Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who fhould down.

Duke. No more, no more.

[About

[Charles is thrown.

Orla. Yes, I beseech your Grace. I am not yet well breathed.

Duke. How doft thou, Charles?

Le Beu. He cannot fpeak, my Lord.

Duke. Bear him away. What is thy name, young man?

Orla. Orlando, my liege, the youngest fon of Sir Rowland de Boys.

Duke. I would, thou hadst been fon to fome man elfe!

The world esteem'd thy Father honourable,

But I did find him ftill mine enemy:

Thou shouldst have better pleas'd me with this deed,
Hadft thou defcended from another Houfe.

But fare thee well, thou art a gallant youth;
-I would thou hadft told me of another father.

[Exit Duke, with his train.

SCENE VII.

Manent Celia, Rofalind, Orlando.

Cel. Were I my father, coz, would I do this?
Orla. I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's fon,
His youngest fon, and would not change that calling
To be adopted heir to Frederick.

Rof. My father lov'd Sir Rowland as his foul,
And all the world was of my father's mind:
Had I before known this young man his fon,
I fhould have giv'n him tears unto entreaties,
Ere he fhould thus have ventur'd.

Cel. Gentle Coufin,

Let us go thank him and encourage him;
My father's rough and envious difpofition
Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well deferv'd:

If you do keep your promifes in love,

But justly as you have exceeded all promife,
Your miftrefs fhall be happy.

Rof. Gentleman,

Wear this for me; one out of fuits with fortune ", That could give more, but that her hand lacks means. -Shall we go, coz? [Giving him a Chain from her Neck. Cel. Ay-Fare you well, fair gentleman.

Orla. Can I not fay, I thank you?my better parts

Are all thrown down; and that, which here stands up, Is but a quintaine, a meer lifelefs block.

Rof. He calls us back-my pride fell with my for

tunes.

I'll ask him what he would.-Did you call, Sir?-
Sir, you have wreftled well, and overthrown
More than your enemies.

Cel. Will you go, coz ?

Rof. Have with you-Fare you well.

[Exeunt Rofalind and Celia.

Orla. What paffion hangs these weights upon my

tongue?

I cannot speak to her; yet the urg'd conference.

-one out of fuits with fortune,] This feems an allufion to cards, where he that has no more cards to play of any particular fort is out of fuit.

9 Is but a quintaine, a meer lifelefs block.] A Quintaine was a Poft or Butt fet up for several kinds of martial exercifes, against which they threw their darts and exercised their arms. The allufion is beautiful, I am, fays Orlando, only a quintaine, a lifeless block en which love only exercifes his arms in jeft; the great disparity of condition between Rofalind and

C 2

Enter

Enter Le Beu.

poor Orlando! thou art overthrown; Or Charles, or fomething weaker, mafters thee. Le Beu. Good Sir, I do in friendship counsel you To leave this place. Albeit you have deferv'd High commendation, true applause, and love; Yet fuch is now the Duke's condition", That he mifconftrues all that you have done. The Duke is humorous; what he is, indeed, More fuits you to conceive, than me to speak of. Orla. I thank you, Sir. And, pray you, tell me this Which of the two was Daughter of the Duke That here was at the wrestling?

Le Beu. Neither his daughter, if we judge by man

ners;

But yet, indeed, the fhorter is his daughter.
The other's daughter to the banish'd Duke,
And here detain'd by her ufurping Uncle
To keep his daughter company; whofe loves
Are dearer than the natural bond of fifters.
But I can tell you, that of late this Duke
Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle Niece;
Grounded upon no other argument,

But that the people praise her for her virtues,
And pity her for her good father's fake;
And, on my life, his malice 'gainft the lady
Will fuddenly break forth.-Sir, fare ye well;
Hereafter, in a better world than this,

I fhall defire more love and knowledge of you. [Exit
Orla. I reft much bounden to you: fare ye well!
Thus must I from the fmoke into the fmother;
From tyrant Duke unto a tyrant Brother:
But, heav'nly Rofalind!--

[Exit

Cel.

SCENE VIII.

Changes to an Apartment in the Palace.

Re-enter Celia and Rofalind.

HY, Coufin; why, Rofalind-Cupid have mercy-not a word!

WH

Rof. Not one to throw at a dog.

Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be caft away upon curs, throw fome of them at me; come, lame me with reafons.

Rof. Then there were two Coufins laid up; when the one should be lam'd with Reasons, and the other mad without any.

Cel. But is all this for your father?

Ref. No, fome of it is for my father's child. Oh, how full of briars is this working-day world!

Cel. They are but burs, coufin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery; if we walk not in the trodden paths, our very peticoats will catch them.

Ref. I could hake them off my coat; these burs are in my heart.

Cel. Hem them away.

Rof. I would try, if I could cry, hem, and have him. Cel. Come, come, wreftle with thy affections. Rof. O, they take the part of a better Wrestler than myfelf.

Cel. O, a good with upon you! you will try in time, in defpight of a Fall.--But turning thefe jefts out of fervice, let us talk in good earneft. Is it poffible on fuch a fudden you fhould fall into fo ftrong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest fon?

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

for my father's child.] The by Mr. Theobald, for my future old Editions have it, for my child's husband.

father, that is, as it is explained

Cel. Doth it therefore enfue, that you fhould love his fon dearly? by this kind of chafe3, I fhould hate him; for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando.

Ref. No, faith, hate him not, for my fake.
Cel. Why fhould I? doth he not deferve well?

SCENE IX.

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 fafeft halte, 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 myself 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 itself.
Let it fuffice thee, that I trust thee not.