The Dramatic Works

Scene III.

Cel. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold I should have given him tears unto entreaties, for your years: You have seen cruel proof of this Ere he should thus have ventur'd. Gentle cousin, man's strength: if you saw yourself with your eyes,

Cel.

or knew yourself with your judgm nt, the fear Let us go thank him, and encourage him : of your adventure would counsel you to a more My father's rough and envious disposition equal enterprise. We pray you, for your own Sticks me at heart.-Sir, you have well deserv'd: sake, to embrace your own safety, and give over If you do keep your promises in love, But justly, as you have exceeded promise, this attempt. Your mistress shall be happy. Ros.

means.

Ros. Do, young sir; your reputation shall not Gentleman, therefore be misprized; we will make it our suit to [Giving him a chain from her neck. the duke, that the wrestling might not go forward. Ol. I beseech you, punish me not with your Wear this for me; one out of suits with fortune;* hard thoughts; wherein I confess me much guilty, That could give more, but that her hand lacks to deny so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let your fair eyes, and gentle wishes, go with me Shall we go, coz? Ay:-Fare you well, fair gentleman. to my trial: wherein if I be foiled, there is but Orl. Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts one shamed that was never gracious; if killed, but one dead that is willing to be so: I shall do my Are all thrown down; and that which here stands [up, friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me; Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. Ros. He calls us back: My pride fell with my the world no injury, for in it I have nothing; only in the world Ill up a place, which may be better supplied when I have made it empty.

Cel.

fortunes:

Rus. The little strength that I have, I would it

were with you.

Cel. And mine, to eke out hers.

Ros. Fare you well.-Pray heaven, I be deceived in you!

Cel. Your heart's desires be with you!

Cha. Come, where is this young gallant, that is so desirous to lie with his mother earth?

Or. Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working.

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

Duke F. You shall try but one fall. Cha. No, I warrant your grace; you shall not entreat him to a second, that have so mightily per

Orlando! thou art overthrown;

Cel.

Will you go, coz? Ros. Have with you:-Fare you well. [Exeunt Rosalind and Celia. Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue?

cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference. Re-enter Le Beau.

suaded him from a first.

Orl. You mean to mock me after; you should not have mocked me before: but come your ways. Ros. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man! Cel. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the leg. [Charles and Orlando wrestle. Ros. O excellent young man! Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should down. [Charles is thrown. Shout. Duke F. No more, no more.

Orl. Yes, I beseech your grace; I am not yet! well breathed.

Duke F. How dost thou, Charles?
Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord.
Duke F. Bear him away. [Charles is borne out.]
What is thy nane young man?

Orl. Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of

sir Rowland de Bois.

poor

Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee.
Le Beau. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you
To leave this place: Albeit, you have deserv'd
High commendation, true applause, and love;
Yet such is now the duke's condition,4
That he misconstrues all that you have done.
The duke is humorous: what he is, indeed,
More suits you to conceive, than me to speak of.

Orl. 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 Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by

To be adopted heir to Frederick.

Ros. My father lov'd sir Rowland as his soul,
And all the world was of my father's mind:
Had I before known this young man his son,

Hadst thou descended from another house.
But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth;
I would, thou hadst told me of another father.
[Exeunt Duke Fred. train, and Le Beau.
Cel. Were I my father, coz, would I do this?
Orl. I am more proud to be sir Rowland's son,
His youngest son;-and would not change that
calling,

Duke F. I would, thou hadst been son to some
man else.

The world esteem'd thy father honourable,
But I did find him still mine enemy:

But that the people praise her for her virtues,
And pity her for her good father's sake;
And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady

Thou should'st have better pleas'd me with this Will suddenly break forth.-Sir, fare you well;

deed,

Hereafter, in a better world than this,

I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.
Orl. I rest much bounden to you; fare you well!
[Erit Le Beau.
Thus must I from the smoke into the smother;
From tyrant duke, unto a tyrant brother :-
[Exit.
But heavenly Rosalind!
SCENE III-A room in the palace. Enter
Celia and Rosalind.

(1) Appellation. (2) Turned out of her service.
(s) The object to dart at in martial exercises.

manners;

But yet, indeed, the shorter is his daughter:
The other is daughter to the banish'd duke,
And here detain'd by her usurping uncle,
To keep his daughter company; whose loves
Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters.
But I can tell you, that of late this duke
Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece;
Grounded upon no other argument,

Cel. Why, cousin; why, Rosalind ;-Cupid have mercy!-Not a word?

Ros. Not one to throw at a dog.

Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast

(4) Temper, disposition.

away upon curs, throw some of them at me; come, | lame me with reasons.

Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay, It was your pleasure, and your own remorse; Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up; when I was too young that time to value her, the one should be lamed with reasons, and the other But now I know her: if she be a traitor, mad without any. Why so am I; we still have slept together, Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together; 0,[And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, Stil we went coupled, and inseparable.

Cel. But is all this for your father?

Ros. No, some of it for my child's father: how full of briers is this working-day world!

Duke F. She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness,

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.

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,

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? If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour, Ros. The duke my father lov'd his father dearly. And in the greatness of my word, you die.

When she is gone: then open not thy lips;
Firm and irrevocable is my doom

Which I have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd.
Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my
licge;

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.

[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.

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 :-Look, here comes the duke.
Cel. With his eyes full of anger.

Enter Duke Frederick, with lords.

Duke F. Mistress, despatch you with your safest haste,

And get you from our court.

Ros.

Me, uncle?

Duke F.
You, cousin;
Within these ten days if that thou be'st found
So near our public court as twenty miles,
Thou diest for it.

Ros.

I do beseech your grace,
Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me:
If with myself I hold intelligence,

Or have acquaintance with mine own desires;
If that I do not dream, or be not frantic,
(As I do trust I am not,) then, dear uncle,
Never, so much as in a thought unborn,
Did I offend your highness.

Duke F.

Thus do all traitors;
If their purgation did consist in words,
They are as innocent as grace itself:-
Let it suffice thee, that I trust thee not.

Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor;
Tell me, whereon the likelihood depends.
Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's
enough.

Ros. So was I, when your highness took his
dukedom;

cannot live out of her company.
Duke F. You are a fool:-You, niece, provide
yourself;

Inveterately. (2) Compassion.

(3) Avery, low-coloured meth

Cel.
Thou hast not, cousin;
Pr'ythee, be cheerful: know'st thou not, the duke
Hath banish'd me his daughter?

Ros.

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?
No; let my father seek another heir.
Therefore devise with me, how we may fly,
Whither to go, and what to bear with us;
And do not seek to take your change upon you,
To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out;
For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale,
Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee.
Ros. Why, whither shall we go?
Cel.

To seek my uncle.
Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to us,
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far?
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.

Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire,
And with a kind of umber3 smi:ch my face;
The like do you; so shall we pass along,
And never stir assailants.

Ros.
Were it not better,
Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did suit me all points like a man?
A gallant curtle-axes upon my thigh,
A boar-spear in my hand; and (in my heart
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will,)
We'll have a swashing' and a martial outside;
As many other mannish cowards have,
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
page,

And therefore look you call me, Ganymede.
But what will you be call'd?

So was 1, when your highness banish'd him ;
Treason 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, good my liege, mistake me not so much,
To think my poverty is treacherous.

Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak.

Duke F. Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake, No longer Celia, but Aliena.

Else had she with her father rang'd along.

Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state;

Ros. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal The clownish fool out of your father's court?

(4) Cutlass.

(5) Swaggering.

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 but 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,
That can translate the stubbornness of fortune
Into so quiet and so sweet a style.

Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison?
And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools,-
Being native burghers of this desert city,-
Should, in their own confines, with forked heads1
Have their round haunches gor'd.

1 Lord.

Indeed, my lord,
The melancholy Jaques grieves at that;
And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp
Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you.
To-day, my lord of Amiens, and myself,
Did steal behind him, as he lay along
Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood:
To the which place a poor sequester'd stag,
That from the hunters' aim had ta'en a hurt,
Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord,
The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans,
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat
Almost to bursting; and the big round tears
Cours'd one another down his innocent nose
In piteous chase: and thus the hairy fool,
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.

Duke S.
But what said Jaques
Did he not moralize this spectacle?

'Tis right, quoth he; this misery doth part
The flux of company: Anon, a careless herd,
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him,
And never stays to greet him; Ay, quoth Jaques,
Sweep on, you fut and greasy citizens;
'Tis just the fashion: Wherefore do you look
Upon that poor and broken ban rupt there?
Thus most invectively he pierceth through
The body of the country, city, court,
Yea, and of this our life; swearing, that we
Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse,
To right the animals, and to kill them up,
In their assign'd and native dwelling-place.
Duke S. And did you leave him in this contem-
plation?

2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and com-
menting

Upon the sobbing deer.

Duke S.

Show me the place;

love to cope2 him in these sullen fits, For then he's full of matter.

2 Lord. I'll bring you to him straight. [Exeunt. SCENE II-A room in the palace. Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, and attendants.

Duke F. Can it be possible, that no man saw
them?

It cannot be some villains of my court
Are of consent and sufferance in this.

hither;

If he be absent, bring his brother to me,
I'll make him find him: do this suddenly:
And let not search and inquisition quail4
To bring again these foolish runaways. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.-Before Oliver's house. Enter Or-
lando and Adam, meeting.

Orl. Who's there?
Adam. What! my young master?-0, my gen-
tle master,
O, my sweet 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 so fonds to overcome
The bony priser of the humorous duke?
Your praise is come too swiftly home before y
Know you not, master, to some kind of men
Their graces serve them but as enemies?
No more do yours: your virtues, gentle master,
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.
O, what a world is this, when what is comely
Envenoms him that bears it?

1 Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes.
First, for his weeping in the needless stream;
Poor deer, quoth he, thou mak'st a testament
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
To that which had too much: Then, being alone,
Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends;

(1) Barbed arrows. (2) Encounter. (3) Scurvy.
Sink into dejection.
(5) Memorial.

Orl. Why, what's the matter?
Adam.
O unhappy youth,
Come not within these doors; within this roof
The eneiny of all your graces lives:

(6) Inconsiderate.

Your brother-(no, no brother; yet the son-
Yet not the son;-I will not call him son-
Of him I was about to call his father,)-
Hath heard your praises; and this night he means
To burn the lodging where you used 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.

my food?

Or, with a base and boisterous sword, enforce
A thievish 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 subject me to the malice
Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother.
Adam. But do not so: I have five hundred

crowns,

The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father,
Which I did store, to be my foster-nurse,
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 servant;
Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty:
For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood;
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo
The means of weakness and debility;
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty, but kindly: Let me go with you;
I'll do the service of a younger man
In all your business and necessities.

Orl. O good old man; how well in thee appears
The constant service of the antique world,
When service sweat for duty, not for meed!
Thou art not for the fashion of these times,
Where none will sweat, but for promotion;
And having that, do choke their service up
Even with the having: it is not so with thee.
But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree,
That cannot so much as a blossom 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,
We'll light upon some settled low content.

Adam. Master, go on; and I will follow thee, To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty.From seventeen years till now almost fourscore Here lived I, but now live here no more. At seventeen years many their fortunes seek; But at fourscore, it is too late a week; Yet fortune cannot recompense me better, Than to die well, and not my master's debtor. [Exeunt.

Orl. Why, whither, Adam, would'st thou have
me go?

Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here.;
Orl. What, would'st thou have me go and beg but travellers must be content.

(1) Mansion, residence.

(2) Blood turned from its natural course. (3) A piece of money stamped with a cross.

Cel.

Enter

SCENE IV.-The Forest of Arden.
Rosalind in boy's clothes, Celia drest like a
Shepherdess, and Touchstone.

pray you, one of you question yond man,
If he for gold will give us any food;
faint almost to death.

Touch. Holla; you, clown!
Ros.

Ros. O Jupiter! how weary are my spirits! Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary.

Peace, fool; he's not thy kinsman. Cor. Who calls?

Touch. Your betters, sir.

Ros. I could find in my heart to disgrace my

Cor. Else are they very wretched.

man's apparel, and to cry like a woman: but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat: therefore, courage, good Aliena.

Cel. I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go no further.

Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you, than bear you: yet I should bear no cross, if I did bear you; for, I think, you have no money in your

purse.

Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden. Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden: the more fool when I was at home, I was in a better place;

Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone:-Look you who comes here; a young man, and an old, in solemn talk.

Enter Corin and Silvius.

Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still.
Sil. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her!
Cor. I partly guess; for I have lov'd ere now.
Sil. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess;
Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover
As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow:
But if thy love were ever like to mine
(As sure I think did never man love so,)
How many actions most ridiculous
Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?

Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.
Sil. O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily:
If thou remember'st not the slightest folly
That ever love did make thee run into,
Thou hast not lov'd:

Or if thou hast not sat as I do now,
Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
Thou hast not lov'd;

Or if thou has not broke from company,
Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,
Thou hast not lov'd :-O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe!
[Exit Silvius.
Ros. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy
wound,

I have by hard adventure found mine own.

Touch. And I mine: I remember, when I was in love, I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming ani: ht4 to Jane Smile: and I remember the kissing of her batlet, and the cow's dugs that her pretty chop'd hands had milk'd: and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her; from whom I took two cods, and giving her them again, said with weeping tears, Wear these for my sake. We, that are true lovers, run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.

Ros. Thou speak'st wiser, than thou art 'ware of. Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own wit, till I break my shins against it.

Ros. Jove! Jove! this shepherd's passion
Is much upon my fashion.

Touch. And mine; but it grows something stale

with me.

(4) In the night.

(5) The instrument with which washers beat clothes.

Ros.

Peace, I say:

Good even to you, friend.

Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.
Ros. I pr'ythee, shepherd, if that love, or gold,
Can in this desert place buy entertainment,
Bring us where we may rest ourselves, and feed:
Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd,
And faints for succour.

Cor.
Fair sir, I pity her,
And wish for her sake, more than for mine own,
My fortunes were more able to relieve her:
But I am shepherd to another man,
And do not shear the fleeces that I graze;
My master is of churlish disposition,
And little recks' to find the way to heaven
By doing deeds of hospitality:
Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed,
Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now,
By reason of his absence, there is nothing
That you will feed on: but what is, come see,
And in my voice most welcome shall you be.

Ros. What is he that shall buy his flock and
pasture?

Cor. That young swain that you saw here but erewhile,

That little cares for buying any thing.

Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, And thou shalt have to pay for it of us.

Cel. And we will mend thy wages: I like this

place,

And willingly could waste my time in it.

Cor. Assuredly, the thing is to be sold:
Go with me; if you like, upon report,
The soil, the pront, and this kind of life,
I will your very faithful feeder be,
And buy it with your gold right suddenly. [Exe.
SCENE V.-The same. Enter Amiens, Jaques,

and others.

SONG.

Ami. Under the greenwood tree,

Who loves to lie with me,
And tune his merry note

Unto the sweet bird's throat,

Come hither, come hither, come hither;

Here shall he see

No enemy,

But winter and rough weather.

Jaq. More, more, I pr'ythee, more.
Ami. It will make you melancholy, monsieur

Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues.

Ami. Well, I'll end the song.-Sirs, cover the while; the duke will drink under this tree :-he hath been all this day to look you.

Ami. What you will, monsieur Jaques.

Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing: Will you sing?

Ami. More at your request, than to please myself. Jag. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you: but that they call compliment, is like the encounter of two dog-apes; and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks I have given him a penny, and he records me the beggarly thanks.

(1) Cares.

(2) Ragged and rugged had formerly the same meaning.

Jaq. And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is too dispútable' for my company: I think of as many matters as he; but I give heaven thanks, and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come.

SONG.

Who doth ambition shun, [All together here.
And loves to live i' the sun,

Adam. Dear master, I can go no further: 0, 1 die for food! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master.

Orl. Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee? Live a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little: If this uncouth forest yield any thing savage, I will either be food for it, or bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. For my sake, be comfortable; hold death a while at the arm's end: I will here be with to eat, I'll give thee leave to die: but if thou diest thee presently; and if I bring thee not something before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour.

Jaques.

Jaq. I thank it. More, I pr'ythee, more. I can Well said! thou look'st cheerly; and I'll be with suck melancholy out of a song, as a weazel sucks thee quickly.-Yet thou liest in the bleak air: eggs: More, I pr'ythee, more. Ami. My voice is ragged; I know, I cannot shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live any Come, I will bear thee to some shelter; and thou please you. Jaq. I do not desire you to please me, I do desire thing in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam! [Exe. you to sing: Come, more; another stanza; Call SCENE VII.-The same. A table set out. Enter you them stanzas ? Duke senior, Amiens, Lords, and others.

Seeking the food he eats,
And pleas'd with what he gets,

Come hither, come hither, come hither;
Here shall he see

No enemy,

But winter and rough weather.

Jaq. I'll give you a verse to this note, that I made yesterday in despite of my invention. Ami. And I'll sing it. Jay. Thus it goes:

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