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out thy tongue for saying so; thou hast railed on thyself.
Adam. Sweet masters, be patient; for your father's remembrance, be at accord.
Oli. Let me go, I say.
Orl. I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. My father charged you in his will to give me good education: you have trained me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities: the spirit of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer endure it: therefore allow me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor allottery my father left me by testament; with that I will go buy my fortunes.
Oli. And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent? Well, sir, get you in: I will not long be troubled with you: you shall have some part of your will: I pray you, leave me.
Orl. I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good.
Oli. Get you with him, you old dog. Adam. Is old dog my reward? Most true, I have lost my teeth in your service.-God be with my old master! he would not have spoke such a word. [Exeunt Orlando and Adam. Oli. Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? I will physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. Hola, Dennis!
Den. Calls your worship?
Oli. Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, here to speak with me?
Den. So please you, he is here at the door, and importunes access to you.
Oli. Call him in. [Exit Dennis.]—Twill be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is.
Cha. Good morrow to your worship. Oli. Good monsieur Charles!-what's the new news at the new court?
Cha. There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news: that is, the old duke is banished by his younger brother the new duke; and three or four loving lords have put themselves into voluntary exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke; therefore he gives them good leave to wander.
Oli. Can you tell, if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, be banished with her father?
Cha. O, no; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves her, being ever from their cradles bred together, that she would have followed her exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at the court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter; and never two ladies loved as they do.
Oli. Where will the old duke live?
thing of his own search, and altogether against my will.
Oli. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I had myself notice of my brother's purpose herein, and have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him from it; but he is resolute, I'll tell thee, Charles, it is the stubbornest young fellow of France; full of ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good parts, a secret and villainous contriver against me his natural brother; therefore use thy discretion; I had as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger; And thou wert best look to't; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by some treacherous device, and never leave thee, till he hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other: for, I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there is not one so young and so villainous this day living. I speak but brotherly of him; but should I anatomise him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder.
Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to you: If he come to-morrow, I'll give him his payment: If ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize more: And so, God keep your worship! [Exit.
Cha. They say, he is already in the forest of Arden, and a many merry men with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England: they say, many young gentlemen flock to him every day; and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world. [new duke?
Oli. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the Cha. Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a matter, I am given, sir, secretly to understand, that your younger brother, Orlando, hath a disposition to come in disguis'd against me to try a fall: To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he that escapes me without some broken limb, shall acquit him well. Your brother is but young, and tender; and, for your love, I would be Joth to foil him, as I must, for my own honour, if he come in: therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you withal; that either you might stay him from his intendment, or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into; in that it is a
Oli. Farewell, good Charles.-Now will I stir this gamester: I hope, I shall see an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle; never school'd, and yet learned; full of noble device; of all sorts enchantingly beloved; and, indeed, so much in the heart of the world, and especially of my own people, who best know him, that I am altogether misprised: but it shall not be so long; this wrestler shall clear all nothing remains, but that I kindle the boy thither, which now I'll go about. [Exit.
SCENE II.-A Lawn before the Duke's Palace. Enter ROSALIND and CELIA.
Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind,sweet my coz,be merry. Ros. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of; and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget a banished father, you must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure.
Cel. Herein, I see, thou lovest me not with the full weight that I love thee: if my uncle, thy banished father, had banished thy uncle, the duke my father, so thou hadst been still with me, I could have taught my love to take thy father for mine; so would'st thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously temper'd as mine is to thee.
Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to rejoice in yours.
Cel. You know, my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to have; and, truly, when he dies, thou shalt be his heir; for what he hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render thee again in affection; by mine honour, I will; and when I break that oath, let me turn monster: therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry.
Ros. From henceforth, I will, coz, and devise sports: let me see; What think you of falling in love?
Cel. Marry, I pr'ythee, do, to make sport withal: but love no man in good earnest; nor no further in sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou may'st in honour come off again.
Ros. What shall be our sport then?
Cel. Let us sit and mook the good housewife, Fortune, from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally.
Ros. I would we could do so; for her benefits are mightily misplaced: and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her gifts to women.
Cel. 'Tis true: for those that she makes fair, she
scarce makes honest; and those that she makes honest, she makes very ill-favour'dly.
Ros. Nay, now thou goest from fortune's office to nature's fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of nature.
Cel. No? When nature hath made a fair creature, may she not by fortune fall into the fire!-Though nature hath given us wit to flout at fortune, hath not fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument?
Ros. Indeed, there is fortune too hard for nature; when fortune makes nature's natural the cutter off of nature's wit.
Cel. Peradventure, this is not fortune's work neither, but nature's; who perceiving our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, hath sent this natural for our whetstone: for always the dulness of the fool is the whetstone of his wits.-How now, wit? whither wander you? [father.
Touch. Mistress, you must come away to your Cel. Were you made the messenger? Touch. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come for you.
Ros. Where learned you that oath, fool? Touch. Of a certain knight, that swore by his honour they were good pancakes, and swore by his honour the mustard was naught: now, I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught, and the mustard was good and yet was not the knight forsworn.
Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge?
Ros. Ay, marry; now unmuzzle your wisdom. Touch. Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave.
Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou art. Touch. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were: but if you swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn: no more was this knight, swearing by his honour, for he never had any; or, if he had, he had sworn it away, before ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard.
Cel. Pr'ythee, who is't that thou mean'st? Touch. One that old Frederick, your father, loves. Cel. My father's love is enough to honour him. Enough! speak no more of him; you'll be whipp'd for taxation, one of these days.
Touch. The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely, what wise men do foolishly.
Cel. By my troth, thou say'st true: for since the little wit, that fools have, was silenced, the little -foolery, that wise men have, makes a great show. Here comes Monsieur Le Beau.
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 Ros. Alas! [weeping. 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.
[cessfully. Cel. Alas, he is too young: yet he looks sucDuke 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 challenged 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
Orl. Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of sir Rowland de Bois. [man else.
Duke F. I would, thou hadst been son to some The world esteem'd thy father honourable, But I did find him still mine enemy: Thou shouldst have better pleas'd me with this deed, Hadst thou descended from another house. But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth; I would, thou hadst told me of another father. [Exeunt Duke Fred. Train, and Le Beau. Cel. Were I my father, coz, would I do this? Orl. I am more proud to be sir Rowland's son, His youngest son; and would not change that To be adopted heir to Frederick. [calling,
Ros. My father lov'd sir Rowland as his soul, And all the world was of my father's mind: Had I before known this young man his son, I should have given him tears unto entreaties, Ere he should thus have ventur'd.
Gentle cousin, Let us go thank him, and encourage him: My father's rough and envious disposition Sticks me at heart.-Sir, you have well deserv'd: If you do keep your promises in love, But justly, as you have exceeded promise, Your mistress shall be happy.
(Giving him a chain from her neck.) Wear this for me; one out of suits with fortune; That could give more, but that her hand lacks Shall we go, coz? [means. Cel. Ay:-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, Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block.
Ros. He calls us back: My pride fell with my
Le Beau. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you To leave this place: Albeit you have deserv'd High commendation, true applause, and love; Yet such is now the duke's condition, 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 of.
Orl. I thank you, sir: and, pray you, tell me Which of the two was daughter of the duke, [this; That here was at the wrestling?
Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by
But yet, indeed, the shorter is his daughter:
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 briars 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.
[him. Ros. I would try; if I could cry hem, and have 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 lov'd 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. Cel. With his eyes full of anger.
Enter Duke FREDERICK, with Lords.
Duke F. Mistress, despatch you with your And get you from our court. [safest haste, Ros. Duke F. You, cousin :
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 me a traiTell me whereon the likelihood depends. [tor: 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 banish'd him :
Or, if we did derive it from our friends,
Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak.
Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay, It was your pleasure, and your own remorse; 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 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 Her very silence, and her patience, [smoothness, 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;
Which I have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd.
If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour,
Thou hast not, cousin ; Pr'ythee, be cheerful: know'st thou not, the duke 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 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;
The like do you; so shall we pass along, And never stir assailants.
A boar-spear in my hand; and (in my heart
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.
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?
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,
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
That can translate the stubbornness of fortune
Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison?
Indeed, my lord,
The melancholy Jaques grieves at that;
Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook,
Show me the place;
2 Lord. I'll bring you to him straight. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.-A Room in the Palace. 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.
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
Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.
Duke F. Send to his brother: fetch that gallant If he be absent, bring his brother to me, I'll make him find him do this suddenly; And let not search and inquisition quail To bring again these foolish runaways.
SCENE III. Before OLIVER's House. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting. Orl. Who's there?
Adam. What! my young master?-0, my gentle O, my sweet master, O, you memory 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,
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 ;-I will not call him son-
He will have other means to cut you off:
[me go? Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here. Orl. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food?
Or, with a base and boisterous sword, enforce
Adam. But do not so: I have five hundred crowns,
Orl. O good old man; how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for daty, 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 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. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. The Forest of Arden. Enter ROSALIND in boy's clothes, CELIA, drest like a Shepherdess, and TOUCHSTONE.
Ros. O Jupiter! how weary are my spirits! Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were
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 think, you have no money in your
Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden.
Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden: the more fool