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And pity her for her good father's sake ;
And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady
Will suddenly break forth.--Sir, fare you well ;
Hereafter, in a better world than this,
I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.

Orla. I rest much bounden to you: fare ye well!
Thus inuft I from the smoke into the smother ;
From tyrant Duke unto a tyrant brother:
But, heavenly Rosalind !


An apartment 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.

Rof. Then there were two cousins 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?

Rof No, some of it is for my child's father. 4 Oh, how full of briars is this working-day world! Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown


thee is holiday foolery; if we walk not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats will catch them.

Rol. I could take them off my coat; these burs are in my heart. Cel. Hem them away.

-- for my furber's child.] The old editions have it, for my child's futhir, that is, as it is explained by Mr. Theobald, før 21 futuri hipand. JOHNSUN.



Rof. I would try ; if I could cry, hem, and have him.

Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections.

Rof. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself.

Cel. O, a good with upon you! you will try in time, in despight of a fall.—But turning these jefts out of service, let us talk in good earnest. Is it pofsible on such a sudden you should fall into so strong a liking with old sir Rowland's youngest son ?

Ro. 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, s I should hate him, for my father hated his father dearly ; yet I hate not Orlando. Rof. No, faith, hate him not, for


fake. Cel. Why should I? doth he not deserve well?

Enter Duke, with lords. 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.

Duke. Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste, And get you from our court.

Roj. Me, Uncle ?

Duke. You, cousin :
Within these ten days if that thou be't found
So near our publick court as twenty miles,
Thou dieft for it.

Ref. I do beseech your grace,
Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me:

s-by this kind of chase,] That is, by this way of fol. lowing the argument. D ar is used by Shakespeare in a double sensc, for beloved, and for burtfu', hard, bale ul. Both senfes are authorised, and both drawn from etymology, but properly beloved is dear, and bateful is dere. Rosalind uses dearly in the good, and Çelia in the bad sense, JOHNSON,


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

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

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

Ros. So was I when your highness took his duke-

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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.

Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak.

Duke. Ay, Celia, we but ftay'd her for your sake,
Else had the with her father rang'd along.

Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay;
It was your pleasure, and your own remorse;
I was too young that time to value her,
But now I know her: if she be a traitor,
Why so am I; we still have nept together,
Rose at an instant, learn’d, play'd, eat together ;
And wherefoe'er we went, like Juno's swans,
Still we went coupled, and inseparable.
Duke. 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 : se robs thee of thy name ;
And thou wilt show more bright, and seem more

When she is gone. Then open not thy lips:
Firm and irrevocable is my doom,
Which I have past upon her:-She is banilh'd.

Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege;
I cannot live out of her company.
Duke. You are a fool :- You, niece, provide your-

felf; If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour, And in the greatness of my word, you die.

[Exeunt Duke, &c. Cel. O my poor Rofalind! where wilt thou go? Wilt thou change fathers ? I will give thee mine. I charge thee, be not thou more griey'd than I am.

Ros. I have more caufe.

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

Rof. That he hath not.
Cel. No? hath not ? ? Rosalind lacks then the love

And thou wilt show more bright, and seem more virtuous,] This implies her to be some how remarkably defective in virtue : which was not the speaker's thought. The poet doubtless wrote,

-and SHINE more virtuous. i. e. her virtues would appear more splendid, when the lustre of her cousin's was away. WARBURTON.

The plain meaning of the old and true reading is, that when the was seen alone, me would be more noted. JOHNSON.

? Rosalind lacks then the love
Whicb teacherh thee that thou and I am one.

e.] The poet certainly wrote—which teacheth me. For if Rosalind. had learnt to think Celia one part of herself, she could not lack that love which Celia complains she does. WARBURTON.

Either reading may stand. The sense of the established text is not remote or obscure. Where would be the absurdity of saying, You know not the law which teaches you to do right. Johnson.


Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one.
Shall we be sundred ? 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.

Ref. 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 riean attire,
And with a kind of umber smirch my face;
The like do you ; so shall we pass along,
And never ftir assailants.

Rof. 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-ax? upon my thigh,
A boar-spear in my hand; and (in my heart
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will)
I'll have a ' (washing and a martial outside ;
As many other mannish cowards have,
That do outface it with their femblances.

Cel. What shall I call thee, when thou art a man?
Rost I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own

page ; And therefore, look, you call me, Ganimed.


-take your change upon you,] In all the later editions, from Mr. Rowe's to Dr. Warburton's, chang: is altered to charge, without any reason. JOHNSON.

9-curtle-axe, or cullace, a broad sword. JOHNSON. ! !'ll have] Sir T. Hanmer, for wi'll have. JOHNSON.


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