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 'faith, 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 him, because I do:-Look, here comes the duke. Cel. With his eyes full of anger. Within these ten days if that thou be'st found Ros. Or have acquaintance with mine own desires; (As I do trust I am not), then, dear uncle, Duke F. Thus do all traitors; If their purgation did consist in words. 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 duke dom; So was I, when your highness banish'd him; * Inveterately. 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: Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak. Duke F. Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake, Else had she with her father rang'd along. Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay, Why so am I; we still have slept together, Duke F. She is too subtle for thee; and her 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 seeni 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 If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour, [Exeunt Duke Frederick and Lords, * Compassion. Cel. Thou hast not, cousin; Pr'ythee, 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 Therefore devise with me, how we may fly. 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. Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire, And with a kind of umber* smirch my face; 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, A boar-spear in my hand; and (in my heart That do outface it with their semblances. Cel. What shall I call thee, when thou art a man? Ros. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page, And therefore look you call me, Ganymede. But what will you be call'd? A dusky, yellow-coloured earth. + Cutlace. Swaggering. Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state; No longer Celia, but Aliena. Ros. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal The clownish fool out of your father's court? Would he not be a comfort to our travel? Cel. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me; To hide us from pursuit that will be made [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. The Forest of Arden. Enter Duke senior, Amiens, and other Lords, in the dress of Foresters. Duke S. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference; as the icy fang, And churlish chiding of the winters's wind; Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say,This is no flattery: these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am. Sweet are the uses of adversity; Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; And this our life, exempt from publick haunt, Ami. I would not change it: Happy is your grace, That can translate the stubbornness of fortune Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison? Should, in their own confínes, with forked heads* Have their round haunches gor'd. 1 Lord. Indeed, my lord, The melancholy Jaques grieves at that; And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, Duke S. But what said Jaques? Did he not moralize this spectacle? 1 Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes. To that which had too much: Then, being alone, And never stays to greet him; Ay, quoth Jaques, Barbed arrows. |