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Duke. No more, no more.
[Charles is thrown. Orla. Yes, I beseech your Grace ; I am not yet well breathed.
Duke. How doft thou, Charles ?
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 hadft been son to some man else! The world esteem'd thy Father honourable, But I did find him ftill mine enemy : Thou should'st have better pleas'd me with this deed, Hadft thou descended from another House. But fare thee well, thou art a gallant youth ; I would, thou hadft told me of another father.
[Exit Duke, with his traixi Manent Celia, Rosalind, Orlando. Cel: Were I my father, coz, would I do this ?
Orla. I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son,
Rof. My father lov’d Sir Rowland as his soul,
thank him and encourage him ;
Orla. Can I not say, I thank you ?
parts Are all thrown down ; and that, which here stands up, Is but a quintaine, a meer lifeless block.
Ref. He calls us back : my pride fell with my for-
Cel. Will you go, coz?
[Exeunt Ros, and Cel. Orla. What paffion hangs these weights upon my I cannot speak to her ; yet she urg'd conference.
Enter Le Beu.
Orlando ! thou art overthrown;
Le Beu. Good Sir, I do in friendship counsel you
Orla. I thank you, Sir; and, pray you, tell me this;
Le Beu. Neither his daughter, if we judge by mans
But yet, indeed, the shorter is his daughter ;
And pity her for her good father's fake;
Orla. I rest much bounden to you: fare you well!
SCENE changes to an Apartment in the Palace.
Re-enter Celia and Rosalind. Cel. Why, Cousin; why, Rosalind; Cupid have mercy; not a word !
Ref. Not one to throw at a dog.
Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be caft 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 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. Oh, how full of briers 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.
Ros. I could shake them off my coat ; these burs are in my
heart. Cél. 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
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 possible on such a sudden you should fall into so strong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son?
Ros. The Duke my father lov'd his father dearly.
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. 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 fafest haste, And get you from our Court,
Rof. Me, Uncle !
Duke. You, Cousin.
Duke. Thus do all traitors;
Rof. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor ;
Duke. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's enough.
Rof. So was I, when your Highness took his DukeSo was I, when your Highness banish'd him ; [dom; 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 ftaid her for your fake ;
Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay ;
Duke. She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness,
Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my Liege ; : I cannot live out of her company.
Duke. You are a fool : you, Neice, provide your self; If you out-ftay the time, upon mine Honour, And in the Greatness of my word, you die.
[Exeunt Duke, &c. Cel. O my poor Rosalind; where 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.
Cel. Thou hast not, cousin ;
Rol. That he hath not.
Which teacherh thee that thou and I am one] Tho' this be the Reading of all the printed Copics, 'tis eris dent, the Poet wrote ;