Which teacheth Me 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 charge upon you,
To bear your griefs your self, and leave me out:
For by this heav'n, now at our forrows pale,
Say what thou can'ft, I'll go along with thee.

Rof: Why, whither shall we go?
Cel. To seek my Uncle in the forest of Arden.

Rof. Alas, what danger will it be to us,
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far!
Beauty provoketh thieves fooner than gold.

Cel. I'll put my self in poor and mean attire,
And with a kind of umber smirch my face s
The like do you; so shall we pass along,
And never ftir assailants.

Rof. Were't not better,
Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did suit me all points like a inani
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)
We'll have a swashing and a martial outside,
As many other mannilh 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

And therefore, look, you call me Ganimed;
But what will you be call'd?

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

Which teacheth Me for if Rosalind had learn'd to think Celia one Part of her Self, She could not lack that love which Celia complains She does. My Emendation is confirm'd by what Celia says when she first comes upon the Stage.


Rof. But, Cousin, what if we assaid to steal The clownish Fool out of your father's Court? Would he not be 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 safeft 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. RTUCCESSEDUR

A CT II. SCENE, Arden FOREST. Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, and two or three Lords

like Forefters.

DUKE fenior.
OW, my co-mates, and brothers in exile,

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, (4) The Seasons' difference; as, the icie phang, 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.

(4) Here feel we not the Penalty.) What was the Penalty of Adam, hinted at by our Poet? The being sensible of the Difference of the Seasons. The Duke says, the Cold and Effe&s of the Winter feelingly persuade him what he is. How does he not then feel the Penalty: Doubtless, the Text must be reford as I have corrected it : and 'tis obvious in the Course of these Notes, how often not and but by Mistake have chang'd Place in ous Author's former Editions.



weet are the uses of Adversity,
Vhich, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Nears yet a precious jewel in his head :
And this our life, exempt from publick haunt,
finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

Ami. I would not change it; happy is your Grace, Chat can translate the stubbornness of fortune nto so quiet and so sweet a style.

Duke Sen. Come, shall we go and kill us venison ?
And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools,
Being native burghers of this desart city,
should, in their own Confines, with forked heads
Have their round haunches goar'd.

i Lord. Indeed, my Lord,
The melancholy aques grieves at that ;
And in that kind swears you do more ufurp
Than doth your brother, that hath banish'd you :
Today my Lord of Amiens, and my self,
Did Ateal 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 sequestred stag,
That from the hunters 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
Almoft 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 I aques,
Stood on th' extremest verge of the swift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.

Duke Sen. But what faid J aques ?
Did he not moralize this spectacle ?

i Lord. O yes, into a thousand fimilies.
First, for his weeping in the 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 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 aques,
Sweep on, you fat and greasie 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 meer usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse,
To fright the animals, and to kill them up
In their assign’d and native dwelling place.
Duke Sen. And did you leave him in this contempla-

tion? 2 Lord. We did, my Lord, weeping and commenting Upon the fobbing deer.

Duke Sen. Show me the place ;
I love to cope him in these fullun fits.
For then he's full of matter.

2 Lord. I'll bring you to him straight. [Exeunt. SCEN E changes to the PALACE again.

Enter Duke Frederick with Lords. Duke. AN it be possible, that no man faw them?

Are of consent and sufferance in this.

i 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 roynith Clown, at whom so of:
Your Grace was wont to laugh, is also misling:
Hisperia, the Princess' Gentlewoman,
Confeffes,, that she secretly o'er-heard
Your Daughter and her Cousin much commend
The parts and graces of the Wrestler,
That did but lately foil the finewy Charles ;



nd she believes, where ever they are gone, hat Youth is surely in their company. Duke. Send to his brother, fetch that Gallant hither : 'he be absent, bring his brother to me, Il make him find him ; do this suddenly ; .nd let not Search and Inquisition quail o bring again these foolish runaways. [Exeunt, SCEN E changes to OLIVER's House.

Enter Orlando and Adam. rla. HO's there?

? my gentle master, Oh, my sweet master, O you memory, )f old Sir Rowland! why, what make you here? Vhy are you virtuous ? why do people love Ind wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant ? Why would you be so fond to overcome The bonny Priser of the humorous Duke? Pour Praise is come too swiftly home before you. (now you not, master, to some kind of men Cheir graces serve them but as enemies ? No more do yours; your virtues, gentle master, Are fanctified and holy traitors to you. Oh, what a world is this, when what is comely invenoms him that bears it!

Orla. Why, what's the matter ?

Adam. O unhappy youth,
Come not within these doors ; within this roof
The enemy of all your graces lives :
Your brother - (no; no brother ; yet the son,
Yet not the son ; I will not call him son
Of him I was about to call his father,)
Hath heard your praises, and this night he 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 ;

overheard him, and his practices :
This is no place, this house is but a butchery ;


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