And in the hearing of these many friends,
I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes,
Wherein I see myself,-

Por.

Mark you but that! In both mine eyes he doubly sees himself: In each eye one:-swear by your double self, And there's an oath of credit.'

Bass. Nay, but hear me : Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear, I never more will break an oath with thee. Ant. I once did lend my body for his wealth: Which, but for him that had your husband's ring, To PORTIA. Had quite miscarried: I dare be bound again, My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord Will never more break faith advisedly.

Por. Then you shall be his surety: Give him this; And bid him keep it better than the other.

Ant. Here, lord Bassanio; swear to keep this ring; Bass. By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor! Por. I had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio; For by this ring the doctor lay with me.

Ner. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano; For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk, In lieu of this, last night did lie with me.

Gra. Why, this is like the mending of highways In summer, where the ways are fair enough: What! are we cuckolds, ere we have deserved it? Por. Speak not so grossly.-You are all amaz'd: Here is a letter, read it at your leisure; It comes from Padua, from Bellario: There you shall find that Portia was the doctor; Nerissa there, her clerk: Lorenzo here Shall witness, I set forth as soon as you, And but even now return'd; I have not yet Enter'd my house.-Antonio, you are welcome; And I have better news in store for you,

• Advantage.

For hear I read for certain that my ships
Are safely come to road.

Por.

How now, Lorenzo? My clerk hath some good comforts too for you. Ner. Ay and I'll give them him without a fee.There do I give to you and Jessica, From the rich Jew a special deed of gift, After his death, of all he dies possess'd of.

Lor, Fair ladies, you drop inanna in the way Of starved people.

Por.

It is almost morning.
And yet, I am sure, you are not satisfied
Of these events at full: Let us go in;
And charge us there upon inter gatories,
And we will answer all things faithfully.

Gra. Let it be so: The first inter gatory,
That my Nerissa shall be sworn on, is,
Whether till the next night she had rather stay ;
Or go to bed now, being two hours to-day:
But were the day come, I should wish it dark,
That I were couching with the doctor's clerk.
Well, while I live, I'll fear no other thing

So sore, as keeping safe Nerissa's ring. [Excuns

Den. So please you, he is here at the door, and importunes access to you.

Oli. Call him in. Exit DENNIS.-Twill be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is. Enter CHARLES.

Cha. Good morrow to your worship. Oli. Good monsieur Charles!-what's the new news at the new court?

Cha. There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news: that is, the old duke is banished by his younger brother the new duke; and three or four loving lords have put themselves into voluntary exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke; therefore he gives them good leave

to wander.

Oli. Can you tell, if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, be banished with her father?

Cha. O, no; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves her, being ever from their cradles bred together, that she would have followed her exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at the court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter; and never two ladies loved as they do. Oli. Where will the old duke live?

Cha. They say he is already in the forest of Arden, and a many merry men with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England: they say, many young gentlemen flock to himevery day; and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world.

Oli. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke?

Cha. Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand, that your younger brother, Orlando, bath a disposition to come in disguis'd against me to try a fall: To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he that escapes me without some broken limb, shall acquit him well. Your brother is but young, and tender; and, for your love, I would be loath to foil him, as I must, for my own honor, if he come in: therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you withal; that either you might stay him from his intendment, or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into, in that it is a thing of his own search, and altogether against my will.

Oli. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. 1 had myself notice of my brother's purpose herein, and have by underhand means labored to dissuade him from it; but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles, he is the stubbornest young fellow of France; full of ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good parts, a secret and villanous contriver against me his natural brother; therefore use thy discretion; I had as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger, And thou wert best look tot; for if thou do'st him any slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by some treacherous device, and never leave thee till he hath taen thy life by some indirect means or other; for, I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there is not one so young and so villanous this day living. I speak but brotherly of him; but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder.

Cha. I am heartily glad, I came hither to you; If he come to-morrow, I'll give him his payment: If ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize more: And so, God keep your worship!

[Exit. Oli. Farewell, good Charles.-Now will I stir this gamester: I hope I shall see an end of him: for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle; never school'd, and yet learned; full of noble device: of all sorts enchantingly beloved; and, indeed, so much in the heart of the world, and especially of my own people, who best know him, that I am altogether misprised: but it shall not be so long; this wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains, but that I kindle the boy thither, which now I'll go about. [Exi!. SCENE II.—A Lawn before the Duke's Palace. Enter ROSALIND and CELIA.

mistress of: and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you would teach me to forget a banished father, you must not learn me how to remembe any extraordinary pleasure.

Cel. Herein, I see, thou lovest me not with the full weight that I love thee: if my uncle, thy ban father, so thou hadst been still with me. I could ished father, had banished thy uncle, the duke my have taught my love to take thy father for mine so wouldst thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously temper'd as mine is to thee.

estate, to rejoice in yours. Ros. Well, I will forfeit the condition of my

Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. Ros. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am Of all ranks.

Frolicksome fellow.

nor none is like to have; and, truly, when he dies Cel. You know my father hath no child but I, thou shalt be his heir; for what he hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render thee again break that oath, let me turn monster: therefore, my in allection; by mine honor, I will; and when 1 sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry.

Ros. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports; let me see; What think you of falling in love?

but love no man in good earnest; nor no further in Cel. Marry, I pr'y thee, do, to make sport withal: sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou mayst in honor come off again.

Ros. What shall be our sport then?

Cel. Let us sit and mock the good housewife, Fortune, from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally.

Ros. I would, we could do so; for her benefits are mightily misplaced: and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her gifts to women.

Cel. 'Tis true: for those, that she makes fair, she honest, she makes very ill-favor'dly. scarce makes honest; and those, that she makes

to nature's: fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not Ros. Nay, now thou goest from fortune's office in the lineaments of nature.

Enter TOUCHSTONE.

Cel. No? When nature hath made a fair creature

may she not by fortune fall into the fire ?-Though nature hath given us wit to flout at fortune, hath not fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument?

Ros. Indeed, there is fortune too hard for nature; when fortune makes nature's natural the cutter off of nature's wit.

Cel. Peradventure, this is not fortune's work neither, but nature's: who perceiving our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, hath sent this natural for our whetstone: for always the dulness of the fool is the whetstone of his wits.-How now, wit? whither wander you?

Touch. Mistress, you must come away to your father.

Cel. Where you made the messenger! Touch. No, by mine honor; but I was bid to come for you.

Ros. Where learned you that oath, fool? Touch. Of a certain knight, that swore by his honor they were good pancakes, and swore by his honor the mustard was naught: now, I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught, and the mustard was good; and yet was not the knight forsworn.

Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge?

Ros. Ay, marry; now unmuzzle your wisdom. Touch. Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave. Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou art. Touch. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were: but if you swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn: no more was this knight, swearing by his honor, for he never had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away, before ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard.

Cel. Prythee, who is't that thou mean'st? Touch. One that old Frederick, your father, loves. Cel. My father's love is enough to honor him. Enough! speak no more of him: you'll be whipp'd for taxation, one of these days.

Touch. The more pity, that fools may not speak Wisely, what wise men do foolishly.

Cel. By my troth, thou say'st true: for since little wit, that fools have, was silenced, the better, Here comes Monsieur Le Beau. foolery, that wise men have, makes a great

• Satire.

ed earth

Cel.

Will you go, coz? Ros. Have with you:-Fare you well. [Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA. Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue?

I cannot speak to her, yet she urged conference.
Re-enter LE BEAU.

poor Orlando! thou art overthrown:

Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee.
Le Beau. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you.
To leave this place: Albeit you have deserv'd
High commendation, true applause and love;
Yet such is now the duke's condition,"

That he misconstrues all that you have done.
The duke is humorous; what he is, indeed,
More suits you to conceive, than me to speak of.
Orl. 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 Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by

manners;

But yet indeed, the shorter is his daughter:
The other is daughter to the banish'd duke,
And here detain'd by her usurping uncle,
To keep his daughter company; whose loves
Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters:
But I can tell you, that of late this duke
Hath ta en displeasure 'gainst 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 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,

Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. Ros. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself.

Cel. O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in despite of a fall.-But, turning these jests 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. Cel. Doth it therefore ensue, that you should love his son dearly? By this kind of chase, I should hate him, for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando.

Ros. No; hate him not, for my sake. Cel. Why should I not? doth he not deserve well?

Ros. Let me love him for that; and do you love bim because I do:-Look, here comes the duke. Cel. With his eyes full of anger.

Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords. Duke F. Mistress, dispatch you with your safest

baste,

Temper, disposition.

Res.

Me, uncle?

Duke F. You, cousin; Within these ten days if that thou be'st found So pear our public court as twenty miles, Thou diest for it.

Ros.

I do beseech your grace,
Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me.
If with myself I hold intelligence,

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

Duke F.

If their purgation did consist in words,
They are as innocent as grace itself;-
Let it suffice thee, that I trust thee not.

Thus do all traitors;

Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor: Tell me whereon the likelihood depends.

Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's

enough.

Ros. So was I, when your highness took his dukedom;

So was I, when your highness banish'd him:
Treason is not inherited, my lord;

Or, if we 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 F. Ay, Celia; we stay 'd here for your sake, Else had she with her father ranged 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 slept together, Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together; And wheresoe'r we went, like Juno's swans, Still we went coupled, and inseparable.

Duke F. She is too subtile for thee; and her smoothness, Her very silence, and her patience, Speak to the people, and they pity her. Thou art a fool: she robs thee of thy name: And thou wilt show more bright and seem more virtuous,

When she is gone: then open not thy lips; Firm and irrevocable is my doom which I have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd. Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege;

I cannot live out of her company.

Duke F. You are a fool:-You, niece, provide yourself;

If

And in the greatness of my word, you die. you out-stay the time, upon mine honor,

[Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK and Lords. Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine. Cel. O, my poor Rosalind! whither wilt thou go! charged thee, be not thou more griev'd than I am.

I

Ros. I have more cause.

Cel.

Thou hast not, cousin;

Prythee, be cheerful: know'st thou not, the duke Hath banish'd me, his daughter?

Ros. That he hath not. Cel. No? hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love Which teacheth thee that thou and I are 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 your change upon you, To bear your grief 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. Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to us, Maids as we are, to travel forth so far? Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. And with a kind of umber smirch my face; Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire, 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 dusky, yellow colored earth

• Compassion.