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, 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; Firm and irrevocable is my doom Which I have passed upon her; she is banished. Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege. I cannot live out of her company. If Duke. F. You are a fool.-You, niece, provide yourself; you outstay the time, upon mine honor, And in the greatness of my word, you die. [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 grieved than I am. Ros. I have more cause. Cel. Thou hast not, cousin; Pr'ythee be cheerful. Know'st thou not, the duke Hath banished me, his daughter? Ros. That he hath not. Cel. No? Hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love Which teacheth me that thou and I are one. Shall we be sundered? Shall we part, sweet girl? 1 The second folio reads charge. Malone explains it "to take your change or reverse of fortune upon yourself, without any aid or participation." Ros. Why, whither shall we go? Cel. To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden. Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire, Ros. Were it not better, Because that I am more than common tall. A boar-spear in my hand; and (in my heart 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 page, And therefore, look you, call me Ganymede. But what will you be called? Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state; No longer Celia, but Aliena. Ros. But, cousin, what if we assayed 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; To hide us from pursuit that will be made [Exeunt. 1 "A kind of umber," a dusky yellow-colored earth, brought from Umbria in Italy, well known to artists. 2 This was one of the old words for a cutlass, or short, crooked sword coutelas (French). It was variously spelled, courtlas, courtlax, curtlax. 3 i. e. as we now say, dashing. ACT II. 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 exíle, 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 not1 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; 2 Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, 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? Should, in their own confines, with forked heads 1 Lord. Indeed, my lord, The melancholy Jaques grieves at that; 1 The old copy reads thus. Theobald proposed to read but, and has been followed by subsequent editors. 2 It was currently believed, in the time of Shakspeare, that the toad had a stone contained in its head, which was endued with singular virtues. This was called the toad-stone. And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, Duke S. But what said Jaques? Did he not moralize this spectacle? 1 Lord. O yes, into a thousand similes. To that which had too much. Then, being alone, you look And never stays to greet him; Ay, quoth Jaques, Yea, and of this our life; swearing that we 2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting Upon the sobbing deer. Duke S. I love to cope1 him in these sullen fits, Show me the place; 2 Lord. I'll bring you to him straight. [Exeunt. For then he's full of matter. 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 abed; and, in the morning early, They found the bed untreasured of their mistress. 2 2 Lord. My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. 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; 1 i. e. to encounter him. 3 [Exeunt. 2 "The roynish clown," mangy or scurvy, from roigneux (French). The word is used by Chaucer. 3 "To quail," says Steevens, "is to faint, to sink into dejection;" but the word is here used in a different and quite obvious sense. |