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 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 yourself: If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour, [Exeunt Duke FREDERICK, and. Lords. Cel. Thou hast not, cousin; Pr'ythee, be chearful: know'st thou not, the duke Ros. That he hath not. Cel. No hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love, Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one: Shall we be sunder'd? shall we part, sweet girl? No let my father seek another heir. Therefore devise with me, how we may fly, Whither to go, and what to bear with us: And do not seek to take your change upon you, To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out; For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee. Ros. Why, whither shall we go? Cel. To seek my uncle. Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to us, Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire, 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? 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; Leave me alone to woo him: Let's away, And get our jewels and our wealth together; 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 exíle, 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 winter'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 public haunt, Ami. I would not change it: Happy is your grace, That can translate the stubbornness of fortune Into so quiet and so sweet a style. Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison? And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools, Being native burghers of this desert city,— 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; Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out Duke S. But what said Jaques? 1 Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes. To that which had too much: Then, being alone, Full of the pasture, jumps along by him, And never stays to greet him; Ay, quoth Jaques, 'Tis just the fashion: Wherefore do you look Duke S. And did you leave him in this contempla tion? 2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting Upon the sobbing deer. Duke S. Show me the place; I love to cope him in these sullen fits, 2 Lord. I'll bring you to him straight. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-A Room in the Palace. Enter Duke FREDERICK, Lords, and Attendants. Duke F. Can it be possible, that no man saw them? It cannot be some villains of my court Are of consent and sufferance in this. 1 Lord. I cannot hear of any that did see her. 2 Lord. My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft |