SCENE III. A Room in the Palace.

Enter CELIA and ROSALIND. 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 away upon curs, throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons.

Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up; when the one should be lamed with reasons, and the other mad without any.

Cel. But is all this for your father? Ros. No, some of it for my child's father. O. how full of briars is this working-day world! 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. [burs are in my heart. Ros. I could shake them off my coat; these Cel. Hem them away. [him. Ros. I would try: if I could cry hem, and have Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. Ros. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself.

Cel. Ú, 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?

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,
It was your pleasure, and your own remorse;
But now I know her; if she be a traitor,
I was too young that time to value her,
Why so am I; we still have slept together,
And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans,
Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together:
Still we went coupled, and inseparable,

Duke F. She is too subtle for thee; and her
Her very silence, and her patience,
smoothness,
Thou art a fool: she robs thee of thy name;
Speak to the people, and they pity her.
And thou wilt show more bright, and seem more
virtuous,

Firm and irrevocable is my doom
When she is gone: then open not thy lips;
Which I have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd.
cannot live out of her company.
Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my
[liege:
Duke F. You are a fool:-You, niece, provide
yourself;

I

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?
[dearly. Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine.
Icharge thee, be not thou more griev'd than I am.

Ros. The duke my father lov'd his father 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:-Look, here comes the

duke.

Cel. With his eyes full of.

anger.

Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords.
Duke F. Mistress, dispatch you with your safest
And get you from our court.
[haste,
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. I have more cause.

Cel.

Thou hast not, cousin :

Prythee, be cheerful: know'st thou not, the
Hath banish'd me, his daughter? [duke

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 in the forest of Arden.
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 umber smirch 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-axe upon my thigh,
A boar-spear in my hand; and (in my heart
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will)

Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a We'll have a swashing and a martial outside; traitor;

Tell me, whereon the likelihood depends.
Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's
enough.
[dukedom;

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

man?

As many other mannish cowards have,
That do outface it with their semblances.
Cel. What shall I call thee, when thou art a
[own page,
Ros. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's
And therefore, look you, call me Ganymede.
But what will you be call'd?

Cel. Something that hath a reference to my
No longer Celia, but Aliena.

[state;

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

Hath heard your praises; and this night he you, than bear you; yet I should bear no cross,

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.

Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have
me go?
[here.
Adam. No matter whither, so you come not
Orl. What wouldst thou have me go and beg
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 rebellions 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.

SCENE IV. The Forest of Arden.
Enter ROSALIND in boy's clothes, CELIA drest like a
Shepherdess, and TOUCHSTONE.

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

Ros. I could find in my heart to disgrace my 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 yon, bear with me; I cannot go D further.

Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with

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 1: when I was at home, I was in a better place; but travellers must be content.

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.
Su. 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 hast not broke from company,
Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,
Thou hast not lov'd: 0 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 anight to Jane Smile: and I remember the kissing of her batlet, and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopp'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.

[of.

Ros. Thou speak'st wiser than thou art 'ware
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.

Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man, If he for gold will give us any food;

I faint almost to death.

Touch. Holla; you, clown!

Ros.

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

Touch. Your betters, sir.

Cor. Else they are very wretched.
Ros.

Good even to you, friend.

Peace, I say:

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:

Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you but that they call compliment, is 1 Lord. He saves my labour by his own aplike the encounter of two dog-apes; and when proach. [life is this, a man thanks me heartily, methinks, I have Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur! what a given him a penny, and he renders me the beg-That your poor friends must woo your company? garly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues.

Jaq. A fool, a fool!- I met a fool i' the
A motley fool;-a miserable world!
As I do live by food, I met a fool;
Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun,
And rail'd on lady Fortune in good terms,
In good set terms,-and yet a motley fool."
Good-morrow, fool, quoth I; No, sir, quoth he,
Call me not fool, till heaven have sent me fortune;
And then he drew a dial from his poke:
And looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
Says, very wisely, It is ten o'clock:
Thus may we see, quoth he, how the world wags:
'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine:
And after an hour more, 'twill be oleven;

And so from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,
And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot,
And thereby hangs a tale. When I did hear
The motley fool thus moral on the time,
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,
That fools shall be so deep-contemplative;
And I did laugh, sans intermission,
An hour by his dial.-O noble fool!
A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear.
Duke S. What fool is this?
[courtier;
Jaq. O worthy fool!-One that hath been a
And says, if ladies be but young, and fair,
They have the gift to know it; and in his brain,--
Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit
After avoyage, he hath strange places cramm'd
With observation, the which he vents
In mangled forms:-O, that I were a fool!
I am ambitious for a motley coat.
Duke S. Thou shalt have one.
Jaq.
It is my only suit;
Provided, that you weed your better judgments
Of all opinion that grows rank in them,
That I am wise. I must have liberty
Withal, as large a charter as the wind,
To blow on whom I please: for so fools have:
And they that are most galled with my folly,
They most must laugh: And why, sir, must
they so?

The why is plain as way to parish church:
He, that a fool doth very wisely hit,
Doth very foolishly, although he smart,
Not to seem senseless of the bob: if not,
The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd
Even by the squand'ring glances of the fool.
Invest me in my motley; give me leave
To speak my mind, and I will through and
through

Cleanse the foul body of the infected world,
If they will patiently receive my medicine.
Duke S. Fye on thee! I can tell what thou
wouldst do.

More than your force move us to gentleness.
Orl. I almost die for food, and let me have it.
Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to
our table.
[you:

Orl. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray
I thought that all things had been savage here;
And therefore put I on the countenance
Of stern commandment: But whate'er you are,
That in this desert inaccessible,
Under the shade of melancholy bonghs,
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time;
If ever you have look'd on better days,
If ever been where bells have knoll' to church;
If ever sat at any good man's feast;"
If ever from your eyelid wip'd a tear,
And know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied;
Let gentleness my strong enforcement be:
In the which hope, I blush, and hide my sword.
Duke S. True is it thatwe have seen better days;
And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church;
And sat at good men's feasts; and wip'd our eyes
Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd:
And therefore set you down in gentleness,
And take upon command what help we have,
That to your wanting may be minister'd.

Jag. What, for a counter, would I do, but good?
Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chid-I
For thou thyself hast been a libertine, [ing sin:
As sensual as the brutish sting itself;

And all the embossed sores and headed evils,
That thou with licence of free foot hast caught,
Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.

Jaq. Why, who cries out on pride,
That can therein tax any private party?
Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,
Till that the very very means do ebb?
What woman in the city do I name,
When that I say, the city-woman bears
The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders?
Who can come in, and say, that I mean her,
When such a one as she, such is her neighbour?
Or what is he of basest function,
That says his bravery is not on my cost,
(Thinking that I mean him), but therein suits
His folly to the mettle of my speech?
There then; How,what then? Let me see wherein
My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right,
Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free,
Why then, my taxing like a wild goose flies,
Unclaim'd of any man.-But who comes here?
Enter ORLANDO, with his Sword drawn.
Orl. Forbear, and eat no more.
Jaq.
Why, I have eat none yet.
Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd.
Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of?
Duke S. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy
distress;

Or else a rude despiser of good manners,
That in civility thou seem'st so empty?

Orl. Then, but forbear your food a little while,
Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn,
And give it food. There is an old poor man,
Who after me hath many a weary step
Limp'd in pure love: till he be first suffic'd,-
Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hun-
will not touch a bit.
[ger,-
Duke S.
Go find him out,
And we will nothing waste till you return.
Orl. I thank ye; and be bless'd for your good

comfort!

[Exit

[happy:

Duke S. Thou seest we are not all alone un-
This wide and universal theatre
Presents more woful pageants than the scene
Wherein we play in.
Jaq.
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits, and their entrances:
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
And then, the whining school-boy, with his
satchel,

And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school: And then, the lover;
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad
Made to his mistress' eye-brow: Then, a soldier:
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking in the bubble reputation [justice;
Even in the cannon's mouth: And then, the
In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances,
And so he plays his part; The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon;
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shark; and his big manly voice