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 Adum. 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! Enter Dennis. Den. Calls your worship? 1 Oli. Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, here to speak with me? I Den. So please you, he is here at the door, and importunes access to you Oli. Call him in. [erit Dennis.]-Twill be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is. Enter Charles. Cha. Good morrow to your worship. 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 anatomize him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep, and thou must lock 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 Oli. Good monsieur Charles!-what's the new prize more; and so, God keep your worship! [exit. 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 oving 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? 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 anderstand, 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 loth 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 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. ▲ nad myself notice of my brother's purpose herein. 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 learn'd; 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. [erit. SCENE II. A LAWN BEFORE THE DUKE'S PALACE. Enter Rosalind and Celia. [merry. Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be 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 re member 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 tempered 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 uc further in sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou may'st in honour coine eff again Ros. What shall be our sport then? 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-favouredly. 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. 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. Were you made the messenger? Cel. Which he will put on us, as pigeous feed their young. Ros. Then shall we be news-crammed. 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 colour? Le Beau. What colour, madam? How shall I answer you? Ros. As wit and fortune will. Touch. Or as the destinies decree. Cel. Well said; that was laid on with a trowel. 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 Touch. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to growth and presence :— 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 whipped for taxation, one of these days. 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 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 her is the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to perform it. Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming: let us now Touch. The more pity, that fools may not speak stay and see it. 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. Enter Le Beau. Ros. With his mouth full of news. Flourish. Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, Orlando, 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 suo 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 with your eyes, or knew yourself with your judgment, the fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal enterprize. 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 [deed, The world esteem'd thy father honourable, Ros. My father lov'd sir Rowland as his soul, Cel. Gentle cousin, Let us go thank him, and encourage him; Orl. I beseech you, punish me not with your [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. And mine, to eke out her's. Ros. Fare you well. ceived in you! Cel. Ay.-Fare you well, fair gentleman. Orl. Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts [stands up, Are all thrown down; and that, which here Ros. He calls us back; my pride fell with my fortunes; Pray heaven, I be de- I'll ask him what he would.—Did you call, sir?— Cel. Your heart's desires be with you.. so desirous to lie with his mother earth? Orl. Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working. Duke F. You shall try but one fall. Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown Cel. Will you go, coz? Ros. Have with you.-Fare you well. [exeunt Rosand and Celia. Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue? Re-enter Le Beau. Cha. No, I warrant your grace; you shall not I cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference. 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 teli who should down. [Charles is thrown, shout. Duke F. No more, no more Oh poor Orlando! thou art overthrown: you To leave this place. Albeit you have deserv ́d 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? Ros. Me, uncle? Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by Within these ten days, if that thou be'st found manners; But yet, indeed, the shorter is his daughter: But that the people praise her for her virtues, Thus must I from the smoke into the smother: SCENE III. A ROOM IN THE PALACE. [erit. Cel. Why, cousin: why, Rosalind?-Cupid have Or, if we did derive it from our friends, 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 Fossible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so strong a liking with old sir Rowland's youngest *n? 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 safest And get you from our court. [haste, 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 her for your sake Else had she with her father rang'd 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'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, When she is gone: then open not thy lips; I 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 cheerful: know'st thou not the duke Hath banish'd me, his daughter? Ros. That he hath not. Cel. No? bath not? Rosalind lacks then the love Which teacheth thee, that thou and I am one. 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. Ros. Were it not better, Because that I am more than common tall, SCENE 1. THE FOREST OF ARDEN. A boar-spear in my hand; and (in my heart Cel. What shall I call thee, when thou art a man? [page, Ros. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own And therefore look you call me, Ganymede. But what will you be call'd? 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, And get our jewels and our wealth together; Devise the fittest time and safest way To hide us from pursuit that will be made After my flight. Now go we in content, To liberty, and not to banishment. ACT II. [exeunt. Almost to bursting; and the big round tears Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, and other Lords, in Cours'd one another down his innocent nose, 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 burghers of this desert city,Should, in their own confines, with forked heads Have their round haunches gor'd. 1 Lord. Indeed, my lord, The melancholy Jaques grieves at that; In piteous chase: and thus, the hairy fool, Duke S. But what said Jaques ? 1 Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes. To that which had too much. Then, being alone, Full of the pasture, jumps along by him, 2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and com 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. Duke F. Can it be possible that no man saw It cannot be some villains of my court [them? 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, |