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have as much of my father in me, as you; albeit L 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 chou 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. West thou not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy throat, till this other had pulld 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 charg'd you in his will to give me good education: you have train'd me up like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities; the spirit of my father grows itrong 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 my teeth in your service. God be with


old master, he would not have spoke such a word.

[Exeunt Orlando and Adam. S CE N E III. Oli. Is it even so? 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 him in; -’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 3 whose lands and revenues inrich the new Duke; therefore he gives them good leave to wander.

Oli. Can you tell, if Rosalind, the Duke's daughter, be banilh'd with her father ?

Cha. O, no; for the new Duke's daughter her coufin so loves her, being ever-from their cradles bred together, that she would have followed her exile, or bave 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 fay, many young gentlemen flock to him every day, and fieet 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 without some broken limb, shall acquit him well. Your

brother is but young and tender, and for your love I would be loth to foil him; as I must for mine own hoRour, 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 refolute. 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; there-fore 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 slight.disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise againk thee by poison; intrap thee by some treacherous de-vice; and never leave thee, till he hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other; for I assure thee, (and almost with tears I speak it), there is not one fo young

and so 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 heartily 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 før prize more; and: so God keep your Worship.

[Exit. Oli: Farewel, good Charles. Now will I stir this. gamester: I hope I shall fee an end of him; for my soul, yet. I know not why, bates-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 alto. gether misprised. But it shall not be so long; this. wrestler fall clear: all; nothing remains but that I kin-dle the boy thither, which now I'll go about, [Exito

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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 miItress of; and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget a banish'd father, you muit not learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleafure.

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

Rof. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to rejoice in your's.

Cel. You know my father hath no child but I, none is like to have; and, truly, when he dies, thou fhalt 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 moniter: therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rofe, be merry.

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

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

Rof. What shall be our sport then?

Cel. Let us sit, and mock the good housewife Fortune from her whecl, that her gifts may henceforth be beHowed equally.

Rof. I would we could do so; for her benefits are mightily mispłaced, and the bountiful blind woman doch moft mistake in her gifts to women.

Cel. 'Tis true; for those that he makes fair, be

scarce makes honest; and those that the 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 fent 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 nejcher, but Nature's ; who, perceiving our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, háth sent 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 meslenger? Clo. No, by mine honour ; but I was bid to come

for you.

Rof. Where learned you that oath, fool ?
Cle. " Of a certain Knight, that swore by his ho-
nour they were good pancakes, and swore by his ho-

nour the mustard was naught.” Now, I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught, and the mustard was good, and yet was not the Knight forsworn,

Gel. How prove you that in the great heap of your knowledge ?

Rof. Ay, marry ; now unmuzzle your wisdom.
Clo. Stand

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 never had any ; or if he had, he had sworn it

away before ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard.

Cel. Pr’ythee, who is that thou mcan'it ?

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