Adam.
ORLANDO.
As I remember, Adam, it was upon this Fashion
bequeath'd me by Will, but a poor Thousand
Crowns, and, as thou say'st, charged
my Brother on his Blessing to breed me well;
and there begins my Sadness: My Brother
Jaques he keeps at School, and Report speaks
goldenly of his Profit; for my part he keeps me rustically
at home, or, to speak more properly, stays me here at home
unkept; for call you that Keeping for a Gentleman of my
Birth, that differs not from the Stalling of an Ox? His
Horses are bred better, for besides that they are fair with
their Feeding, they are taught their Manage, and to that end
Riders dearly hired: But I, his Brother, gain nothing under
him but growth, for the which his Animals on his Dunghills
are as much bound to him as I. Besides this Nothing
that he so plentifully gives me, the Something that Nature
gave me, his Countenance seems to take from me. He lets
me feed with his Hinds, bars me the place of a Brother, and
as much as in him lyes, mines my Gentility with my Education.
This is it, Adam, that grieves me, and the Spirit
of my Father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny
-- 598 --
against this servitude. I will no longer endure it, tho' yet
I know no wise Remedy how to avoid it.
Enter Oliver.
Adam.
Yonder comes my Master, your Brother.
Orla.
Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will
shake me up.
Oli.
Now, Sir, what make you here?
Orla.
Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing.
Oli.
What mar you then, Sir?
Orla.
Marry, Sir, I am helping you to mar that which
God made, a poor unworthy Brother of yours, with Idleness.
Oli.
Marry, Sir, be better employ'd, and be naught a
while.
Orla.
Shall I keep your Hogs, and eat Husks with them?
What Prodigal Portion have I spent, that I should come to
such Penury?
Oli.
Know you where you are, Sir?
Orla.
O, Sir, very well; here in your Orchard.
Oli.
Know you before whom, Sir?
Orla.
Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I
know you are my eldest Brother, and in the gentle Condition
of Blood you should so know me: The Courtesie of
Nations allows you my better, in that you are the First Born;
but the same Tradition takes not away my Blood, were there
twenty Brothers betwixt us; I have as much of my Father
in me, as you; albeit, I confess your coming before me is
nearer to his Reverence.
Oli.
What Boy!
Orla.
Come, come, elder Brother, you are too young
in this.
Oli.
Wilt thou lay Hands on me, Villain?
Orla.
I am no Villain: I am the Youngest Son of Sir
Rowland de Boys; he was my Father, and he is thrice a
Villain that says such a Father begot Villains. Wert thou not
my Brother, I would not take this Hand from thy Throat,
'till this other had pull'd out thy Tongue for saying so; thou
hast rail'd on thy self.
Adam.
Sweet Master, be patient, for your Father's Remembrance,
be at Accord.
Oli.
Let me go, I say.
-- 599 --
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
from me all Gentleman-like 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, Sir, 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.
[Exit Orl. and Adam.
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
access to you.
Oli.
Call him in; 'twill be a good way; and to morrow
the Wrestling is.
Enter Charles.
Char.
Good morrow to your Worship.
Oli.
Good Monsieur Charles, what's the new News at
the new Court?
Char.
There's no News at the Court, Sir, but the old
News; that is, the old Duke is banish'd by his younger
Brother the new Duke, and three or four loving Lords have
put themselves into a 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 Duke's Daughter, be
banish'd with her Father?
-- 600 --
Cha.
O no; for the Duke's Daughter her Cousin so loves
her, being ever from their Cradles bred together, that she
would have followed their Exile, or have died to stay behind
her; she is at the Court, and no less beloved of her
Unkle, 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, Sir, 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 such 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 my self
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 stubbornest 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; and 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
slight Disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace himself on
thee, he will practice against thee by Poison, to 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
-- 601 --
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 so God keep
your Worship.
[Exit.
Oli.
Farewel, good Charles. Now will I stir this Gamester:
I hope I shall see an end of him, for my Soul, yet I
know not why, hates nothing more than he; yet he's gentle,
never school'd, and yet learned, full of noble Device, of
all sorts enchantingly beloved, and indeed so much 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 II.
The Duke's Palace.
Enter Rosalind and Celia.
Cel.
I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my Coz, be merry.
Ros.
Dear Celia, I show more Mirth than I am Mistress
of, and would you yet were merrier; unless you could teach
me to forget a banish'd Father, you must not learn me how
to remember my extraordinary Pleasure.
Cel.
Herein I see thou lov'st me not with the full weight
that I love thee; if my Unkle, thy banished Father, had
banished thy Unkle, the Duke my Father, so thou hadst
been still with me, I could have taught my Love to take
thy Father for mine; so would'st 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
rejoyce in yours.
Cel.
You know my Father hath no Child but I, 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.
-- 602 --
Ros.
From hencefore I will, Coz, and devise Sports: Let
me see, what think you of falling in Love?
Cel.
Marry, I prethee 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.
Ros.
What shall be the Sport then?
Cel.
Let us sit and mock the good Housewife Fortune
from her Wheel, that her Gifts may henceforth be bestowed
equally.
Ros.
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 honest, she makes
very ill-favouredly.
Ros.
Nay, now thou goest from Fortune's Office to Natures:
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? Tho' Nature hath given
us Wit to flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune sent in this
Fool to cut off this Argument?
Ros.
Indeed, Fortune is there 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 reason
of such Goddesses, hath sent this Natural for our Whetstone:
For always the Dulness 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 Messenger?
Clo.
No by mine Honour, but I was bid to come for you.
Ros.
Where learned you that Oath, Fool?
Clo.
Of a certain Knight, that swore by his Honour
they were good Pancakes, and swore 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 forsworn.
-- 603 --
Cel.
How prove you that in the great Heap of your Knowledge?
Ros.
Ay marry, now unmuzzle 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 swearing 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.
Prethee, who is that thou mean'st?
Clo.
One that old Fredrick your Father loves.
Ros.
My Father's Love is enough to honour him enough;
speak no more of him, you'll be whipt 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 say'st true; for since the little
Wit that Fools have was silenc'd, the little Foolery that
wise Men have makes a great Shew: Here comes Monsieur
Le Beu.
Enter Le Beu.
Ros.
With his Mouth full of News.
Cel.
Which he will put on us, as Pigeons feed their
Young.
Ros.
Then shall we be News-cram'd.
Cel.
All the better, we shall be the more marketable.
Bon-jour Monsieur le Beu, what News?
Le Beu.
Fair Princess,
You have lost much Sport.
Cel.
Sport; of what Colour?
Le Beu.
What Colour, Madam? How shall I answer
you?
Ros.
As Wit and Fortune will.
Clo.
Or as the Destinies decrees.
Cel.
Well said, that was laid on with a Trowel.
Clo.
Nay, if I keep not my Rank—
Ros.
Thou losest thy old Smell.
Le Beu.
You amase me, Ladies: I would have told you
of good Wrestling, which you have lost the Sight of.
-- 604 --
Ros.
Yet tell us the manner of the Wrestling.
Le Beu.
I will tell you the Beginning, and if it please
your Ladyships, you may see the End, for the best is yet to
do, and here where you are, they are coming to perform
it.
Cel.
Well, the beginning that is dead and buried.
Le Beu.
There comes an old Man and his three Sons.
Cel.
I would match this beginning with an old Tale.
Le Beu.
Three proper young Men of excellent Growth
and Presence.
Ros.
With Bills on their Necks: Be it known unto all
Men by these Presents.
Le Beu.
The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles
the Duke's Wrestler, which Charles in a Moment threw
him, and broke three of his Ribs, that there is little Hope
of Life in him: So he serv'd the second, and so the third:
Yonder they lye, the poor old Man their Father, making
such pitiful Dole over them, that all the Beholders take his
Part with weeping.
Ros.
Alas.
Clo.
But what is the Sport, Monsieur, that the Ladies have
lost?
Le Beu.
Why this is that I speak of.
Clo.
Thus Men grow wiser every Day. It is the first
time that ever I heard of breaking of Ribs was Sport for
Ladies.
Cel.
Or I, I promise thee.
Ros.
But is there any else longs to see this broken Musick
in his Sides? Is there yet another doats upon Rib-breaking?
Shall we see this wrestling, Cousin?
Le Beu.
You must if you stay here, for here is the Place
appointed for wrestling, and they are ready to perform
it.
Cel.
Yonder sure they are coming: Let us now stay and
see it.
Flourish. Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, Orlando, Charles, and Attendants.
Duke.
Come on, since the Youth will not be entreated,
His own Peril on his forwardness.
Ros.
Is yonder the Man?
-- 605 --
Le Beu.
Even he, Madam.
Cel.
Alas, he is too young; yet he looks successfully.
Duke.
How now, Daughter and Cousin;
Are you crept hither to see the Wrestling?
Ros.
Ay, my Liege, so please you give us leave.
Duke.
You will take little Delight in it, I can tell you,
there is such odds in the Man: In Pity of the Challenger's
Youth, I would fain dissuade him, but he will not be entreated.
Speak to him, Ladies, see if you can move him.
Cel.
Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beu.
Duke.
Do so; I'll not be by.
Le Beu.
Monsieur the Challenger, the Princess calls for
you.
Orla.
I attend her with all Respect and Duty.
Ros.
Young Man, have you challeng'd Charles the Wrestler?
Orla.
No, fair Princess; he is the general Challenger, I
come but as others do, to try with him the Strength of my
Youth.
Cel.
Young Gentleman, your Spirits are too bold for your
Years: You have seen cruel Proof of this Man's Strength. If
you saw your self with your Eyes, or knew your self with
your Judgment, the fear of your Adventure would counsel
you to a more equal Enterprise. We pray you for your
own Sake to embrace your own Safety, and give over this
Attempt.
Ros.
Do, young Sir, your Reputation shall not therefore
be misprised; we will make it our Suit to the Duke, that
the Wrestling might not go forward.
Orla.
I beseech you punish me not with your hard
Thoughts, wherein I confess me much guilty to deny so
fair and excellent Ladies any thing: But let your fair Eyes
and gentle Wishes go with me to my Trial, wherein if I
be foil'd, there is but one sham'd that was never Gracious;
if kill'd, but one dead that is willing to be so: I shall do
my Friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me; the
the World no Injury, for in it I have nothing; only in the
World I fill up a Place, which may be better supply'd when
I have made it empty.
Ros.
The little Strength I have, I would it were with
you.
Cel.
And mine to eek out hers.
-- 606 --
Ros.
Fare you well; pray Heav'n I be deceiv'd in you.
Cel.
Your Heart's Desires be with you.
Char.
Come, where is this young Gallant, that is so desirous
to lye with his Mother Earth?
Orla.
Ready Sir, but his Will hath in it a more modest
working.
Duke.
You shall try but one Fall.
Char.
No, I warrant your Grace you shall not entreat
him to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him from
a first.
Orla.
You mean to mock me after; you should not have
mockt before; but come your ways.
Ros.
Now Hercules be thy speed, young Man.
Cel.
I would I were invisible, to catch the strong Fellow
by the Leg.
[They Wrestle.
Ros.
Oh excellent young Man.
Cel.
If I had a Thunderbolt in mine Eye, I can tell
who should down.
[Shout.
Duke.
No more, no more.
[Charles is thrown.
Orla.
Yes, I beseech your Grace, I am not yet well
breathed.
Duke.
How do'st thou, Charles?
Le Beu.
He cannot speak, my Lord.
Duke.
Bear him away.
What is thy Name, young Man?
Orla.
Orlando, my Liege, the youngest Son of Sir Rowland
de Boys.
Duke.
I would thou hadst been Son to some Man else;
The World esteem'd thy Father honourable,
But I did find him still mine Enemy:
Thou should'st have better pleas'd me with this Deed,
Hadst thou descended from another House.
But fare thee well, thou art a gallant Youth,
I would thou hadst told me of another Father.
[Exit Duke.
Cel.
Were I my Father, Coz, would I do this?
Orla.
I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's Son,
His youngest Son, and would not change that Calling
To be adopted Heir to Frederick.
Ros.
My Father lov'd Sir Rowland as his Soul,
And all the World was of my Father's Mind:
Had I before known this young Man his Son,
-- 607 --
I should have given him Tears unto Entreaties,
E'er he should thus have ventur'd.
Cel.
Gentle Cousin,
Let us go thank him, and encourage him;
My Father's rough and envious Disposition
Sticks me at Heart. Sir, you have well deserv'd,
If you do keep your Promises in Love,
But justly as you have exceeded all in Promise,
Your Mistress shall be happy.
Ros.
Gentleman,
Wear this for me; one out of Suits with Fortune,
That could give more, but that her Hand lacks Means.
Shall we go, Coz?
Cel.
Ay; fare you well, fair Gentleman.
Orla.
Can I not say, I thank you? My better Parts
Are all thrown down, and that which here stands up
Is but a Quintine, a more liveless Block.
Ros.
He calls us back: my Pride fell with my Fortunes.
I'll ask him what he would. Did you call Sir?
Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown
More than your Enemies.
Cel.
Will you go, Coz?
Ros.
Have with you: fare you well.
[Ex. Ros. and Cel.
Orla.
What Passion hangs these Weights upon my Tongue?
I cannot speak to her; yet she urg'd Conference.
Enter Le Beu.
O poor Orlando! thou art overthrown
Or Charles, or something weaker masters thee.
Le Beu.
Good Sir, I do in Friendship counsel you
To leave this Place: Albeit you have deserv'd
High Commendation, true Applause, and Love;
Yet such is now the Duke's Condition,
That he misconsters all that you have done.
The Duke is humorous; what he is indeed
More suits you to conceive, than me to speak of.
Orla.
I thank you Sir, and pray you tell me this,
Which of these two was Daughter to the Duke,
That here was at the Wrestling?
Le Beu.
Neither his Daughter, if we judge by Manners,
But yet indeed the taller is his Daughter;
The other is Daughter to the banish'd Duke,
-- 608 --
And here detain'd by her usurping Uncle
To keep his Daughter Company, whose Loves
Are dearer than the natural Bond of Sisters:
But I can tell you, that of late this Duke
Hath ta'en Displeasure 'gainst his gentle Neice,
Grounded upon no other Argument,
But that the People praise her for her Virtues,
And pity her for her good Father's sake;
And on my Life his Malice 'gainst the Lady
Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well,
Hereafter in a better World than this,
I shall desire more Love and Knowledge of you.
[Exit.
Orla.
I rest much bounden to you: Fare you well!
Thus must I from the Smoke into the Smother;
From Tyrant Duke, unto a Tyrant Brother:
But heav'nly Rosalind!
[Exit.
SCENE III.
Enter Celia and Rosalind.
Cel.
Why Cousin, why Rosalind; Cupid have Mercy; not
a word!
Ros.
Not one to throw at a Dog.
Cel.
No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon
Curs, throw some of them at me; come, lame me with Reasons.
Ros.
Then there were two Cousins laid up, when the one
should be lam'd with Reasons, and the other mad without
any.
Cel.
But is all this for your Father?
Ros.
No, some of it is for my Child's Father. Oh how
full of Briers is this working-Day-world.
Cel.
They are but Burs, Cousin, thrown upon thee in
Holiday Foolery; if we walk not in the trodden Paths, our
very Petticoats will catch them.
Ros.
I could shake them off my Coat; these Burs are in
my Heart.
Cel.
Hem them away.
Ros.
I would try, if I could cry Hem, and have him.
Cel.
Come, come, wrestle with thy Affections.
-- 609 --
Ros.
O they take the Part of a better Wrestler than my
self.
Cel.
O, a good Wish upon you; you will try in time in
despight of a Fall; but turning these Jests out of Service, let
us talk in good earnest: Is it possible on such a sudden you
should fall into so strange a liking with old Sir Rowland's
youngest Son?
Ros.
The Duke my Father lov'd his Father dearly.
Cel.
Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his Son
dearly? By this kind of Chase I should hate him, for my
Father hated his Father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando.
Ros.
No Faith, hate him not for my Sake.
Cel.
Why should I not? Doth not he deserve well?
Enter Duke with Lords.
Ros.
Let me love him for that, and do you love him,
Because I do. Look, here comes the Duke.
Cel.
With his Eyes full of Anger.
Duke.
Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste,
And get you from our Court.
Ros.
Me, Uncle!
Duke.
You, Cousin.
Within these ten Days if that thou beest found
So near our publick Court as twenty Miles,
Thou diest for it.
Ros.
I do beseech your Grace
Let me the Knowledge of my Fault bear with me:
If with my self I hold Intelligence,
Or have Acquaintance with my own Desires,
If that I do not dream, or be not frantick,
As I do trust I am not, then dear Uncle,
Never so much as in a Thought unborn
Did I offend your Highness.
Duke.
Thus do all Traitors,
If their Purgation did consist in Words,
They are as innocent as Grace it self;
Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not.
Ros.
Yet your Mistrust can not make me a Traitor;
Tell me whereon the likelihood depends.
Duke.
Thou art thy Father's Daughter, there's enough.
Ros.
So was I when your Highness took his Dukedom,
So was I when your Highness banish'd him;
-- 610 --
Treason is not inherited, my Lord,
Or if we did derive it from our Friends,
What's that to me, my Father was no Traitor:
Then good my Liege, mistake me not so much,
To think my Poverty is treacherous.
Cel.
Dear Soveraign hear me speak.
Duke.
Ay Celia, we staid her for your sake,
Else had she with her Father rang'd along.
Cel.
I did not then entreat to have her stay;
I was too young that time to value her,
But now I know her; if she be a Traitor,
Why so am I; we still have slept together,
Rose at an Instant, learn'd, plaid, eat together,
And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's Swans,
Still we went coupled and inseparable.
Duke.
She is too subtile for thee, and her Smoothness,
Her very Silence, and her Patience,
Speak to the People, and they pity her:
Thou art a Fool, she robs thee of thy Name,
And thou wilt show more bright, and seem more virtuous
When she is gone; then open not thy Lips,
Firm and irrevocable is my Doom,
Which I have past upon her; she is banish'd.
Cel.
Pronounce that Sentence then on me, my Liege,
I cannot live out of her Company.
Duke.
You are a Fool; you Neice provide your self,
If you out-stay the time, upon mine Honour,
And in the Greatness of my Word, you die.
[Exit Duke, &c.
Cel.
O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt thou go?
Wilt thou change Fathers? I will give thee mine:
I charge thee be not thou more griev'd than I am.
Ros.
I have more Cause.
Cel.
Thou hast not, Cousin,
Prethee be cheerful; know'st thou not the Duke
Hath banish'd me his Daughter?
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 sundred? Shall we part, sweet Girl?
No, let my Father seek another Heir.
-- 611 --
Therefore devise with me how we may fly,
Whither to go, and what to bear with us,
And do not seek to take your Charge upon you,
To bear your Griefs your self, and leave me out:
For by this Heav'n, 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 in the Forest of Arden.
Ros.
Alas, what Danger will it be to us,
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far!
Beauty provoketh Thieves sooner than Gold.
Cel.
I'll put my self in poor and mean Attire,
And with a kind of Umber smutch my Face,
The like do you, so shall we pass along,
And never stir Assailants.
Ros.
Were it not better,
Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did suit me all Points like a Man;
A gallant Curtelax upon my Thigh,
A Bore-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.
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 Ganimed;
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 assaid 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;
Devise the fittest time, and safest way
To hide us from Pursuit that will be made
After my Flight: Now go we in Content
To Liberty, and not to Banishment.
[Exeunt.
-- 612 --
Charles Gildon [1709–1710], The works of Mr. William Shakespear; in six [seven] volumes. Adorn'd with Cuts. Revis'd and Corrected, with an Account of the Life and Writings of the Author. By N. Rowe ([Vol. 7] Printed for E. Curll... and E. Sanger [etc.], London) [word count] [S11401].
