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. 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 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 loved 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,

Ros. Me, uncle? Duke F. You, cousin : Within these ten days if that thou beʼst found So near our public court as twenty miles, Thou diest for it.

Ros.

I do beseech your grace,

Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me:
If with myself I hold intelligence,

Or have acquaintance with mine own desires;
If that I do not dream, or be not frantic,

(As I do trust I am not,) then, dear uncle,
Never, so much as in a thought unborn,
Did I offend your highness.

Duke F.

Thus do all traitors;

Ros. So was I when your highness took his dukeSo was I when your highness banish'd him : Treason is not inherited, my lord;

Or, if we did 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 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
Her very silence, and her patience, [smoothness,
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,

If you outstay the time, upon mine honour,
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 griev'd than I am.
Ros. I have more cause.
Cel.
Thou hast not, cousin,—
Prithee, 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 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:
And do not seek to take your charge upon you,
To bear your griefs 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 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,
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,.
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. [page, 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 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 in we content, To liberty, and not to banishment.

ACT II.

[Exeunt.

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 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 not 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 everything.
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?

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

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?

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 into the needless stream; 'Poor deer,' quoth he, 'thou mak'st a testament As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more

[alone,

To that which had too much.' Then being there
Left and abandon'd of his velvet friend;
"'T is right,' quoth he; thus misery doth part
The flux of company:' Anon, a careless herd,
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him,

And never stays to greet him; 'Ay,' quoth Jaques, 'Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;

'T is 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 assign'd and native dwelling-place.

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

2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and commentUpon 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.

[ing

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.

I 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 early, They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress.

2 Lord. My lord, the roynish' clown, at whom so Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. [oft Hesperia, the princess' gentlewoman, Confesses, that she secretly o'erheard

Your daughter and her cousin much commend

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 him that bears it!

Orl. Why, what's the matter?
Adam.
O unhappy youth,
Come not within these doors; within this roof
The enemy of all your graces lives:

Your brother-(no, no brother; yet the son-
Yet not the son; I 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 used 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.

[go?

Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me
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 The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father, [crowns, 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 merry 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. [further.

Cel. I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go no 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.

Touch. 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.

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. Sil. O, thou didst then never 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,
Wearing 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: O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe !
[Exit Silvius.

Ros. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy I have by hard adventure found mine own. [wound, 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 anight to Jane Smile: and I remember the kissing of her batler, and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopped hands had milked: and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her; from whom I took two cods, 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.

[with me.

Touch. And mine; but it grows something stale Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond 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.

Touch. Your betters, sir.

Cor. Who calls?
Cor. Else are they very wretched.
Ros.

Good even to you, friend.

Peace, 1 say :

Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. Ros. I prithee, 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 succour. 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; My master is of churlish disposition, And little recks to find the way to heaven 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 ereThat little cares for buying anything.

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

[while,

Cel. And we will mend thy wages: I like this And willingly could waste my time in it.

[place,

Cor. Assuredly, the thing is to be sold: Go with me; if you like, upon report, The soil, the profit, and this kind of life,

I will your very faithful feeder be,
And buy it with your gold right suddenly.

[Exe.

[Jaques.

Jaq. More, more, I prithee, more. Ami. It will make you melancholy, monsieur Faq. I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weazel sucks eggs: More, I prithee, more. [you.

Ami. My voice is ragged; I know I cannot please Faq. I do not desire you to please me, I do desire you to sing: Come, more; another stanza; Call you them stanzas?

Ami. What you will, monsieur Jaques.

Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing: Will you sing?

Ami. More at your request than to please myself. Faq. Well then, if ever I thank any man I'll thank you but that they call compliment is like the encounter of two dog-apes; and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks I have given him a penny, and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not hold your tongues.

Ami. Well, I'll end the song.-Sirs, cover the

SCENE VI.-The same.

Enter Orlando and Adam.

Adam. Dear master, I can go no further: O, I die for food! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master,

Orl. Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee? Live a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little: If this uncouth forest yield anything savage, I will either be food for it, or bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy power For my sake, be comfortable, hold death awhile at the arm's end: I will here be with thee presently; and if I bring thee not something to eat I will give thee leave to die: but if thou diest before I come thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said! thou look'st cheerly and I'll be with thee quickly.Yet thou liest in the bleak air: Come, I will bear thee to some shelter; and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live anything in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam !

SCENE VII.-The same.

[Exeunt.

A table set out. Enter Duke senior, Amiens, Lords, and others.

Duke S. I think he be transform'd into a beast; For I can nowhere find him like a man.

1 Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone hence; Here was he merry, hearing of a song.

Duke S. If he, compact of jars, grow musical, We shall have shortly discord in the spheres:Go, seek him; tell him, I would speak with him.

Enter Jaques.

1 Lord. He saves my labour by his own approach.

Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur ! what a life is this,

That your poor friends must woo your company?
What! you look merrily.

Faq. A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' the forest,
A motley fool; a miserable world :
As I do live by food, I met a fool;

Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun,
And rail'd on lady Fortune in good terms,

In good set terms,-And yet a motley fool.
'Good morrow, fool,' quoth I: 'No, sir,' quoth he,
'Call me not fool, till heaven hath sent me fortune:'
And then he drew a dial from his poke;
And looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
Says, very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock:

Thus we may see,' quoth he, ‘how the world wags:
'Tis but an hour ago, since it was nine;
And after one hour more, 't will be eleven ;
And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,
And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot,
And thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear
The motley fool thus moral on the time,
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,
That fools should be so deep-contemplative;
And I did laugh, sans intermission,
An hour by his dial.-O noble fool!
A worthy fool! Motley 's the only wear.
Duke S. What fool is this?
Jaq. O worthy fool!-One that hath been a
And says, if ladies be but young, and fair,
They have the gift to know it and in his brain,-
Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit

[courtier ;

After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd
With observation, the which he vents

In mangled forms :-O, that I were a fool!
I am ambitious for a motley coat.
Duke S. Thou shalt have one.
Faq.
It is my only suit :
Provided, that you weed your better judgments
Of all opinion that grows rank in them,
That I am wise. I must have liberty
Withal, as large a charter as the wind,

To blow on whom I please; for so fools have :
And they that are most galled with my folly,
They most must laugh: And why, sir, must they so?
The why is plain as way to parish church :
He that a fool doth very wisely hit
Doth very foolishly, although he smart,
[Not to] seem senseless of the bob: if not,
The wise man's folly is anatomized
Even by the squand'ring glances of the fool.
Invest me in my motley; give me leave
To speak my mind, and I will through and through
Cleanse the foul body of the infected world,
If they will patiently receive my medicine.
Duke S. Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst
Jaq. What, for a counter, would I do but good?
Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin
For thou thyself hast been a libertine,
As sensual as the brutish sting itself;
And all the embossed sores, and headed evils,
That thou with licence of free foot hast caught,
Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.

Jaq. Why, who cries out on pride,
That can therein tax any private party?
Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,
Till that the wearer's very means do ebb?
What woman in the city do I name
When that I say, The city-woman bears
The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders?
Who can come in, and say that I mean her,

[do.