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Left and abandon'd of his velvet fiiends;
Duke Sen. And did you leave him in this contemplation? 2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting Upon the fobbing deer.
Duke Sen. Show me the place;
I love to cope him in these fullen fits.
2 Lord. I'll bring you to him ftraight.
SCENE changes to the PALACE again.
Enter Duke Frederick with Lords.
AN it be poffible, that no man saw them?
Are of confent and fufferance in this.
I Lord. I cannot hear of any that did fee her.
2 Lord. My lord, the roynish Clown, at whom fo oft
Your Daughter and her Coufin much commend
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 Search and Inquifition quail To bring again these foolish runaways.
SCENE changes to OLIVER's House..
Adam. What! my young mafter? oh, my gentle mafter,
fweet master, O you memory
Of old Sir Rowland! why, what make you here?
The bonny Prifer of the humorous Duke ?
O, what a world is this, when what is comely
Orla. Why, what's the matter?
Come not within thefe doors; within this roof
Your brother (no; no brother; yet the fon,-
Hath heard your praises, and this night he means
Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.
Orla. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go?
A thievifh living on the common road?
I rather will fubject me to the malice
Adam. But do not fo; I have five hundred crowns,
Orla. Oh! good old man, how well in thee appears The conftant fervice of the antique world; When service sweat for duty, not for meed! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will fweat, but for promotion; And, having that, do choak their fervice up Even with the Having; it is not so with thee; But poor old man, thou prun'ft a rotten tree, That cannot fo much as a bloffom 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,
SCENE changes to the FOREST of Arden.
Enter Rofalind in Boys cloaths for Ganimed. Celia dreft like a Shepherdess for Aliena, and Clown.
Rof. Jupiter! how weary are my fpirits ? (5)
Clo. I care not for my fpirits, if my legs
were not weary.
Rof. I could find in my heart to difgrace my man's apparel, and cry like a woman; but I must comfort the weaker veffel, as doublet and hofe ought to fhow itself courageous to petticoat; therefore, courage, good Aliena.
Cel. I pray you bear with me, I can go no further.
Clo. For my part, I had rather bear with you, than bear you; yet I fhould bear no cross, if I did bear you; for, I think you have no money in your purse.
Rof. Well, this is the foreft of Arden.
Clo. Ay; now I am in Arden, the more fool I; when I was at home, I was in a better place; but travellers must be content.
Rof. Ay, be fo, good Touchflone: look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in folemn talk.
(5) Jupiter! bow merry are my Spirits ] And yet, within the Space of one intervening Line, She fays, fhe could find in her Heart to difgrace her Man's Apparel, and cry like a Woman. Sure, this is but a very bad Symptom of the Brisknefs of Spirits: rather a direct Proof of the contrary Difpofition. Mr. Warburton and I, concurred in conjecturing it fhould be, as I have reformed in the Text.. how weary are my Spirits ? And the Clown's Reply makes this Reading certain.
Enter Corin and Silvius.
Cor. That is the way to make her fcorn you ftill.
Haft thou been drawn to by thy fantafy?
Or if thou haft not fate as I do now,
Or if thou haft not broke from company,
O Phebe! Phebe! Phebe !
[Exit Sil. Rof. Alas, poor Shepherd! fearching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found my own.
Cle. And I mine; I remember, when I was in love, I broke my fword upon a ftone, and bid him take that for coming a nights to Jane Smile; and I remember the kiffing of her batlet, and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopt hands had milk'd; and I remember the wooing of a peafcod inftead of her, from whom I took two cods, and giving her them again, faid with weeping tears, wear thele for my fake. We, that are true lovers, run into frange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, fo is all nature in love mortal in folly.
Rof. Thou fpeak'ft wifer, than thou art 'ware of. Clo. Nay, I fhall ne'er be ware of mine own wit, till I break my fhins against it.
Rof. Jove! Jove! this Shepherd's paffion is much upon my fashion.