the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to perform it.

Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming: Let us now stay and see it.

Flourish.

Ros. O excellent young man! Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should down. [CHARLES is thrown. Shout. Duke F. No more, no more.

Orl. Yes, I beseech your grace; I am not yet

Ros. Is yonder the man?

Le Beau. Even he, madam.

Cel. Alas, he is too young: yet he looks successfully.

Duke F. How now, daughter, and cousin? are you crept hither to see the wrestling.

Ros. Ay, my liege! so please you give us leave. Duke F. You will take little delight in it, I can tell you, there is such odds in the men: In pity of the challenger's youth, I would fain dissuade him, but he will not be entreated: Speak to him, ladies; see if you can move him.

Cel. Call him hither, good monsieur Le Beau. Duke F. Do so: I'll not be by. [DUKE goes apart. Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the princesses call for you.

Orl. I attend them, with all respect and duty. Ros. Young man, have you challenged Charles the wrestler?

Orl. No, fair princess; he is the general challenger: I come but in, as others do, to try with him the strength of my youth.

Cel. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your years: You have seen cruel proof of this man's strength; if you saw yourself with your eyes, or knew yourself with your judgment, the fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own safety, and give over this attempt. Ros. Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore be misprised: we will make it our suit to the duke, that the wrestling might not go forward.

Orl. I beseech you, punish me not with your hard thoughts; wherein I confess me much guilty, to deny so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let your fair eyes, and gentle wishes, go with me to my trial: wherein if I be foiled, there is but one shamed that was never gracious; if killed, but one dead that is willing to be so I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me; the world no injury, for in it I have nothing; only in the world I fill up a place, which may be better supplied when I have made it empty.

Ros. The little strength that I have, I would it were with you.

Cel. And mine, to eke out hers.

Ros. Fare you well. Pray heaven, I be deceived in you!

Cel. Your heart's desires be with you.

Duke F. How dost thou, Charles?

Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord. Duke F. Bear him away. [CHARLES is borne out. What is thy name, young man?

Orl. Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of sir Rowland de Bois.

Duke F. I would thou hadst been son to some man else.

The world esteem'd thy father honourable,
But I did find him still mine enemy:
Thou shouldst have better pleas'd me with this deed,
Hadst thou descended from another house.
But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth;
I would thou hadst told me of another father.

[Exeunt DUKE FRED. Train, and LE BEAU. Cel. Were I my father, coz, would I do this? Orl. I am more proud to be sir Rowland's son, His youngest son; - and would not change that calling,

To be adopted heir to Frederick.

Ros. My father lov'd sir Rowland as his soul,
And all the world was of my father's mind:
Had I before known this young man his son,
I should have given him tears unto entreaties,
Ere he should thus have ventur'd.

Will you go, coz? Ros. Have with you :-Fare you well. [Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA. Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue?

Orl. Ready, sir.

Duke F. You shall try but one fall.

Cha. No, I warrant your grace; you shall not entreat him to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him from a first.

Orl. You mean to mock me after; you should not have mocked me before: but come your ways.

Ros. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man! Cel. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the leg. [CHARLES and ORLANDO wrestle.

Re-enter LE BEAU.

O, poor Orlando! thou art overthrown ;
Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee.

Le Beau. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you
To leave this place: Albeit you have deserv'd
High commendation, true applause, and love;
Yet such is now the duke's condition?,
That he misconstrues all that you have done

6 The object to dart at in martial exercises.
7 Temper, disposition.

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 change 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 umber9 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?

page,

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: Now go we in content.
To liberty, and not to banishment.

[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 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 forked heads' Have their round haunches gor'd.

1 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 hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt,

A dusky, yellow-coloured earth.

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
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 in 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 alone,
Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends;
'Tis 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;
'Tis 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 contem-
plation?

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

Duke S.

Show me the place;

I love to cope4 him in these sullen fits,
For then he's full of matter.

2 Lord. I'll bring you to him straight. [Ereuni

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 a-bed; and, in the morning early,
They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress.
2 Lord. My lord, the roynish 5 clown, at whom so oft
Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing
Hesperia, the princess' gentlewoman,
Confesses, that she secretly o'erheard

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.

Duke F. 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 6
To bring again these foolish runaways.

[Exeunt.

O, my sweet master, O you memory 7

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 should you be so fonds to overcome
The bony prizer of the humorous duke?
Your praise is come too swiftly home before
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.

O, what a world is this, when what is comely
Envenoms him that bears it?

you.

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 sonYet not the son;-I will not call him sonOf 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 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
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 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;
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 drest 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 further. 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.
Sil. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her!

9 Blood turned from its natural course. A piece of money stamped with a cross,

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 ne'er 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,
Wearying 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 wound, I have by hard adventure found my own.

Touch. And I mine: 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.

Touch. And mine; but it grows something stale

with me.

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 erewhile,

That little cares for buying any thing.

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.

2 Cares.

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

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. [Exeunt.

SCENE V. The same.

Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others.
SONG.

Ami. Under the greenwood tree,
Who loves to lie with me,

And tune his merry note,

Unto the sweet bird's throat,

Come hither, come hither, come hither;
Here shall he see

No enemy,

But winter and rough weather.

Jaq. More, more, I pr'ythee, more.

Ami. It will make you melancholy, monsieur Jaques.

Jaq. I thank it. More, I pr'ythee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weazel sucks eggs: More, I pr'ythee, more.

Ami. My voice is ragged 3; I know, I cannot please you.

Jaq. 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. Jaq. 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, 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 while; the duke will drink under this tree: - he hath been all this day to look you.

Jaq. And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is too dispútable for my company: I think of as many matters as he; but I give heaven thanks, and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come.