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Orla. I will not till I please: you fhall hear me. My father charg'd you in his will to give me good education: you have train'd me up like a peasant, obfcuring and hiding me from all gentlemanlike qualities; the spirit of my father grows ftrong in me, and I will no longer endure it: therefore, allow me fuch exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor allottery father left me by teftament; with that I will go buy my fortunes.


Oli. And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent? well, fir, 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? moft true, I have loft my teeth in your fervice. God be with my old mafter! he would not have fpoke fuch a word. [Exe. Orlando and Adam.


Oli. Is it even fo? begin you to grow upon me? I will phyfick 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.

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Oli. Call him in. 'Twill be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is.

Enter Charles.

Cha. Good morrow to your worship.

Oli. Good monfieur Charles, what's the new news at the new


Cha. There's no news at the court, fir, but the old news; that

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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, whofe lands and revenues enrich the new duke, therefore he gives them good leave to wander.

Oli. Can you tell if Rofalind, the old duke's daughter, be banifh'd with her father?

Cha. O, no; for the new duke's daughter, her coufin, fo loves her, being ever from their cradles bred together, that she would have followed her exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at the court, and no lefs 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 fleet the time carelefly, as they did in the golden world.

Oli. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke?

Cha. Marry, do I, fir; and I come to acquaint you with a matter. I am given, fir, fecretly to understand, that your younger brother Orlando hath a difpofition to come in difguis'd against me to try a fall: to-morrow, fir, I wreftle for my credit; and he that escapes me without some broken limb fhall acquit him well. Your brother is but young and tender; and, for your love, I would be loath to foil him, as I muft for mine own honour if he come in; therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you withal, that either you might ftay him from his intendment, or brook fuch difgrace well as he fhall run into, in that it is a thing of his own search, and altogether againft my will.

Oli. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou fhalt find I will moft kindly requite. I had myself notice of my brother's purpose herein, and have by underhand means labour ed to diffuade him from it; but he is refolute. I tell thee, Charles, he is the stubborneft young fellow of France; full of ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good parts, a fecret and villanous contriver against me his natural brother; therefore use thy difcretion;

discretion; I had as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger, And thou wert beft look to't; for if thou doft him any flight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise against thee by poifon, entrap thee by fome treacherous device; and never leave thee till he hath ta'en thy life by fome indirect means or other: for, I affure 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 for prize more; and fo, god keep your worship!


Oli. Farewel, good Charles. Now will I ftir this gamefter: I hope, I fhall fee an end of him; for my foul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than him. Yet he's gentle, never school'd, and yet learned, full of noble device, of all forts enchantingly belov'd; and, indeed, fo much in the heart of the world, and especially of my own people who best know him, that I am altogether misprised. But it shall not be so long; this wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains, but that I kindle the boy thither, which now I'll go about. [Exit.


Before the Duke's Palace.

Enter Rofalind, and Celia.


I Pray thee, Rofalind, fweet coz, merry.

Cel. I

Rof. Dear Celia, I fhow more mirth than I am mistress of; and would you yet I were merrier? unless you could teach me to forget a banish'd father, you must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure.

Cel. Herein, I fee, thou lov't 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 thou hadst been still with me, I could have taught my love to take thy father for mine; so wouldst thou, if the truth of thy love to me were fo righteously temper'd, as mine is to thee.

Rof. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to rejoice in yours.

Cel. You know, my father hath no child but me, nor none is like to have; and, truly, when he dies thou shalt 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 monfter: therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, 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 earneft; nor no further in sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou may'ft in honour come off again. Rof. What shall be the fport then?

Cel. Let us fit and mock the good housewife, fortune, from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally. Rof. I would, we could do fo; for her benefits are mightily misplaced; and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her gifts to women.

Cel. Tis true; for those that she makes fair, she scarce makes honeft; and those that she 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


Enter Clown.

Cel. No? when nature hath made a fair creature, may fhe n ot 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 neither, but nature's; who, perceiving our natural wits too dull to reafon of fuch goddeffes, hath sent this natural for our whetstone: for always the dullness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits. How now, whither wander you?

Clo. Mistress, you must come away to your father.

Cel. Were you made the meffenger?

Clo. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come for
Rof. Where learned you that oath, fool?


Clo. Of a certain knight, that fwore by his honour they were good pancakes, and fwore by his honour 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 forfworn.

Cel. How prove you that in the great heap of your knowledge? Rof. Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wifdom.

Clo. Stand you both forth now; ftroke 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 forfworn; no more was this knight fwearing by his honour, for he never had any; or if he had, he had fworn it away, before ever he saw those pancakes or that muftard.

Cel. Pr'ythee, who is that thou mean'ft?

Clo. One that old Frederick, your father, loves.

Cel. My father's love is enough to honour him: enough! speak no more of him; you'll be whipp'd for taxation one of these days. Clo. The more pity that fools may not speak wifely what wife men do foolishly.

Cel. By my troth, thou say'ft true; for fince the little wit that fools have was filenc'd, the little foolery that wife men have makes a great show: here comes monfieur Le Beu.


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