons, and the other mad without any.

Cel But is all this for your father?

Rof No, fome of it is for my father's child. Oh, how full of briars is this working-day-world!

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

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

Cel. Hem them away.

Rof. I would try, if I could cry, hem, and have him, Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. Rof. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myfelf.

Cel. O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in defpite of a fall;but turning thefe jefts out of fervice, let us talk in good earneft; is it poffible on fuch a fudden you should fall into fo ftrong a liking with old Sir Rowland's younger fon?

Rof.

Rof. The Duke my father lov'd his father dearly.

Cel. Doth it therefore enfue, that you should love his fon dearly; by this kind of chase, I fhould hate him; for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando. Rof. No, faith, hate him not, for my fake.

Cel. Why fhould I? doth he not deserve well?

Enter DUKE, with Lords.

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

Cel. With his eyes full of anger.

Duke. Miftrefs, difpatch you with your safest hafte, And get you from our court.

Rof. Me, uncle!

Duke. You, coufin.

Within thefe ten days if that thou be'st found
So near our public court as twenty miles,
Thou dieft for it.

Rof. I do befeech your Grace,

Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me :
If with myself I hold intelligence,

Or have acquaintance with my own defires;
If that I do not dream, or be not frantic,
(As I do truft I am not,) then, dear uncle,
Never fo much as in a thought unborn
Did I offend your Highnefs.

Duke. Thus do all traitors;

If their purgation did consist in words,
They are as innocent as grace itfelf:
Let it fuffice thee, that I trust thee not.

Rof. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor;

Tell me wherein the likelihood depends.

Duke. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's enough.. Rof. So was I, when your Highness took his dukedom;

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 fpeak.

Duke. Ay, Celia, we but ftaid her for your fake;

Elfe had the with her father rang'd along.

Cel.

Cel. I did not then entreat to have her flay;
It was your pleasure, and your own remorfe;
I was too young that time to value her;
But now I know her; if fhe be a traitor,
Why fo am I; we ftill have flept together,
Rofe at an inftant, learn'd, play'd, eat together;
And wherefoe'er we went, like Juno's fwans,
Still we went coupled, and infeparable.

Duke. She is too fubtle for thee; and her smoothness, Her very filence and her patience,

Speak to the people, and they pity her:

Thou art a fool; fhe robs thee of thy name,

And thou wilt fhow more bright, and seem more virtuous, When fhe is gone; then open not thy lips:

Firm and irrevocable is my doom,

Which I have pafs'd upon her; fhe is banish'd.

Cel. Pronounce that fentence then on me, my liege;

I cannot live out of her company.

Duke. You are a fool: you, neice, provide yourself; If you out-ftay the time, upon mine honour, And in the greatnefs of my word, you die.

[Exeunt DUKE, &c. Cel. O my poor Rofalind; where wilt thou go? Wilt thou change fathers! I will give thee mine: I charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than I am. Rof. I have more cause.

Cel. Thou hast not, cousin;

Pr'ythee, be cheerful; know'ft thou not, the Duke
Has banish'd me his daughter?

Rof. That he hath not.

Cel. No? hath not? Rofalind lacks then the love,
Which teacheth me that thou and I are one:
Shall we be fundred? fhall we part, fweet girl?
No, let my father feek another heir.

Therefore devife with me, how we may fly;
Whither to go, and what to bear with us;
And do not feek to take your charge upon you,
To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out:
For by this heaven, now at our forrows pale,
Say what thou canft, I'll go along with thee.
Rof. Why, whither shall we go?

Cel. To feek my uncle in the foreft of Arden.
Rof. Alas, what danger will it be to us,

Maids as we are, to travel forth fo far!
Beauty provoketh thieves fooner 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; fo fhall we pafs along,
And never ftir affailants.

Rof. Were't not better,

Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did fuit me all points like a man?
A gallant curtle-ax upon my thigh,

A boar-fpear in my hand, (and in my heart
Lie there what hidden woman's fears there will)
We'll have a swashing and a martial outfide,
As many other mannifh cowards have,

That do outface it with their semblances.

Cel. What fhall I call thee, when thou art a man? Rof. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page: And therefore, look, you call me Ganimed;

But what will you be call'd?

Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state: No longer Celia, but Aliena.

Rof. But, coufin, what if we affaid 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;
Devife the fitteft time, and fafeft way

To hide us from purfuit that will be made
After my flight: now go we in content
To Liberty, and not to Banifhment,

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE, ARDEN FOREST.

Enter DUKE Senior, AMIENS, and two or three Lords like Foresters.

DUKE Jenior.

OW, my co-mates, and brothers in exile,

NOW

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 Seafons' difference; as, the icy phang,
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind;
Which, when it bites and blows upon my body,
Even 'till I fhrink with cold, I fmile, and say,
This is no flattery: these are counsellors,
That feelingly perfuade me what I am.
Sweet are the ufes of Adverfity,

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 ftones, and good in every thing.

Ami. I would not change it; happy is your Grace,
That can tranflate the ftubbornnefs of fortune

Into fo quiet and fo fweet a ftyle.

Duke Sen. Come, fhall we go and kill us venison?

And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools,

Being native burghers of this defert city,

Should in their own confines, with forked heads
Have their round haunches goar'd.

1 Lord. Indeed, my lord,

The melancholy Jaques grieves at that;
And in that kind fwears you do more ufurp
Than doth your brother, that hath banish'd
To day my lord of Amiens, and myself,
Did fteal behind him, as he lay along
Under an oak, whofe antique root peeps out
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood;

you;

To