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 the charge 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,
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?

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

Ros. But, cousin, what if we assay'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;
Leave me alone to woo him.
Let's away,

And get our jewels and our wealth together;
Devise the fittest time and safest way

To hide us from pursuit that will be made
After my flight. Now go we in content,
To liberty, and not to banishment.

[Exeunt.

Enter DUKE, Senior, AMIENS, and other Lords in the dress of Foresters.

DUKE, Senior.

TOW, my co-mates, and brothers in exile,

N°

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:

I would not change it.

Amiens. 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 heads
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 hunter's 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 th' extremest verge of the swift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.

Duke S.

But what said Jaques?

Did he not moralize this spectacle?

1 Lord. O yes, into a thousand similes.

First, for his weeping into th' 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 there alone,

Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends;

""Tis right," quoth he; "thus 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 fat and greasy citizens;
'Tis just the fashion: Wherefore do you look
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt 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 fright the animals, and to kill them up
In their assign'd and native dwelling-place.

Duke S. And did you leave him in this contemplation?

2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and comment

ing

Upon the sobbing deer.

Duke S.

Shew me the place:

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

1 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.

1 Lord. I cannot hear of any that did see her. The ladies, her attendants of her chamber, Saw her a-bed; and, in the morning early, They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress. 2 Lord. My lord, the roinish clown, at whom so oft

Your Grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.
Hesperia, the Princess' gentlewoman,

Confesses that she secretly o'erheard

Your daughter and her cousin much commend
The parts and graces of the wrestler

That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles;
And she believes, wherever they are gone,

That youth is surely in their company.

Duke F. Send to his brother; fetch that gallant

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 quail
To bring again these foolish runaways.

[Exeunt.