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 me from all gentlemanlike qualities; the spirit of my father grows strong 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 testament; 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 ? most true, I have lost my teeth in your service. God be with my old master! he would not have spoke such a word.

[Exe. Orlando and Adam.

SCENE III.
Oli. Is it even so ? begin you to grow upon me? I will physick
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

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 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

access to you.

Y 2

a

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

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

Cha. O, no; for the new duke's daughter, her cousin, 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 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 say, many young gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time carelesly, as they did in the golden world.

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

Cha. Marry, do I, sir; and I come to acquaint you with a matter. I am given, fir, 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 loath to foil him, as I must 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 stay him from his intendment, or brook fuch disgrace 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 resolute. 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 secret and villanous contriver against me his natural brother; therefore 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 Night disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by some treacherous device; 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 so young and so villanous this day living I speak but brotherly of him; but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I muft blush and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder.

Cba. 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 so, god keep your worship!

[Exit.
Oli. Farewel, good Charles. Now will I ftir this gamefter:
I hope, I shall see an end of him; for my soul, 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 sorts
enchantingly belov’d; and, indeed, so 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.

SCENE IV.
Before the Duke's Palace.

Enter Rosalind, and Celia.
Cel. Pray thee, Rosalind, sweet coz, be merry.

Rof. Dear Celia, I show 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 see, thou lov'it me not with the full weight that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father, had banished thy

I
I

uncle, the duke my father, so thou hadft been still with me, I

,

I could have taught my love to take thy father for mine; so wouldst thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously temper’d, as mine is to thee.

Ros. 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 monster: therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry.

Rof. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports : let me see, 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'st in honour come off again.

Rof. What shall be the sport 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 so; 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 honest; and those that she makes honest, she makes very favoured.

Rof. Nay, now thou goest from fortune's office to nature's: fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of nature.

Enter 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 fout at fortune, hath not fortune sent 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.

ill

a

Clo.

now,

ز

Cel. Peradventure, this is not fortune's work neither, but nature's ; who, perceiving our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, 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 ?

Mistress, you must come away to your father.
Cel. Were you made the messenger?
Clo. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come for you.

. Rof. Where learned you that oath, fool?

Cio. Of a certain knight, that swore by his honour they were good pancakes, and swore by his honour the mustard was naught:

l’ll stand to it, the pancakes were naught, and the mustard was good ; and yet was not the knight forsworn.

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

your

wisdom. Clo. Stand you 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 fwearing 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 mean'st?
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 wisely what wise men do foolishly.

Cel. By my troth, thou fay'st true; for since the little wit that fools have was silenc'd, the little foolery that wise men have makes a great show : here comes monsieur Le Beu.

a

SCENE