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Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery: if we walk not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats will catch them.
Ros. I could shake them off my coat: these burs are in my heart.
Cel. Hem them away.
Ros. I would try, if I could cry hem, and have him. Cel. Come, come; wrestle with thy affections. Ros. O they take the part of a better wrestler than myself.
Cel. O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in despite of a fall.-But, turning these jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest. Is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so strong a liking with old sir Rowland's youngest son?
Ros. The duke my father lov'd his father dearly.
Cel. Doth it therefore ensue, that you should love his son dearly? By this kind of chase, I should hate him, for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando.
Ros. No 'faith, hate him not, for my sake.
Cel. Why should I not? doth he not deserve well? Ros. Let me love him for that; and do you love him, because I do.
Enter Duke FREDERICK, with Lords.
Look, here comes the duke.
Cel. With his eyes full of anger.
Duke F. Mistress, dispatch you with your safest
And get you from our court.
You, cousin :
I do beseech your grace,
Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me.
Or have acquaintance with mine own desires,
Thus do all traitors:
If their purgation did consist in words,
Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor.
Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter; there's enough.
Ros. So was I when your highness took his dukedom;
So was I when your highness banish'd him.
Or if we did derive it from our friends,
What's that to me? my father was no traitor.
Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak.
Duke F. Ay, Celia: we stay'd her for your sake; Else had she with her father rang'd along.
Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay:
Duke F. She is too subtle for thee; and her smooth
Her very silence, and her patience,
Speak to the people, and they pity her.
Thou art a fool: she robs thee of thy name;
And thou wilt show more bright, and seem more virtuous,
When she is gone. Then, open not thy lips:
Cel. Pronounce that sentence, then, on me, my liege: I cannot live out of her company.
Duke F. You are a fool.-You, niece, provide
If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour,
And in the greatness of my word, you die.
[Exeunt Duke FREDERICK and Lords. Cel. O, my poor Rosalind! whither 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.
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?
In the forest of Arden.
Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to us,
To seek my uncle
take your CHANGE upon you,] The folio, 1632, reads, charge.
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far!
Were it not better,
A boar-spear in my hand; and, in my heart
That do outface it with their semblances.
Cel. What shall I call thee, when thou art a man? Ros. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own
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 Aliena3.
Ros. But, cousin, what if we essay'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;
3 SMIRCH my face.] See vol. ii. p. 235, note 7; and p. 246, note 11. curtle-ax] i. e. cutlass, or broad-sword.
5 No longer Celia, but Aliena.] Ganymede and Aliena are the names they assume in Lodge's "Rosalynde."
6 Now go WE IN content] The first folio transposes the words "we in," but the second folio corrects the error.
ACT II. SCENE I.
The Forest of Arden.
Enter DUKE, Senior, AMIENS, and other Lords, like 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 not 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,
Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison?
7 The seasons' difference ;] "The penalty of Adam," here referred to, seems to have been, to be sensible of the "difference" between heat and cold after his expulsion from Paradise.
• Being native burghers of this desert city,] Our poet may have derived this thought from two lines in "Montanus' Sonnet," in Lodge's "Rosalynde." See "Shakespeare's Library," part ii. p. 93.
"About her wond'ring stood