Ro. The Duke my father lov'd his father dearly. Cel. Doth it therefore enfue, that you should love his for dearly; by this kind of chafe, I fhould hate him ; for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando. Rof. No, faith, hate him not, for my fake. Cel. Why fhould I? doth he not deferve 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. Miftrefs, difpatch you with your safest hafte, And get you from our court. Rof. Me, uncle ! Duke. You, coufin, Within these ten days if that thou be'ft found Rof. I do befeech your Grace, Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me: Or have acquaintance with my own defires; Duke. Thus do all traitors; If their purgation did confift in words, Rof. Yet your miftruft cannot make me a traitor; Duke. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's enough. Rof. So was I, when your Highness took his dukedom ; So was I, when your Highnefs banish'd him; Treafon 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, Then, good my liege, mistake me not fo much, Cel. Dear Sovereign, hear me speak, Duke. Ay, Celia, we but ftaid her for your fake; Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay; Still we went coupled, and infeparable. Duke. She is too fubtle for thee; and her smoothness, Her very filence and her patience, Speak to the people, and they pity her: Thou art a fool; fhe robs thee of thy name, And thou wilt show more bright, and feem more virtuous, When the is gone; then open not thy lips: Firm and irrevocable is my doom, Which I have pafs'd upon her; she is banish'd. Cel. Pronounce that fentence then on me, my liege; I cannot live out of her company. Duke. You are a fool: you, niece, provide yourself; If you out-ftay the time, upon mine honour, And in the greatnefs of my word, you die. [Exeunt Duke, &c. Cel. O my poor Rofalind; 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. Ros. I have more cause. Cel. Thou haft not, coufin; Pr'ythee, be cheerful; know'st thou not, the Duke Rof. That he hath not. Cel. No hath not? (3) Rofalind lacks then the love, (3) Rofalind lacks then the Love, Which teacbeth thee that thou and I am one. Which Tho' this be the Reading of all the printed Copies, 'tis evident, the Poet wrote; Which teacheth me that thou and I am one: Shail we be fundred ? fhall we part, fweet Girl? 1 Cel. To feek my Uncle in the foreft of Arden. Rof. Were't not better, Because that I am more than common tall, A boar-fpear in my hand, (and in my heart Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will) ? That do outface it with their femblances. Cel. What fhall I call thee, when thou art a man ? Rof. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own Page: And therefore, look, you call me Ganimed; But what will you be call'd? Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state: No longer Celia, but Aliena. Which teachetb Me For if Rofalind had learn'd to think Celia one Part of her Self, She could not lack that love which Celia complains She does. My Emendation is confirm'd by what Celia fays when She first comes upon the Stage. Rof. Rof. But, Coufin, what if we affaid to steal Cel. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me. [Exeunt. SCENE, Arden FOREST. Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, and two or three Lords like Forefters. ว TOW, my co mates, and brothers in exile, N Hath not old cuftom made this life more fweet (4) Here feel we not the Penalty.] What was the Penalty of Adam, hinted at by our Poet? The being fenfible of the Difference of the Seafons. The Duke fays, the Cold and Effects of the Winter feelingly perfuade him what he is. How does he not then feel the Penalty? Doubtlefs, the Text must be reftor'd as I have corrected it and 'tis obvious in the Courfe of thefe Notes, how often not and but by Miftake have chang'd Place in our Author's former Editions. Sweet Sweet are the ufes of Adversity, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Ami. I would not change it; happy is your Grace, Duke Sen. Come, fhall we go and kill us venison? 1 Lord. Indeed, my Lord, The melancholy Jaques grieves at that; Duke Sen. But what faid Jaques ? 1 Lord. O yes, into a thousand fimilies. Left |