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have as much of my father in me, as you; albeit I confess your coming before me is nearer to his revenue. Oli. What, boy!

Orla. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this.

Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain!

Orla. I am no villain. I am the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys; he was my father, and he is thrice a villain that says, such a father begot villains. Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy throat, till this other had pull'd out thy tongue for saying fo; thou haft rail'd on thyself.

Adam. Sweet masters, be patient; for your father's remembrance, be at accord.

Oli. Let me go, I say

Orla. I will not, till I please; you shall hear me. My father charg'd you in his will -to give me good education: you have train’d me up like a peasant, obfcuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities; the spirit of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer endure it: therefore allow me such exercises as may become a gentleman; or give me the poor allottery my father left me by teftament; with that I will go buy my fortunes.

Oli. And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is fpent? well, Sir, get you in. I will not long be troubled with you: you shall have some part of your will. I pray you, leave me.

Orla. I will no further offend you, than becomes me for my good.

Oli. Get you with him, you old dog.
Adam. Is old dog my reward? most true, I have lost


service. God be with my old mafter, he would not have spoke such a word.

[Exeunt Orlando and Adam.

my teeth in


Oli. Is it even fo? begin you to grow upon me? I will physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. Holla, Dennis!

Enter Dennis. Den. Calls your Worship!

Oli. Was not Charles, the Duke's wrestler, here to speak with me?

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

Oli. Call on him ;~'twill be a good way; and tomorrow 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 banish'd 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 banith'd with her father?

Cha. 0, no; for the new Duke's daughter her coufin so loves her, being ever from their cradles bred together, that she would have follow'd 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 him every day, and feet 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 hath 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

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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 mine own ho. nour, 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 difgrace 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. I had myself notice of my brother's purpose herein, and have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him from it; but he is resolute. I 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 to't; for if thou dost him any flight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise against thee by poison; intrap thee by some treacherous device; and never leave thee, till he hath ta’en thy life by some indirect means or other; for 1 afsure thee, (and almost with tears I speak it,) there is not one so young and fo 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 hcartily 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 fo God keep your Worship.

[Exit. Oli. Farewell, good Charies. Now will I stir this gamefter: I hope i fhall fee an end of him; for my foul, 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 inchantingly 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 mifprised. 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


[Exit. SCENE.


Changes to an open walk before the Duke's Palace.

Enter Rosalind and Celia.
Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.

Rof. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am miltress of; and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget a banilh'd father, you must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure.

Cel. Herein I see thou lov'it me not with the full weight that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father, had banished thy uncle the Duke my father, so thou hadit been still with me, I could have taught my love to take thy father for mine; so would't thou, if the truth. of thy love to me were fo righteously temper'd as mine is to thee.

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

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

Rof. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. Let me see, what think you of falling in love?

Cel. Marry, I prythee, do, to make sport withal: but love no man in good earnest, nor no further in fport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou may'st in honour come off again.

Rof. What shall be our sport then?

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

Rof. 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 the makes fair, the T3


be merry:

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scarce makes honest; and those that she makes honest, she makes very ill-favoured.

Rof. Nay, now thou goeft from Fortune's office to Nature's: Fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of Nature.

Enter Touchstone, a clown. 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 this argument?

Rof. 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 fuch goddesses, hath fent this natural for our whetstone: for always the dulness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits. How now, Wit, whither wander you?

Clo. Mistress, you must come away to your father.
Cel. Were you made the messenger?

Clo. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come for you.

Ref. Where learned you that oath, fool?

. « Of a certain Knight, that swore by his honour " they were good pancakes, and swore by his honour the “ mustard was naught.” Now, I'll stand to it, the pancakes were paught, and the mustard was good, and yet was not the Knight forsworn.

Cel. How prove you that in the great heap of your knowledge? Rof. Ay, marry; now unmuzzle

your wisdcm. Clo. 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.

Clo. 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 honour, for he rever had any; or if he had, he had sworn it


before ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard. Cel. Pr’ythee, who is that thou mean't?


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