Fred. Ay, Celia; we but 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;
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.
Fred. She is too subtle for thee; and her smooth
Her very silence, and her patience,
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 vir
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
I cannot live out of her company.
Fred. You are a fool!-You, niece, provide your
If you outstay the time, upon mine honour,
And in the greatness of my word, you die!
[Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK, &c.
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 ?
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:
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;
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,
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,
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 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.
Ros. Now, go we in content,
To liberty, and not to banishment.
Enter ORLANDO. - Knocks at the Door.
Adam. What! my young master?-Oh, my gentle
Oh, my sweet master! Oh, 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 beso 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.
Oh, what a world is this, when, what is comely,
Envenoms him that bears it!
Orl. Why, what's the matter?
Adum. Oh, unhappy youth!
Come not within these doors; within this roof,
The enemy of all your graces lives :
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.
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
Or, with a base anh 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. Oh, 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.
Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, JAQUES, and Two or Three LORDS, like Foresters.
Duke. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile,
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet,
|