Rof. Gentleman, G) Wear this for me ; one out of suits with fortune, That could give' more, but that her hand lacks means. Shall we go, coz? [Giving him a Chain from her Neck,

Cel. Ay, fare you well, fair gentleman.

Orla. Can I not say, I thank you !--my better parts Are all thrown down; and that, which here stands up, (6) Is but a quintaine, a meer lifeless block.

Rof. He calls us back: my pride fell with my for-
I'll ask him, what he would. Did you call, Sir?
Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown
More than your enemies. .

Cel. Will you go, coz?
Rof. Have with

you :

fare
you

well.
[Exeunt Ror, and Cel.

tunes.

(5) Wear this for me;] There is Nothing in the Sequel of this Scene, expressing What it is that Rosalind here gives to Orlando: nor has there been hitherto any Marginal Direction to explain it. It would have been no great Burden to the Editors' Sagacity, to have fupply'd the Note I have given in the Margin: for afterwards, in the third Act, when Rosalind has found a Copy of Verses in the Woods writ on her self, and Celia asks her whether She knows who hath done this, Rosalind replies, by way of Question, Is it a Man? To which Celia again replies, Ay, and a Chain, that You once wore, about his Neck.

(6) Is but a Quintaine,-) This Word signifies in general a Pof or Butt set up for several kind of Martial Exercises. It served fometimes to run against, on Horseback, with a Lance: and then One Part of it was always movable, and turn'd about an Axis. But, befides This, there was another Quintaine, that was only a Post fix'd firmly in the Ground ; on which they hung a Buckler, and threw their Darts, and shot their Arrows againit it: and to This Kind of Quintaine it is that Shakespeare here alludes : And taking it in this latter Sense, there is an extreme Beauty and Justness in the Thought.“ I am now, says Orlando, only

a Quintaine, a meer lifeless Block, on which Love only exercises his “ Arms in Jeft; the great Disparity between me and Rosalind, in Condi“ tion, not suffering Me to hope that ever Love will make a serious Mat“ ter of it.” Regnier, the famous Satirist, who dy'd about the Time our Author did, applies this very Metaphor to the fame Subject, tho' the Thought be somewhat different.

Et qui depuis dix ans, jusqu'en ses derniers jours,
A solltenu le Prix en l'Escrime d'Amours ;
Lasse enfin de servir au Peuple de Quintaine,
Elle &c.

Mr, Warburton.

Orla.

Orla. What passion hangs these weights upon my

tongue?
I cannot speak to her; yet she urg'd conference.

Enter Le Beu.
O poor Orlando! thou art overthrown;
Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee.

Le Beu. 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.

Orla. 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 Beu. Neither his daughter, if we judge by man

ners ; But yet, indeed, the shorter is his daughter; The other's Daughter to the banith'd Duke, And here detain'd by her usurping Uncle To keep his daughter company, whose loves Are dearer than the natural bond of fifters. But I can tell you, that of late this Duke Hath ta’en displeasure 'gainst his gentle Neice; Grounded upon no other argument, But that the people praise her for her virtues, And pity her for her good father's fake; And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well; Hereafter, in a better world than this, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. [Exit,

Orla. I rest much bounden to you: fare you well! Thus muft I from the smoke into the smother ; From tyrant Duke, unto a tyrant brother : But, heav'nly Rosalind !

[Exit,

SCENE

SCENE changes to an Apartment in the

Palace.

Re-enter Celia and Rosalind.

Cel. Why, Cousin; why, Rosalind; Cupid have mercy; not a word!

Ros. Not one to throw at a dog. Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast 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 thould be lam'd with reasons, and the other mad without any.

Cel. But is all this for your father?

Rof: (7) 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.

Rof. I could shake them off my coat; these burs are in my heart.

Cei. 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 wish upon you! you will try in time, in despight of a Fall; — but turning these jests out of service, let us talk in good earneft : is it possible on such a sudden you should fall into so strong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son?

Rof. The Duke my father lov'd his father dearly.

my self.

(7) No, some of it is for my Father's Child.] I have chosen to restore here the Reading of the older Copies, which evidently contains the Poet's Sentiment. Rosalind would say, "No, all my Distress and Melancholy “ is not for my Father ; but some of it for my Sweetheart, whom I hope

to marry and have Children by.” In this Sense She stiles him her Child's Father.

Cel.

Cel. Doth it therefore ensue, that you 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.

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

Enter Duke, with Lords.
Rof. 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 safest haste, And get you from our Court.

Rof. Me, Uncle !

Duke. You, Cousin.
Within these ten days if that thou be'st found
So near our publick Court as twenty miles,
Thou diest for it.

Rof. I do beseech your Grace,
Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me:
If with my self I hold intelligence,
Or have acquaintance with my own desires ;
If that I do not dream, or be not frantick,
(As, I do trust, I am not,) then, dear Uncle,
Never so much as in a thought unborn
Did I offend your Highness.

Duke. Thus do all traitors;
If their purgation did consist in words,
They are as innocent as grace it self:
Let it suffice thee, that I trust thee not.

Rof. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor ;
Tell me, wherein the likelihood depends.

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.

Cel. Dear Soveraign, hear me speak.

Duke. Ay, Celia, we but staid her for your fake; Else had she with her father rang'd 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 flept together,
Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together ;
And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's Swans,
Still we went coupled, and inseparable.

Duke. She is too subtle 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 vir-

tuous,
When she is gone ; then open not thy lips :
Firm and irrevocable is my doom,
Which I have paft upon her; she is banish'd.

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-stay 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.

Rof. I have more cause.

Cel. Thou hast not, cousin;
Pr’ythee, be cheerful; know'st thou not, the Duke
Has banish'd me his daughter?

Rof. That he hath not.

Cel. No? hath not? (8) Rosalind lacks then the love, Which teacheth Me that thou and I am one:

Shall (8)

Rosalind lacks then the Love, Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one ] Tho' this be the Reading of all the printed Copies, 'tis evident, the Poet

wrote ;