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Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends ;
'Tis right, quoth he, thus misery doth part
The flux of company; anon a careless herd,
Fall of the pasture, jumps along by him,
And never stays to greet him : ay, quoth Jaques,
Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens,
'Tis juft the fashion : wherefore do you look
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt here?
Thus molt invectively lie 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 afligo'd and native dwelling place.

Duke Sen. And did you leave him in this contemplation ;

2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting Upon the robbing deer.

Duke Sen. 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 changes to the PALACE again.

CAN

Enter Duke Frederick with Lords. Duke. AN it be posible, that no man saw them?

It cannot be ; fome 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,
Şaw her a-bed, and in the morning early
They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistrefs.

2 Lord. My lord, the royoish Clown, at whom so oft
Your Grace was wont to laugh, is also misling :
Hisperia, the Princess' Gentlewoman,
Confesses, that she secretly o'er-heard
Your Daughter and her Cousin much commend
The parts and graces of the Wrestler,
That did but lately foil the finewy Charles;

And

And she believes, where ever they are gone,
That Youth is furely in their company,

Duke. 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 quail
To bring again these foolish runaways. (Exeunt,

SCENE changes to OLIVER'S House.

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Enter Orlando and Adam.
Orla. HO's there?

Adam. What! my young master? oh, my

gentle master,
Oh, 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 bonny 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, genrle mafter,
Are fanctified and holy traitors to you.
O, what a world is this, when what is comely
Envenoin him that bears it !

Orla. Why, what's the matter?

Alam. O unhappy youth,
Come not within these doors; within this roof
The enemy of all your graces lives;
Your brother-(10; no brother ; yet the son,-
Yet not the son ; I will not call him fon
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 fail of that,
He will have ocher means to cut you off ;
I overheard him, and his practices;
This is no place, this house is but a butchery ;

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Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.

Orla. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go?
Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here.

Orla. 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 fo; I have five hundred crowns,
The thrifty hire I savd under your father,
Which I did store, 10 be my

fofter nurse
When service should in my old limbs lie lame,
And unregarded age in corners thrown;
Take chat: 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 ;
Tho' I look old, yet I am strong and lufty;
For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood;
Nor did I with unbalhful 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 neceflities.

Orla. 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 choak 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

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 recompence me better
Than to die well, and not my master's debtor.

[Exe.

SCENE changes to the FOREST of Arden. Enter Rosalind in Boys cloaths for Ganimed. Celia drejt

like a Shepherdess for Aliena, and Clown. Rof

Clo. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary.

Rof. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel, and 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.

Clo. 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. Rof. Well, this is the forest of Arden.

Clo. Ay; now I am in Arden, the more fool I; when I was at home, I was in a better place ; but travellers must be content.

Rof. Ay, be fo, good Touchstone : look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in folemn talk.

(5) Jupiter ! bcw merry are my Spirits ?] And yet, within the Space of one intervening Line, She says, she could find in her Heart to disgrace her Man's Apparel, and cry like a Woman. Sure, this is but a very bad Symptom of the Briskness of Spirits : rather a direct Proof of the contrary Disposition. Mr. Warburton and I, concurred in conjecturing it should be, as I have reformed in the Text. how weary are my Spirits? And the Clown's Reply makes this Reading certain.

Enter Corin and Silvius.
Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you

ftill. Sil. O Corin, that thou knew'ft 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, Tho' in thy youth thou waft as true a lover, As ever figh'd upon a midnight pillow; But if thy love were ever like to mine, (As, sure, I think, did never man love fo) How many

actions most ridiculous Haft thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?

Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.

Sil. O, thou didft then ne'er love so heartily;
If thou remember'it not the flightest folly,
That ever love did make thee run into;
Thou haft not lov'd.
Or if thou haft not sate as I do now,
Wearying the hearer in thy mistress praise,
Thou haft not lov'd..
Or if thou hast not broke from company,
Abruptly, as my passion now makes me;
Thou haft not lov'd..
O Phebe! Phebe! Phebe!

[Exit Sil. Ros. Alas, poor Shepherd ! searching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found my own.

Clo. And I mine; I remember, when I was in love, I broke

iny

sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming a nights to Jane Smile; and I remember the kiffing of her batlet, and the cow's dugg that her pretty chopt hands had milk'd; and I remember the wooing of a pearcod instead of her, from whom I took two cods, and giving her them again, faid with weeping tears, wear thele for my fake. We, that are true lovers, run into itrange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.

Rof. Thou speak'st wiser, than thou art 'ware of.

Clo. Nay; I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit, till I break my thins against it.

Rol Jove! Jove! this Shepherd's passion is much upon my fashion,

Clo.

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