Cel. I would I were invifible, to catch the ftrong fellow by the leg!

Rof. O excellent young man!

[they wrestle.

Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who fhould down...

Duke. No more, no more.

[bout. [Charles is thrown. Orla. Yes, I beseech your Grace; I am not yet well: breathed..

Duke. How doft thou, Charles?

Le Beu. He cannot speak, my Lord.

Duke. Bear him away. What is thy name, young

man ?

Orla. Orlando, my Liege, the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys.

Duke. I would, thou hadst been son to some man else; The world efteem'd thy father honourable,

But I did find him still mine enemy:

Thou fhould't have better pleas'd me with this deed,
Hadft thou defcended from another house.

But fare thee well, thou art a gallant youth;
I would, thou hadst told me of another father. '

[Exit Duke, with his Train.

Manent Celia, Rofalind, Orlando.

Cel. Were I my father, coz, would I do this? Orla. I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's fon, His youngest fon, and would not change that calling to be adopted heir to Frederick.

Rof. My father lov'd Sir Rowland as his foul,
And all the world was of my father's mind:
Had I before known this young man his fon,
I should have giv'n him tears unto entreaties,
Ere he fhould thus have ventur'd.

Cel. Gentle coufin,

Let us go thank him, and encourage him;
My father's rough and envious difpofition
Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well deferv'd:
If you do keep your promifes in love,

But juftly as you have exceeded all in promife,
Your mistress fhall be happy,

Ref

Rof. Gentleman,

(5) Wear this for me; one out of fuits with fortune, That could give more, but that her hand lacks means, Shall we go, coz ? [Giving him a chain from her neck. Cel. Ay, fare you well, fair gentleman.

Orla. Can I not fay, I thank you ?-my better parts Are all thrown down; and that, which here ftands up, (6) Is but a quintaine, a mere lifeless block.

Rof. He calls us back: my pride fell with my fortunes. I'll ask him, what he would. Did you call, Sir? have wrestled well, and overthrown

Sir, you
More than your enemies.

Cel. Will

you go, coz ?

Rof. Have with

you: fare

(5) Wear this for me;] There is nothing in the sequel of this fcene, expreffing what it is that Rofalind here gives to Orlando: nor has there been hitherto any marginal direction to explain it. It would have been no great burden to the editor's fagacity, to have fupply'd the note I have given in the margin: for afterwards, in the third act, when Refalind has found a copy of verses in the woods writ, on herself, and Celia afks her whether he knows who hath done this, Rofalind, replies, by way of question, Is it a man? to which Celia again replies, Ay, and a chain, that you once wore, about his neck.

(6) Is but a quintaine,--] This word fignifies in general a poft or butt fet up for feveral kind of martial exercifes. It ferved fometimes to run again ft, on horseback, with a lance: and then one part of it was always moveable, and turn'd about an axis. But, befides this, there was another quintaine, that was only a poft fix'd firmly in the ground; on which they hung a buckler, and threw their darts, and fhot their arrows against it: and to this kind of quintaine it is that Shakespeare here alludes: and taking it in this latter fenfe, there is an extreme beauty and juftnefs in the thought. "I am now, fays Orlando, only "a quintaine, a mere lifeless block, on which love only exercises his "arms in jeft; the great difparity between me and Rofalind, in condition, not fuffering me to hope that ever love will make a ferious "matter of it." Regnier, the famous fatirist, who dy'd about the time our author did, applies this very metaphor to the same subject, tho' the thought be fomewhat different.

Et qui depuis dix ans, jufqu'en les derniers jours,
A outenu le prix en l' efcrime d' amours;
Laffe enfin de fervir au peuple de quintaine,
Elle &c.

Mr. Warburton.

Orla.

Orla. What paffion hangs thefe weights upon my
tongue?

I cannot speak to her; yet fhe urg'd conference.
Enter Le Beu.

Ο

poor Orlando! thou art overthrown;
Or Charles, or fomething weaker, mafters thee.
Le Beus Good Sir, I do in friendship counsel you
To leave this place. Albeit you have deferv'd
High commendation, true applaufe, and love;
Yet fuch is now the Duke's condition,

That he mifconftrues all that you have done.
The Duke is humorous; what he is, indeed,
More fuits you to conceive, than me to speak of.
Orla. 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 Beu. Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners;
But yet, indeed, the fhorter is his daughter;
The other's daughter to the banish'd Duke,
And here detain'd by her ufurping uncle
To keep his daughter company, whofe loves
Are dearer than the natural bond of fifters.
But I can tell you, that of late this Duke
Hath ta'en difpleasure 'gainft his gentle niece;
Grounded upon no other argument,

But that the people praise her for her virtues,
And pity her for her good father's fake;
And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the Lady
Will fuddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well;
Hereafter, in a better world than this,

I fhall defire more love and knowledge of you. [Exit
Orla. I reft much bounden to you: fare you well!
Thus muft I from the smoke into the fmother;

From tyrant Duke, unto a tyrant brother:

But heav'nly Rofalind!

[Exits

SCENE

SCENE changes to an Apartment in the

Palace.

Re-enter Celia and Rofalind.

Cel.7HY, coufin; why, Rofalind; Cupid have mercy; not a word!

Cel. WHY

Rof. Not one to throw at a dog.

Cel. No, thy words are too precions to be cast away upon curs, throw fome of them at me; come, lame me with reafons.

Rof. Then there were two coufins 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. (7) No, fome of it is for my child's father. Oh, how full of briars is this working-day-world! Cel. They are but burs, coufin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery; if we walk not in the trodden. paths, our very petticoats will catch them.

Rof. I could thake them off my coat; these burs are in my heart,

Cel. Hem them away.

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 myfelf.

Cel. O, a good with upon you! you will try in time, in defpight of a fall;-but turning these jefts out of fervice, let us talk in good earnest: is it poffible on fuch a fudden you fhould fall into fo strong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest fon?

Rof. The Duke my father lov'd his father dearly.

(7) No, fome of it is for my father's child.] I have chofen to restore here the reading of the older copies, which evidently contains the poet's fentiment. Rofalind would fay, "no, all my diftrefs and melancholy " is not for my father; but fome of it for my fweetheart, whom I hope "to marry and have children by." In this fenfe the ftiles him her child's father.

Gel,

Cel. Doth it therefore enfue, that you should love his fon dearly? by this kind of chase, I should hate him; for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando.

Ref. No, faith, hate him not, for my fake.
Cel. Why fhould I? doth he not deserve well?
Enter Duke, with Lords..

Rof. Let me love him for that; and do

you love him, becaufe I do.. Look, here comes the Duke. Cel. With his eyes full of anger.

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

Ref. Me, uncle!

Duke. You, coufin.

Within these ten days if that thou be'ft found
So near our publick court as twenty. miles,
Thou dieft for it.

Rof. I do befeech your Grace,

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

Or have acquaintance with my own defires;
If that I do not dream, or be not frantick,
(As, I do truft, I am not,) then dear uncle,
Never fo much as in a thought unborn.
Did I offend your Highness.

Duke. Thus do all traitors;

If their purgation did confift in words,
They are as innocent as grace itfelf:
Let it fuffice thee, that I trust thee not.
Rof. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor;
Tell me, wherein the likelihood, depends.

Duke. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's enough. Rof. So was I, when your Highnefs took his Dukedom;. So was I, when your Highnefs banish'd him; Treafon 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, miftake me not fo much,
To think my poverty is treacherous..

Cel