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2 Lord. We did, my Lord, weeping and commenting

Upon the sobbing deer.

Duke Sen. Show me the place;
I love to cope him in these sullen fits,
For then he's full of matter.

2 Lord. I'll bring you to him straight.

SCENE II. The Palace again.
Enter Duke Frederick with Lords.

[Exeunt.

Duke. Can it be possible that no man saw them?
It cannot be; some villains of my court
Are of consent and sufferance in this.

I Lord. I cannot hear of any that did see her.
The ladies, her attendants of her chamber,
Saw her a-bed, and in the morning early
They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress.
2 Lord. My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft
Your Grace was wont to laugh, is also miffing:
Hifperia, the Princess' gentlewoman,
Confesses that she secretly o'erheard
Your daughter and her coufin much commend
The parts and graces of the wrestler
That did but lately foil the finewy Charles;
And the believes, where-ever they are gone,
That youth is surely in their company.

Duke. Send to his brother, fetch that gallant hither;
If he be absent, bring his brother to me,
I'll make him find him; do this suddenly,
And let not search and inquifition quail
To bring again these foolish runaways.

SCENE III. Oliver's House.
Enter Orlando and Adam.

Orla. Who's there?

[Excunt.

Adam. What! my young mafter? oh my gentle master,

Oh my sweet master, O you memory

Of old Sir Rowland! why, what make you here?
Why are you virtuous? why do people love you ?
And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant?

Why would you be so fond to overcome

The bonny priser of the humorous Duke?

Your praife is come too swiftly home before you.

Know

Know you not, master, to some kind of men
Their graces serve them but as enemies ?
No more do yours; your virtues, gentle master,
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.

Oh, what a world is this, when what is comely
Envenoms him that bears it!

Orla. Why, what's the matter?

Alam. O unhappy youth,

Come not within these doors; within this roof

The enemy of all your graces lives :

Your brother

(no; no brother, yet the son,

Yet not the son, I will not call him son

Of him I was about to call his father,)

Hath heard your praises, and this night he means

To burn the lodging where you use to lye,
And you within it; if he fail of that,

He will have other means to cut you off;
I overheard him and his practices:

This is no place, this house is but a butchery;

Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.

Orla. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go?
Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here.

Orla. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food,

Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce
A thievish living on the common road?
This I must do, or know not what to do:
Yet this I will not do, do how I can;
I rather will subject me to the malice
Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother.

Adam. But do not so; 1 have five hundred crowns,
The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father,
Which I did store to be my fofter-nurse
When fervice should in my old limbs be lame,
And unregarded age in corners thrown;
Take that; and he that doth the ravens feed,
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,
Be comfort to my age! here is the gold,
All this I give you, let me be your servant;
Tho' I look old, yet I am strong and lusty;
For in my youth I never did apply

Het

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Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood,
Nor did I with unbashful forehead woo
The means of weakness and debility;
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty, but kindly; let me go with you,
I'll do the service of a younger man
In all your business and necessities.

Orla. Oh good old man, how well in thee appears
The constant service of the antique world;
When service sweat for duty, not for meed!
Thou art not for the fashion of these times,
Where none will sweat but for promotion,
And having that, do choak their service up
Even with the having; it is not so with thee;
But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree,
That cannot so much as a blossom yield,
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry:
But come thy ways, we'll go along together,
And ere we have thy youthful wages spent,
We'll light upon some settled low content.

Adam. Master, go on, and I will follow thee
To the last gasp with truth and loyalty.
From seventeen years 'till now almost fourscore
Here lived I, but now live here no more.
At seventeen years many their fortunes seek,
But at fourscore, it is too late a week;
Yet fortune cannot recompence me better
Than to die well, and not my master's debtor.
SCENE IV. The Forest.

[Exeunt.

med, Celia dreft like

Enter Rosalind in Boy's cloaths for Ganimed,
a Shepherdess for Aliena, and Clown.

Rof. Jupiter, how weary are my spirits! Clo. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary: Rof. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel, and cry like a woman; but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show it self courageous to petticoat; therefore courage, good Aliena.

Cel. I pray you, bear with me, I can go no further. Clo. For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear you;

you; yet I should bear no cross if I did bear you; for I think you have no mony in your purse.

Rof. Well, this is the foreft of Arden.

Clo. Ay, now I am in Arden, the more fool I; when I was at home, I was in a better place; but travellers must be content.

Rof. Ay, be fo, good Touchstone; look you who comes here; a young man and an old in folemn talk.

Enter Corin and Sylvius.

Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still.
Syl. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her!
Cor. I partly guess; for I have lov'd ere now.
Syl. No, Corin, being old thou can'st not guess,

Tho' in thy youth thou wast as true a lover,
As ever figh'd upon a midnight pillow;
But if thy love were ever like to mine,
(As fure I think did never man love so)
How many actions most ridiculous
Haft thou been drawn to by thy fantafie ?
Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.
Syl. Oh, thou didst then ne'er love fo heartily;

If thou remember'st not the flightest folly
That ever love did make thee run into,
Thou haft not lov'd.

Or if thou hast not fate as I do now,

Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
Thou hast not lov'd.

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Or if thou hast not broke from company.
Abruptly as my paffion now makes me,
Thou hast not lov'd.

Phebe, Phebe, Phebe!

Rof. Alas poor shepherd! searching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found my own.

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Clo. And I mine; I remember, when I was in love, broke my sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming a-nights to Jane Smile; and I remember the kif fing of her batlet, and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopt hands had milk'd; and I remember the wooing of a peafcod instead of her, from whom I took two cods, and giving her them again, faid with weeping tears, wear these for my lake VOL. III,

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We that are true lovers run into strange capers; but all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly. Rof. Thou speak'st wiser than thou art ware of.

Clo. Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit, 'till I break my shins against it.

Rof. Jove! Jove! this shepherd's paffion is much upon my fashion.

Clo. And mine; but it grows fomething stale with me.
Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man,

If he for gold will give us any food;

I faint almost to death.

Clo. Holla; you, clown!

Rof. Peace, fool; he's not thy kinsman.

Cor. Who calls?

Clo. Your betters.

Cor. Else they're very wretched.

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Rof. Peace, fool, I say; good even to you, friend.
Cor. And to you, gentle Sir, and to you all.
Rof. I pr'ythee, shepherd, if that love or gold

Can in this desart place buy entertainment,
Bring us where we may rest our selves, and feed;
Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd,
And faints for fuccour.

Cor. Fair Sir, I pity her,

And wish, for her fake more than for mine own,
My fortunes were more able to relieve her;
But I am shepherd to another man,
And do not sheer the fleeces that I graze;
My mafter is of churlish disposition,
And little recks to find the way to heav'n
By doing deeds of hospitality:
Befides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed
Are now on sale, and at our sheep-cote now,
By reason of his absence, there is nothing
That you will feed on; but what is come fee,
And in my voice most welcome shall you be.

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Rof. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture?
Cor. That young swain that you saw here but ere while,

That little cares for buying any thing.

Rof. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty,

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