That I did suit me all points like a man?
A gallant curtle-axe by my side,
A boar-spear in my hand; and (in my heart,
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will,)
We'll have a swashing and a martial outside,
As many other mannish cowards have,
That do outface it with their semblances.
Cel. (L.) 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 called ?

Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state; No longer Celia, but Aliena.

Ros. But, cousin, what if we essayed 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, [Crosses, R. And get our jewels and our wealth together; Devise the fittest time, and safest way To hide us from pursuit, that will be made After

my flight. Ros. Now go we in content, To liberty, and not to banishment.

(Exeunt, R.

END OF ACT I.

ACT II.

SCENE I. - Oliver's House.
Enter ORLANDO, R.- - Knocks at the Door, L.
Ori. Who's there?

Enter Adam, from Oliver's House.
Adam. (L.) What! my young master ?—Oh, my gen

tle master! Oh, my sweet master! Oh! 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 bony priser of the humorous duke ? Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. 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, Envenonis him that bears it!

For, in my youth, I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood;
Nor did not, 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.

Orl. 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 cloak their service up
Even with the having : it is not so with thee.

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; (Going, R.
And, ere we have thy youthful wages spent,
We'll light upon some settled, low content. (Exit, R.

Adam. Master, go on; and I will follow thee, To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty.

Slowly following: 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 fou rscore it is too late a week: Yet fortune cannot recompense me better, Than to die well, and not my master's debtor. (Exit, R.

But, poor

SCENE II.— The Forest of Arden. Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, Jaques, and two or three

Lords, like Foresters, L.
Duke. (c.) Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile,
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 brdy,
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 venemous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head !
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tungues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything.
I would not change it.

Amiens. (R.) Happy is your grace,
That can translate the stubbornness of fortune
Into so quiet, and so sweet a style.

Duke. 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 confines, with forkéd heads,
Have their round haunches gored.

Jaques. (L.) Indeed, my lord,
I have often grieved at that ;
And, in that kind, think you do more usurp
Than doth

your

brother, that hath banished you.
To-day, my Lord of Amiens and myself
Did steal
Behind an oak, whose antique root peeps out
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood;
To the which place a poor sequestered stag,
That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt,
Did come to languish ; and, indeed, my lord,
The wretched animal heaved forth such groans,
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat
Almost to bursting; and the big round tears
Coursed one another down his innocent nose,
In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool
Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.

Duke. But what said you ?
Did
you

not moralize this spectacle ?
Jaques. Oh, yes, into a thousand similes.
First, for his weeping in the needless stream :-
Pour deer, quoth I, thou makest a testament

As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
To that which had too much :—Then, being alone,
Left and abandoned of his velvet friends;
'Tis right, quoth I; thus, misery doth part
The flux of company :--Anon, a careless herd,
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him,
And never stays to greet him ;-Ay, quoth I,
Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;
'Tis just the fashion : wherefore do

you

look
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?
Thus pierced I through
The body of the country, city, court,
Yea, and of this our life ; for we, my lord,
Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse,
To fright the animals, and to kill them up,
In their assigned and native dwelling place.