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No more do yours; your virtues, gentle master;
Oh, what, a world is this, when what is comely
Orla. Why, what's the matter?
Come not within thefe doors; within this roof
Your brother-no; no brother-yet the fon,
Of him I was about to call his father,
Hath heard your praifes, and this night he means
And you within it.
He will have other means to cut you off;
I overheard him, and his practices:
This is no place, this houfe is but a butchery;
Orla. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go?
Adam. No matter whither, fo you come not here. Orla. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food?
Or with a base, and boisterous fword enforce
A thievifh living on the common road?
This I must do, or know not what to do:
I rather will fubject me to the malice
Of a diverted blood 4, and bloody brother.
Adam. But do not fo. I have five hundred crowns,
Take That: and he that doth the ravens feed,
- diverted blood.] Blood turned out of the course of nature.
Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold,
Orla. Oh! good old man, how well in thee appears The conftant fervice of the antique world;
When fervice sweat for duty, not for meed!
Adam. Mafter, go on; and I will follow thee.
5 Even with the having.] Even with the promotion gained by fervice is fervice extinguifhed,
S CEN E VI.
Changes to the FOREST of Arden.
Enter Rofalind in Boys cloaths for Ganimed, Celia
Clo. I care not for my fpirits, if my legs
were not weary.
Rof. I could find in my heart to difgrace my man's apparel, and cry like a woman; but I muft comfort the weaker veffel, as doublet and hofe ought to fhow itfelf courageous to petticoat; therefore, courage, good Aliena.
Cel. I pray you bear with me; I can go no further. Clo. For my part, I had rather bear with you, than bear you; yet I fhould bear no crofs, if I did bear you; for, I think you have no money in your purfe. Rof. Well, this is the foreft of Arden.
Clo. Ay; now I am in Arden, the more fool I; when I was at home, I was in a better place; but travellers must be content.
Rof. Ay, be fo, good Touchstone. Look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in folemn talk.
Enter Corin and Silvius.
Cor. That is the way to make her feorn you ftill.
"O Jupiter! how merry are my Spirits? And yet, within the Space of one intervening Line, She fays, She could find in her Heart to difgrace her Man's Apparel, and cry like a Woman. Sure, this is but a very bad Symptom of the Brifkness of Spirits:
rather a direct Proof of the contrary Difpofition. Mr. Warbur ton and I concurred in conjecturing it fhould be, as i have reformed in the Text: how weary are my Spirits? And the Clown's Reply makes this Reading certain.
Sil. O Cerin, that thou knew'ft how I do love her! Cor. I partly guefs; for I have lov'd ere now. Sil. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guefs, Tho' in thy youth thou waft as true as a lover, As ever figh'd upon a midnight pillow; But if thy love were ever like to, mine, As, fure, I think, did never man love fo, How many Actions most ridiculous
Haft thou been drawn to by thy fantafy?
Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.
Or if thou haft not fate as I do now,
Or if thou haft not broke from company,
O Phebe! Phebe! Phebe!
Rof. Alas, poor Shepherd! fearching of thy wound,' I have by hard adventure found my own.
Clo. And I mine. I remember, when I was in love, I broke my fword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming a-nights to Jane Smile; and I remember the kiffing of her batlet, and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopt hands had milk'd; and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her, from whom I took
two cods, and giving her them again, faid with weeping tears, Wear thefe for my fake. We, that are true lovers, run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, fo is all nature in love mortal in folly.
Rof. Thou speak'st wiser, than thou art 'ware of. Clo. Nay, I fhall ne'er be aware of mine own wit, 'till I break my fhins against it.
Rof. Jove! Fove! this Shepherd's paffion is much upon my fashion.
Clo. And mine; but it grows fomething ftale with
Cel. I pray you, one of you queftion yond man, If he for gold will give us any food;
I faint almost to death.
Clo. Holla; you, Clown!
Rof. Peace, fool; he's not thy kinfman.
Clo. Your Betters, Sir.
Cor. Elfe they are very wretched.
Rof. Peace, I fay-Good Even to you, friend.
Cor. Fair Sir, I pity her,
And wish for her fake, more than for mine own,
*For cods it would be more like fenfe to read peas, which, hav ing the fhape of pearls, resembled the common prefents of lovers.
9 fo is all nature in love mortal in folly.] This expreffion I do not well understand. In the middle counties, mortal, from mort
a great quantity, is used as a particle of amplification; as, mortal tall, mortal little. Of this fenfe I believe Shakespeare takes advantage to produce one of his darling equivocations. Thus the meaning will be, fo is all nature in love, abounding in folly.