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For my part, he keeps me rustically at home; or, to speak more properly, stays me here at home, unkept’; for call you that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that differs not from the stalling of an ox? His horses are bred better; for besides that they are fair with their feeding, they are taught their manage, and to that end riders dearly hired; but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth; for the which his animals on his dunghills are as much bound to him as I. Besides this Nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the Something that nature gave me?, his countenance seems to take from me. He lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a brother, and, as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the Spirit of my father, which, I think, is within me, begins to mutiny against this servitude. I will no longer endure it, tho' yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it.

mends for this fcanty provision, ? STAYS me here at home, un. he charged my brother on his kept.] We should read stys, i.e. blefling to breed me well.

keeps me like a brute. The folWARBURTON. lowing words

for call you There is, in my opinion, no- that keeping that differs not thing but a point misplaced, and from the falling of an ox, conan omillion of a word which eve firms this emendation. So Caliry hearer can supply, and which ban says, therefore an abrupt and eager dialogue naturally excludes.

And here you sty me in this hard

rock. Ì read thus : As I remember,

WARB. Adam, it was on this fashion be Sties is better than fays, and queathed me. By will but a poor more likely to be Shakespear's. thousand crowns; and, as thou 3 His COUNTENANCE seems to Jayjí, charged my brother on bis take from me.) We should cerbleling to breed me well. What tainlyread hisD1SCOUNTENANCE. is there in this difficult or ob

WARBURTON, scure? the nominative my father There is no need of change, is certainly left out, but lo left a countenance is either good or out that the auditor inserts it, bad. in spite of himself.

SCENE

SCENE II.

Enter Oliver.

Adam. Yonder comes my master, your brother, Orla. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up.

Oli. Now, Sir, what make ye here?

Orla. Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing. Oli. What mar ye then, Sir? .. Orla. Marry, Sir, I am helping you to mar That which God made; a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness.

Oli. Marry, Sir, be better employ’d, and be nouglit a while 4.

Orla,

4 Be 'better employ'd and be er know what all this means ? nought a while.] "Mr. Theobald But 'tis no matter. I will assure has here a very critical pote;. him-<be nought a while is onwhich, though his modesty saf- ly a north-country proverbial fered him to withdraw it from his curse equivalent to, a mischief second edition, deferves to be on you. So the old Poet Skelton.. perpetuated, i. e. (says he) be better employed, in my opinion, in

Corre&t forff thy felfe, walke and being and doing nothing. Your

BE NOUGHT, ideness as call it you

Deeme what thou lif, tbou knowbe an ex

may ercise, by which you may make a

eft not my thought. fgure, and endear your self to the. But what the Oxford Editor could world: and I had rather you were not explain, he would amend, a contemptible Cypher. The poet and reads, feems to me to have that trite proverbial sentiment in his eye quoted,

and do aught a while.

WARBURTON. frotz Attilius, by the younger Pliny and others; satius ett otiosum If be nought a while has the efte quam nihil agere. But Oli- fignification here given it, the ver in the perverseness of his dif- reading may certainly stand; but pofition would reverse the doétrine till I learned its meaning from of the proverb. Does the Read this note, I read,

Orla. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them? what Prodigal's portion have I spent, that I Ihould come to such penury?

Oli Know you where you are, Sir ? Orla. O, Sir, very well; here in your Orchard. Oli. Know you before whom, Sir? Orla. Ay, better than he, I am before, knows me. I know, you are my eldest brother; and in the gentle condition of blood, you should so know me. The courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that you are the first born; but the fame tradition takes not away my blood; were there twenty brothers betwixt

I have as much of my father in me, as you; albeit, I confess your coming before me is nearer to his reverence s.

Oli. What, boy! [menacing with his hand.

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

[collaring bim. Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain ?

Orla. I am no villaino: I am the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys; he was my father, and he is

US.

be better employed, and be naught intended a satirical reflection on a while.

his brother, who by letting bim

feed with his binds treated him as In the same sense as we say it is one not so nearly related to old better to do mijibief, than to do Sir Robert as himself was, I nothing

imagine therefore Shakespear 5 Albeit, I confess your coming might write, albeit your before me is nearer to his REVE- coming before me is nearer to bis RENCE.] This is sense indeed, Revenue, i.e. though you are and may be thus understood, no nearer in blood, yet it must The reverence due to my father be owned, indeed, you are nearer is, in some degree, derived to in estate. WARBURTON. you, as the first born-But I am I am no villain.] The word persuaded that Orlando did not villain is used by the elder brohere mean to compliment his ther, in its present meaning, for brother, or condemn himself; a wicked or bloody man; by Orsomething of both which there is lando, in its original fignification, in that sense. I rather think he for a fellow of base extraction.

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 pulled out thy tongue for saying so; thou hast 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 charged you in his Will to give me good education; yoy have train’d me up like a peafant, obscuring 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 testament; with that I will go buy my fortunes.

Oli. And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent? 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, yqu old dog.

Adam. Is old dog my reward ? most true, I have loft my teeth in your service. God be with my old master, he would not have spoke such a word.

[Exe. Orlando and Adam.

S Ć EN E III. OH, Is it even so ? — Begin you to grow upon me? -I will physick your rankness, and yet give no thou. {and crowns neither. Holla, Dennis !

Enter Dennis.

Den. Calls your Worship?

B4

Oli.

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 acccts to you.

Oli. Call him in -[Exit Dennis.] 'Twill be a good way; and to-inorrow the wrestling is.

Enter Charles.

Chã. Good morrow to your Worship.

Oli. Good monsieur Charles, what's the new news ät the new Court?

Chà. There's no news at the Court, Sir, but the old news; that is, the old Duke is banith'd by his younger brother the new Duke, and three or four lov. ing 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 old Duke's daughter ?, be banish'd with her father?

Cha. O, no; for the new Duke's daughter her cou. sin 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 him every day, and fleet the time carelesly, as they did in the golden world.

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

7 The old Duke's daughter.] of the dialogue, are inserted from The words old and new, which Sir T. Hanmer's Edition. Svein necesary to the perfpicuity

Cha.

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