Ro. The Duke my father lov'd his father dearly.

Cel. Doth it therefore enfue, that you should love his for dearly; by this kind of chafe, I fhould hate him ; for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando.

Rof. No, faith, hate him not, for my fake.

Cel. Why fhould I? doth he not deferve well?

Enter Duke, with Lords.

Rof. 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.

Duke. Miftrefs, difpatch you with your safest hafte, And get you from our court.

Rof. Me, uncle !

Duke. You, coufin,

Within these ten days if that thou be'ft found
So near our publick court as twenty miles,
Thou dieft for it.

Rof. I do befeech your Grace,

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

Or have acquaintance with my own defires;
If that I do not dream, or be not frantick,
(As I do truft, I am not,) then, dear uncle,
Never fo much as in a thought unborn
Did I offend your Highness.

Duke. Thus do all traitors;

If their purgation did confift in words,
They are as innocent as grace itfelf:
Let it fuffice thee, that I trust thee not.

Rof. Yet your miftruft cannot make me a traitor;
Tell me wherein the likelihood depends.

Duke. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's enough. Rof. So was I, when your Highness took his dukedom ; So was I, when your Highnefs banish'd him;

Treafon 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,

Then, good my liege, mistake me not fo much,
To think my poverty is treacherous.

Cel. Dear Sovereign, hear me speak,

Duke. Ay, Celia, we but ftaid her for your fake;
Elfe had the with her father rang'd along.

Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay;
It was your pleasure, and your own remorfe ;
I was too young that time to value her;
But now I know her; if he be a traitor,
Why fo am 1; we ftill have flept together,
Rofe at an inftant, learn'd, play'd, eat together;
And wherefoe'er we went, like Juno's fwans,

Still we went coupled, and infeparable.

Duke. She is too fubtle for thee; and her smoothness, Her very filence and her patience,

Speak to the people, and they pity her:

Thou art a fool; fhe robs thee of thy name,

And thou wilt show more bright, and feem more virtuous, When the is gone; then open not thy lips:

Firm and irrevocable is my doom,

Which I have pafs'd upon her; she is banish'd.

Cel. Pronounce that fentence then on me, my liege;

I cannot live out of her company.

Duke. You are a fool: you, niece, provide yourself; If you out-ftay the time, upon mine honour, And in the greatnefs of my word, you die.

[Exeunt Duke, &c. Cel. O my poor Rofalind; where 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 haft not, coufin;

Pr'ythee, be cheerful; know'st thou not, the Duke
Has banifh'd me his daugher?

Rof. That he hath not.

Cel. No hath not? (3) Rofalind lacks then the love,

(3)

Rofalind lacks then the Love,

Which teacbeth thee that thou and I am one.

Which

Tho' this be the Reading of all the printed Copies, 'tis evident, the

Poet wrote;

Which teacheth me that thou and I am one:

Shail we be fundred ? fhall we part, fweet Girl?
No, let my father feek another heir.
Therefore devife with me, how we may fly;
Whither to go, and what to bear with us;
And do not feek to take your charge upon you,
To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out :
For by this heav'n, now at our forrows pale,
Say what thou canft, I'll go along with thee.
Ro Why, whither fhall we go?

1

Cel. To feek my Uncle in the foreft of Arden.
Rof. Alas, what danger will it be to us,
Maids as we are, to travel forth fo far!
Beauty provoketh thieves fooner than gold.
Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire,
And with a kind of umber fmirch my face;
The like do you; fo fhall we pafs along,
And never ftir affailants.

Rof. Were't not better,

Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did fuit me all points like a man?
A gallant Curtle ax upon my thigh,

A boar-fpear in my hand, (and in my

heart

Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will) ?
We'll have a fwashing and a martial outfide,
As many other mannith Cowards have,

That do outface it with their femblances.

Cel. What fhall I call thee, when thou art a man ? Rof. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own Page: And therefore, look, you call me Ganimed;

But what will you be call'd?

Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state: No longer Celia, but Aliena.

Which teachetb Me

For if Rofalind had learn'd to think Celia one Part of her Self, She could not lack that love which Celia complains She does. My Emendation is confirm'd by what Celia fays when She first comes upon the Stage.

Rof.

Rof. But, Coufin, what if we affaid 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;
Devife the fitteft time, and fafeft way
To hide us from purfuit that will be made
After my flight: now go we in content
To Liberty, and not to Banifhment.

[Exeunt.

SCENE, Arden FOREST.

Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, and two or three Lords

like Forefters.

ว
Dux & Senior.

TOW, my co mates, and brothers in exile,

N

Hath not old cuftom made this life more fweet
Than that of painted Pomp? are not thefe woods
More free from peril, than the envious Court?.
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, (4)
The Seafons' difference; as, the icy phang,
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind;
Which, when it bites and blows upon my body,
Even 'till I fhrink with cold, I fmile, and fay,
This is no Flattery: thefe are Counsellors,
That feelingly perfuade me what I am..

(4) Here feel we not the Penalty.] What was the Penalty of Adam, hinted at by our Poet? The being fenfible of the Difference of the Seafons. The Duke fays, the Cold and Effects of the Winter feelingly perfuade him what he is. How does he not then feel the Penalty? Doubtlefs, the Text must be reftor'd as I have corrected it and 'tis obvious in the Courfe of thefe Notes, how often not and but by Miftake have chang'd Place in our Author's former Editions.

Sweet

Sweet are the ufes 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 ftones, and good in every thing.

Ami. I would not change it; happy is your Grace,
That can tranflate the ftubbornnefs of fortune
Into fo quiet and fo fweet a ftyle.

Duke Sen. Come, fhall we go and kill us venison?
And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools,
Being native burghers of this defert city,
Should in their own Confines, with forked heads
Have their round haunches goar'd.

1 Lord. Indeed, my Lord,

The melancholy Jaques grieves at that;
And in that kind fwears you do more ufurp
Than doth your brother, that hath banish'd you:
To day my Lord of Amiens, and myself,
Did fteal behind him, as he lay along
Under an oak, whofe antique root peeps out
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood;
To the which place a poor fequeftred ftag,
That from the hunters' aim had ta'en a hurt,
Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord,
The wretched Animal heav'd forth fuch groans
That their difcharge did ftretch his leathern coat
Almost to bursting; and the big round tears
Cours'd one another down his innocent nofe
In piteous chafe; and thus the hairy fool,
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
Stood on th' extremeft verge of the fwift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.

Duke Sen. But what faid Jaques ?
Did he not moralize this fpectacle?

1 Lord. O yes, into a thousand fimilies.
Firft, for his weeping in the needlefs ftream;
Poor Deer, quoth he, thou mak'ft a teftament
As worldlings do, giving thy fum of more
To that which had too much. Then being alone,

Left