No, let my father feek another heir.
Therefore devise 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 can't, I'll go along with thee.
Ref. Why, whither fhall we go?

Cel. To feek my uncle in the forest of Arden.
Ref. 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 pass along,
And never ftir affailants.

Rof. Wer't not better,

Becaufe 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 fwathing and a martial outside,
As many other mannish cowards have,
That do outface it with their femblances.

Gel. What fhall I call thee when thou art a man? Kof. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page; And therefore look you call me Ganymede. But what will you be call'd?

Gel. Something that hath a reference to my ftate: No longer Celia, but Aliena..

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?

Gel. 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 fittest time, and safest way
To hide us from purfuit that will be made
After my flight: now go we in content
To liberty, and not to banishment.

[Exeunt.

ACT

ACT

II.

SCENE I.

Arden foreft.

Enter Duke fenior, Amiens, and two or three Lords like

foresters.

Duke fenior. TOW, my co-mates, and brothers in

Now

exile,

• Hath not old cuftom made this life more sweet

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,

• The season's difference; as, the icy phang,

6

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: these are counsellors,
That feelingly perfuade me what I am.
• 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 stones, and good in every thing.'

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

Duke fen. Come, shall we go, and kill us venifon!
And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fool,
Being native burghers of this desert 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. 1

To-day my Lord of Amiens, and myself,

Did steal 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 stag,

U 3

That

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 fuch groans
That their difcharge did ftretch his leathern coat
Almost to buriting; 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 swift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.

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

1 Lord. yes, into a thoufand fimilies. Firft, for his weeping in the needlefs itream; Poor Deer, quoth he, thou mak’st a testament As worldlings do, giving thy fum of more To that which had too much. Then being alone, Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends; 'Tis right, quoth he, thus mifery doth part The flux of company. Anon a careless herd, Full of the pafture, jumps along by him, And never itays to greet him: Ay, quoth Jaques, Sweep on, you fat and greafy citizens, 'Tis juit 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; fwearing, that we Are mere ufurpers, tyrants, and what's worse, To fright the animals, and to kill them up In their affign'd and native dwelling-place.

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

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

Duke fen. Show me the place;

I love to cope him in thefe fullen fits.
For then he's full of matter.

2 Lord. I'll bring you to him ftraight.

[Exeunt.

SCENE

SCENE II. Changes to the palace again.

Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords.

Duke. Can it be poffible, that no man faw them? It cannot be; fome villains of my court Are of confent and fufferance in this.

1 Lord. I cannot hear of any that did fee her.
The ladies, her attendants of her chamber,
Saw her a-bed, and in the morning early
They found the bed untreafur'd of their mistress.

2 Lord. My Lord, the roynith clown at whom so oft Your Grace was wont to laugh, is alfo miffing: Hefperia, the Princefs' gentlewoman, Confeffes, that fhe fecretly o'erheard Your daughter and her coufin much commend The parts and Graces of the wrestler, That did but lately foil the finewy Charles; And the 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 abfent, bring his brother to me, I'll make him find him; do this fuddenly; And let not fearch and inquifition quail To bring again thefe foolish runaways.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. Changes to Oliver's houfe.

Enter Orlando and Adam.

Orla. Who's there?

Adam. What! my young mafter? oh, my gentle master, Oh, my fweet 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 fo fond to overcome
The bony prifer of the humorous Duke?
Your praife is come too fwiftly home before you.
Know you not, Mafter, to fome kind of men
Their graces ferve them but as enemies?

No

No more do your's; your virtues, gentle Mafter,
Are fanctified and holy traitors to you.
Oh, what a world is this, when what is comely
Invenoms him that bears it!

Orla. Why, what's the matter?
Adam. O unhappy youth,

Come not within thefe doors; within this roof
The enemy of all your graces lives :

Your brother-(no; no brother; yet the fon,-
Yet not the fon; 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 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.

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 Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce [food? A thievith 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 fubject 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 fav'd under your father, • Which I did ftore to be my foster-nurfe • 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 fervant; Though 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 unbashful forehead woo The means of weakness and debility;

• Therefore