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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. Enter CHARLES.

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 daugh

ter, be banished with her father?

Chu. 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?

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.

Oli. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke?

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 hun well. Your brother is but young, and tender; and, for your love, I would be loath to foil him, as I must, for any own honor, 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 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 labored to dissuade him from it; but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles, he is the stubbornest young fellow of France; full of ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good parts, a secret and villanous contriver against me his natural brother; therefor use thy discretion; I had as hef thou didst break his neck as his finger, And thou wert best look to't; for if thou do st 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, 1 assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there is not one so young and so villanous this day living. I speak but brotherly of him; but should I anatomize 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. 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 inisprised; 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
Frolicksome fellow.

Of all ranks.

mistress of: and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you would 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 so wouldst thou, if the truth of thy love to me were have taught my love to take thy father for mine; so righteously temper'd as mine is to thee.

Ros. Well, I will forfeit the condition of my estate, to rejoice in yours.

Cel. You know my father hath no child but 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 break that oath, let me turn monster: therefore, my in aflection; by mine honor, I will; and when I 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?

but love no man in good earnest; nor no further in Cel. Marry, I pr'ythee, do, to make sport withal: Sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou mayst in honor come off again.

Ros. What shall be our sport then?

Cel. Let us sit and mock 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-favor'dly.

to nature's: fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not Ros. Nay, now thou goest from fortune's office in the lineaments of nature.

Enter TOUCHSTONE.

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?

Touch. Mistress, you must come away to your father.

Cel. Where you made the messenger! Totch. No, by mine honor; but I was bid to come for you.

Ros. Where learned you that oath, fool? Touch. Of a certain knight, that swore by his honor they were good pancakes, and swore by his honor the mustard was naught: now. I ll stand to it, the pancakes were naught, and the mustard was good; and yet was not the kinght 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 honor, for he never had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away, before ever he saw those pancakes

or that mustard.

Cel. Prythee, who is't that thou mean'st?

Touch. One that old Frederick, your father, loves. Cel. My father's love is enough to honor him. Enough! speak no more of him: you'll be whipp'd for taxations 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 Here comes Monsieur Le Beau. foolery, that wise men have, makes a great show.

S Satire.

Enter LE BEAU.

Ros. With his mouth full of news.

or knew yourse:f with your judgment, the fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal

Cel. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to their young.

Ros. Then shall we be news-cramm'd.

Cel. All the better; we shall be the more marketable. Bon jour, Monsieur Le Beau: What's the news?

Le Beau. Fair princess, you have lost much good

sport.

Cel. Sport?

Of what color?

Le Beau. What color, madam? How shall I answer you?

Ros. As wit and fortune will.

Touch. Or as the destinies decree.

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 night not go forward.

Orl. I beseech you, punish me not with your to deny so fair and excellent ladies any thing. hard thoughts; wherein I confess me much guilty, 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

Cel. Well said; that was laid on with a trowel. no injury, for in it I have nothing; only in the

Touch. Nay, if I keep not my rank,-
Ros. Thou losest thy old smell.

Le Beau. You amaze me, ladies; I would have told you of good wrestling, which you have lost the sight of.

Ros. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling. Le Beau. I will tell you the beginning, 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 I ever 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 Bean. 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 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 wan you. eyes

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!

Čel. 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 m re 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.

Orl. You mean to mock me after; you should not have mocked me before: but come your ways. Ros. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man! 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 tel 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?

Ort. Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Bois.

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

The world esteem'd thy father honorable,

3nt 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 galant 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? Ort. I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son, His youngest son-and would not change that calling,

To be adopted heir to Frederick.

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.
Cel.

Gentle cousin,

Let us go thank him, and encourage han:
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,
You mistress shall be happy.

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I'll ask him what he would:-Did you call, sir?-
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 conference.
Re-enter LE BEAU.

O poor Orlando! thou art overthrown:

Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee.
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,TM
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 this;
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 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:-
But heavenly Rosalind!

SCENE III-A Room in the Palace.
Enter CELIA and ROSALIND.

[Exit.

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enough.

Ros. 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 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 here 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, learn'd, play'd, eat together;
And wheresoe'r we went, like Juno's swans,
Still we went coupled, and inseparable.

Duke F. She is too subtile 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:

Cel. Why, cousin; why, Rosalind ;-Cupid have And thou wilt show more bright and seem more

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: 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.

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

him.

Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. Ros. 0, 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; 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.

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.
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
yourself;

And in the greatness of my word, you die.
If you out-stay the time, upon mine honor

[Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK and Lords.
Cel. O, my poor Rosalind! whither wilt thou go?
Wilt thou change fathers! I will give thee mine.
I charged thee, be not thou more griev'd than I am.
Ros. I have more cause.
Cel.

Thou hast not, cousin;

Prythee, be cheerful: know'st thou not, the duke
Hath banish'd me, his daughter?
Ros.
That he hath not.
Cel. No hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love
Which teacheth thee that thou and I are 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 grief 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.
Res.

Were it not better,

Duke F. Mistress, dispatch you with your safest Because that I am more than common tall,

haste,

That I did suit me all points like a man;

Temper, disposition.

• Compassion.

A dusky, yellow colored earth.

A gallant curtie-ax up on 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 man? Ros. I'll have no worse a na ne than Jove's own pige,

And therefore look you call me, Ganymede.
But what will you be called?

Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state;

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SCENE I.-The Forest of Arden.

ACT II.

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
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 brooks,

Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.
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.

Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison?
And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools,-
Being native burgers of this desert city.-
Should in their own confines, with forked heads
Have their round haunches gored.
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, 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 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 Cours'd 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 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; thus misery dath part
The flux of company: Anon, a careless herd,
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him,

And never stays to greet him; 4, quoth Jaques,
Sweepon, you fat and greasy citizens;
'Tis just the fashion: Wherefore do you look
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 assigned and native dwelling-place.
1 Cutlass, a Swaggering
3 Barbed arrows.

Duke S. And did you leave him in this contemplation?

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,"
For then he's full of matter.

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 carly,
They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress.
2 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;
And she believes, wherever they are gone,
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 let not search and inquisition quails
To bring again these foolish runaways.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.-Before Oliver's House. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting. Orl. Who's there?

Adam. What my young master?-0, my gentle master,

0), my sweet master, O you memory1
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 should you be so fonds to overcome
The bony prizer 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 hum that bears it?

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

O unhappy youth,
Come not within these doors; within this roor
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 means
To burn the lodging where you use to lie,

And you within it: if he tail 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;
A bhor it, fear it, do not enter it.

• Encounter. • Scurvey.
Memorial.

• Sink into dejection.

8 Inconsiderate.

Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go?

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
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 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 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 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 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 show itself courageous to petticoat: therefore, Courage, good Aliena.

Cel. I pray you, bear with me; I can 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

purse.

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

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

solemn talk.

Enter CORIN and SILVIUS.

Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still! Sil. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her. Cor. I partly guess; for I have lov'd ere now. Sil. No, Corin, being old thou canst not guess; 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. Blood turned from its natural course.

1 A piece of money stamped with a cross.

Sil. O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily:
If thou remember'st not the slightest folly
That ever love did make thee run into,
Thou hast not lov'd:

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

Or if thou hast not broke from company,
Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,
Thou hast not lov'd: 0 Phebe, Phebe, Phebe!
Exit SILVIUS.

Ros. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound ̧ I have by hard adventure found my 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 amight to Jane Smile: and I remember the kissing of her batlet, and the cow's dugs that her pretty chop'd hands had milk'd: and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her; from whom I took two cobs, and giving her them again, said with weeping tears, Wear these for my sake. We, that are true lovers, run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.

Ros. Thou speak'st wiser than thou art 'ware of. Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own wit, till I break my shins against it.

Ros. Jove! Jove! this shepherd's passion

Is much upon my fashion.

Touch. And mine; but it grows something stale with me.

Cel. I pray you, one of you question yon man, If he for gold will give us any food;

I faint almost to death.

Touch. Holla; you clown!
Ros.

Peace, fool, he's not thy kinsman.

Cor. Who calls?

Touch. Your better, sir.

Cor. Else are they very wretched. Ros.

Good even to you, friend.

Peace, I say:

Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. Ros. I pry 'thee, shepherd, if that love, or gold, Can in this desert place buy entertainment, Bring us where we may rest ourselves, and feed: Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd. And faints for succor.

Cor.

Fair sir, I pity her, And wish for her sake, more than for mine own, My fortunes were more able to relieve her: But I am shepherd to another man, And do not shear the fleeces that I graze; And little recks to find the way to heaven My master is of churlish disposition, By doing deeds of hospitality: Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed, Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now, By reason of his absence, there is nothing That you will feed on: but what is, come see, And in my voice most welcome shall you be. Ros. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture?

Cor. That young swain that you saw here but erewhile,

That little cares for buying any thing.

Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, and thou shalt have to pay for it of us. Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock,

Cel. And we will mend thy wages: I like this place, Go with me; if you like upon report, And willingly could waste my time in it, Cor. Assuredly, the thing is to be sold; The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, I will your very faithful feeder be,

And buy it with your gold right suddenly. [Exeunt.
SCENE V.-The same.

Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others.
SONG.

Ami.

Under the greenwood tree,

Who loves to lie with me,

And tune his merry note,

Unto the sweet bird's throat,

Come hither, come hither, come hither; Here shall he see

No enemy,

But winter and rough weather.

. In the night.

The instrument with which washers beat clothes. • Cares.

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