Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor: Tell me whereon the likelihood depends. Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter; there's enough. Ros. So was I when your highness took his dukeSo was I when your highness banish'd him. [dom; Treason is not inherited, my lord; Or, if we did derive it from our friends, Cel. Why, cousin; why, Rosalind;-Cupid have Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much, 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 father's child. how full of briers is this working-day world! Cel. They are but burrs, 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 burrs 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 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 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: Duke F. She is too subtle for thee; and her When she is gone. Then, open not thy lips: If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour, [Exeunt Duke FREDERICK and Lords. In the forest of Arden. 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, That I did suit me all points like a man? A gallant curtle-ax upon my thigh, A boar-spear in my hand; and (in my heart 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'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. SCENE I.-The Forest of ARDEN. [Exeunt. 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 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 forkèd heads Have their round haunches gor'd. I Lord. Indeed, my lord, 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 hunters' 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, 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 To that which had too much:" then, being there Duke S. And did you leave him in this contemplation? 2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and commentUpon the sobbing deer. [ing 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 them? It cannot be some villains of my court 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 oft Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. Hesperia, 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 sinewy Charles; And she believes, wherever they are gone, That youth is surely in their company. [hither: Duke F. Send to his brother; fetch that gallant 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 III.-Before OLIVER's House. Orl. Who's there? Adam. What, my young master?-O my gentle O my sweet master! O you memory [master! 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? No more do yours: your virtues, gentle master, O, what a world is this, when what is comely Orl. Why, what's the matter? O unhappy youth, Your brother (no, no brother; yet the son- Hath heard your praises; and this night he means 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: Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have 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 boist'rous sword enforce A thievish living on the common road? I rather will subject me to the malice Adam. But do not so. I have five hundred crowns, Orl. O good old man, how well in thee appears Adam. Master, go on, and I will follow thee, Enter ROSALIND dressed like a youth, CELIA like a shepherdess, and TOUCHSTONE. Ros. O Jupiter! how weary 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. Cel. I pray you, bear with me; I can go no farther. 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 am I 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. Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten. Or if thou hast not sat, as I do now, Or if thou hast not broke from company [Exit. Ros. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found mine own. 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 a-night to Jane Smile: and I remember the kissing of her batlet, 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 speakest wiser than thou art 'ware of |