Adam entring.
Orlando.
You may remember, Adam,
my Father bequeath'd me by
Will but a poor 1000 Crowns,
and, as thou say'st, charg'd
my Brother on his Blessing to
breed me well; and there begins
my Sadness: My Brother Robert 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 Menage, and to that End Riders dearly hir'd:
-- 2 --
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
lies, mines my Gentility with my Education. This
it is, Adam, that grieves me, and the Spirit of my
Father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny
at 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.
Orl.
Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how
he will shake me up.
Oliver.
Now, Sir, what make you here?
Orl.
Nothing; I am not taught to make any
thing.
Oliver.
What, mar you then, Sir?
Orl.
I am helping you to mar that which Heav'n
made, a poor unworthy Brother of yours, with
Idleness.
Oliver.
Be better employ'd, Sir, and be Naught
a-while.
Orl.
Shall I keep your Hogs, and eat Husks with
them? What prodigal Portion have I spent, that I
should come to such Penury?
Oliver.
Know you where you are, Sir?
Orl.
Oh! Sir, very well, here in your Garden.
Oliver.
Know you before whom, Sir?
Orl.
Aye, better than him I am before knows
me. I know you are my eldest Brother, and in the
gentle Condition of Blood you shou'd so know me:
The Courtesy of Nations allows you my better, in
that you are the First-born; but the same Tradition
-- 3 --
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 something nearer to his Reverence.
Oliver.
What, Boy!
Orl.
Come, come, elder Brother, you are too
young in this.
[Laying his Hand on his Collar.
Oliver.
Wilt thou lay Hands on me, Villain?
Orl.
I am no Villain: I am the younger Son of
Sir Rowland du Bois, he was my Father, and he is
thrice a Villain, [shaking him] that says such a Father
begot Villains. Wert thou not my Brother,
I wou'd 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.
Oliver.
Let me go, I say.
Orl.
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 Allotment my Father left me by
Testament; with that I will buy my Fortunes.
Oliver.
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.
Orl.
I will no further offend you than becomes
me for my Good.
Oliver to Adam.
Get you with him, you Old
Dog.
Adam.
Is Old Dog my Reward? Most true I have
lost my Teeth in your Service: Heav'n be with
-- 4 --
my Old Master, he wou'd not have spoke such a
Word.
[Exeunt Orlando and Adam.
Oliver.
Is it even so? Begin you to grow upon
me? I will Physick your Rankness, and yet give
no 1000 Crowns neither. Holla! Dennis!
Enter Dennis.
Den.
Calls your Worship?
Oliver.
Was not Charles, the Duke's Fencer and
Master of his Academy, here to speak with me?
Den.
So please you, he is here at the Door, and
desires Access to you.
Oliver.
Call him in; 'twill be a good Way;—to
Morrow!—“No, to Day if it may be.
Enter Charles.
Char.
Good Morrow, Sir.
Oliver.
Good Mons. Charles, what's the News at
the new Court?
Char.
There's no News at the Court, Sir, but the
old News; that is the old Duke is banished 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 inrich
the new Duke, therefore he gives them Leave to
wander.
Oliver.
Can you tell if Rosalind, the Duke's Daughter,
be banish'd with her Father.
Char.
Oh no, for the Duke's Daughter, her Cousin,
so loves her, being ever from their Cradles bred together,
that she wou'd have follow'd her Exile, or
have died to stay behind her; she is at the Court,
and no less belov'd of her Uncle than his own
Daughter, and never two Ladies lov'd as they
do.
Oliver.
Where will the old Duke live?
-- 5 --
Char.
He is already in the Forrest 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 have follow'd his Exile, and fleet
the Time carelesly as they did in the Golden World:
Nay, the very Mechanicks, and Labourers in
Handicraft leave every Day their Occupations,
and this populous City of Liege, and flock to visit
their exil'd Sovereign, as they call him.
Oliver.
I am sorry for it, but I find the Factions
against our Duke increase daily; and I must tell
thee, Charles, for I have set thee down my Friend,
my domestic Concerns are mingled with my Cares
for the publick; for my Brother, my younger Brother
Orlando—But art thou my Friend?—
Char.
If you have set me down your Friend, I
must tell you, I have set down the many Obligations
that made me so.
Oliver.
But art thou the Duke's Friend?
Char.
He is my Royal Master, and my Life is
his.
Oliver,
Why then, Charles, I will prove thee no
farther; my brother Orlando, as I was saying, has
long had a Design to practice against me, by Poison,
but this, unnatural as it is, is the least of his
Accusations: He is likewise enrolled with and attached
to a very dangerous Knot of the Family
and Friends of the banish'd Duke.
Char.
How, Sir!
Oliver.
This I am beyond Doubt assured of, this
I know; now if thou wilt upon my Honour, which,
with a Gentleman is equal at least to the Sanctity
of an Oath, appeal him instantly of this Treason
to the Duke, for the Plot is too ripe, too near Execution
to admit the least Delay; as I will unfold
it to thee hereafter: I say, if thou wilt appeal him
instantly of this Treason before the Duke, and answer
it in single Duel with thy Rapier, of which
-- 6 --
Skill, as of all other Gentlemanly Exercises, he is
mainly ignorant, thou may'st happily win an undangerous
Victory, and not only I, but the whole
State be deliver'd from a very dangerous and hated
Enemy.
Char.
But if I undertake this and miscarry, as the
most skilful may, ought my Family, which will be
by this Means out of the Protection of the Duke,
wholly to have their Reliance on your future Gratitude.
Oliver.
Here is my Purse, use it, thou shalt have
more, and often; doubt not thy Success, publick
Preferment will await thee; when, besides the
Atchievement of conquering an avow'd Traitor,
thou shalt be proclaim'd the Patron and Protector
of Frederick Duke of Burgundy.
Char.
And yet, methinks, it goes somewhat against
me, this Gentleman, Orlando, has such a
generally approv'd and unsoil'd Name.
Oliver.
I know the Vulgar doat on him, he is one
of their Errors, a staunch Hypocrite: Thou must
think how much against my Heart it runs, thus to
accuse my own Blood: But I assure thee, and almost
with Tears I speak it, there is not One so
young and so villainous this Day living: I speak
but Brotherly of him, but should I Anatomise him
to thee as he is, I must blush, and weep, and thou
must look pale and tremble.
Char.
You have warm'd me; I will accuse him instantly
to the Duke, and call him to the Combat; if
I do not give him the Reward both of his Parricide
and his Treason, may my good Heart, and my good
Sword both fail me: Farewel.
[Exit Charles.
Oliver.
Farewel good Charles, and Heav'n prosper
thee—Well, very well; now surely I shall see an
End of this Orlando; for my Soul, yet I know not
why, hates nothing more than him, yet he is gentle;
and tho' never School'd, yet learn'd, and full of
noble Device; of all Sorts inchantingly belov'd,
-- 7 --
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 this Fencer
shall clear all, and that without Delay: I will
immediately give another Lift to put this Wheel
in Motion.
Exit Oliver.
A Chamber in the Duke's Palace.
Rosalind and Cælia.
Cælia.
I prithee Rosalind, sweet my Cosin be
merry.
Ros.
Dear Cælia, I show more Mirth than I am
Mistress of; and wou'd you yet I were merrier?
Unless you cou'd teach me to forget the Duke my
Father, the banish'd Duke, you must not learn me
how to remember any extraordinary Pleasure.
Cæ.
Herein I see thou lovest me not with the full
Weight that I love thee.
Ros.
Well, I will forget the Condition of my
Estate, to rejoice in thine.
Cæ.
You know my Father hath no Child but me,
nor none is like to have, and truly when he dies
thou shall be his Heir; for what he hath taken
away from thy Father by Force, I will render thee
again in Affection; by my Honour I will, and
when I break that Oath let me turn Monster:
Therefore my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry.
Ros.
From henceforth I will, Cosin, and devise
Sports; let me see, What think you of falling in
Love?
Cæ.
Marry, I prithee do to make Sport withal;
but love no Man in good earnest, nor no farther 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?
-- 8 --
Cæ.
Let us sit and mock the good Housewife Fortune
from her Wheel, that her Gifts may henceforth
be bestow'd equally.
Ros.
I wou'd we cou'd do so, for her Benefits are
mightily misplac'd, and the bountiful blind Woman
does most mistake in her Gifts to Women.
Cæ.
'Tis true, for those that she makes fair, she
scarce makes honest, and those that she makes honest,
she makes very Ill-favoured.
Ros.
Nay, now thou goest from Fortune's Office,
to Nature's: Fortune reigns in Gifts of the World,
not in the Lineaments of Nature—
Cæ.
No, when Nature hath made a fair Creature
may she not by Fortune fall into the Fire: But soft
a while, here comes Monsieur Le-Beu.
Enter Le-Beu.
Ros.
With his Mouth full of News.
Cæ.
Which he will put upon us as Pigeons feed
their young.
Ros.
Then shall we be News cram'd.
Cæ.
All the better, we shall be the more Marketable.
Le-Beu.
Fair Princesses, if you stay here you are
like to lose much Sport.
Cæ.
Sport! of what Colour?
Le-Beu.
What Colour, Madam! how shall I answer
you?
Ros.
As Wit and Fortune will.
Cæ.
Or as the Destinies decree.
Le-Beu.
I was sent to inform you of the single Combat
that is to be perform'd before the whole Court this
Morning, indeed instantly; the Lists are prepar'd,
the Combatants arm'd, the Duke and his Nobles present,
the Heralds ready to sound, and nothing wanting
but the Grace of your Noble Personages, most
sweet Ladies, to make the Sport most gracious.
-- 9 --
Ros.
It is the first Time I ever heard Cutting of
Throats was Sport for Ladies.
Le-Beu.
Thus ev'ry thing being appointed, the Warriors
impatient, and the Circumstances of Affairs—
Ros.
Not to make your Words stumble in the Middle
of their Career, pray, Monsieur, between, whom,
and upon what Cause is this Blood to be shed on one
Side, or both.
Le-Beu.
Why thus, Ladies: Charles the Master of
the Duke's Academy hath impeach'd of Treason Orlando,
a younger Son of old Sir Rowland du Bois.
Ros.
I have heard much of that old Gentleman,
his eminent Worth was approv'd by general Voice,
albeit he was thy Father's profess'd Enemy, Cælia.
Cæ.
Well, Cousin, shall we see this Combat?
Ros.
Custom sanctifies every Thing, or else how
odd wou'd appear this judicial Trial by the Rapier
of what is Right, or Wrong.
Cæ.
If a Man of Courage cou'd not be a Knave,
nor a Coward Virtuous, a Fencing-Master wou'd make
an excellent Chancellor.
Ros.
And a Prize-Fighter a very good Chief Justice.
Cæ.
Yet so it is, and our Laws hold Decrees of
this Sort to be as sacred and inviolable, as if Heaven
were oblig'd to declare for the more Sinewy Arm.
Le-Beu.
Ladies, shall I have the Honour to attend
you?
Cæ.
You shall Sir, we will see this State Duel in
all its Forms.
[Exeunt.
Scene 2
SCENE the Lists.
Trumpets, Kettle-Drums, Musick, a Throne &c. Frederick the Usurper, Lords on each Side the Throne, Cælia, Rosalind, and Ladies in their Seats, &c.
Duke.
Marshall, have you demanded of the Champions
-- 10 --
The Cause of their Arrival here, in Arms?
Marsh.
My Liege, I have, each hath accused the other,
As a false Traitor to his King and Country,
They are appointed equal, search'd and sworn,
Each to defend the Justice of his Cause.
Duke.
Then let them enter—
Marsh.
Trumpets, sound a Call,—
And summon both the Champions to the Lists.
Trumpets sound, Enter at opposite Doors Orlando and Charles.
Char.
Grant me the Combat, my most gracious Liege.
Orl.
And me, my Lord, grant me the Combat too.
Duke.
Say, Gentlemen, what makes you thus exclaim?
And wherefore claim you Combat, and with whom?
Char.
First Heaven be the Record to my Speech,
In the Devotion of a Subject's Love,
And free from other misbegotten Hate,
Come I, appellant to my Royal Master.
Now young Orlando do I turn to thee,
And mark my Greeting well, for what I speak
My Body shall make good upon this Earth,
Or my divine Soul answer it in Heaven.
Thou art a Traitor and a Miscreant,
And wish (so please my Sovereign) e're I move,
What my Tongue speaks, my right drawn sword may prove.
Orl.
Let not my cooler Words accuse my Zeal,
'Tis not the Trial of a Woman's War,
The bitter Clamour of two eager Tongues,
Can arbitrate this Cause between us two,
The Blood is hot that must be shed for this.
First, the fair Reverence of this Presence curbs me
From giving Reins and Freedom to my Speech,
-- 11 --
Else would I doubly thus in Virtue bold,
Return the Traitor, and the Miscreant;
And add a slanderous Coward, and a Villain:
Which to maintain, I wou'd allow him Odds,
And meet him, tho' oblig'd to run on Foot
Ev'n to the frozen Ridges of the Alps,
Or any other Ground inhabitable,
Where ever honest Man durst set a Foot.
Cæ. aside to Ros.
How gracefully he deliver'd his
Words, with an honest Warmth and Modesty.
Ros.
And yet with a Spirit right and brave as
Hercules.
Cæ.
If he acquits himself as well with his Sword.
Ros.
Doubt it not, doubt it not.
Marsh.
On Pain of Death no Person be so bold,
Or daring hardy as to touch the Lists,
Except the Marshall, and such Officers,
Appointed to direct these fair Designs.
Ros. to Cæ.
Ah Cælia! I am not concern'd in this
Quarrel, am I? No, no, and yet my Heart says
otherwise, wou'd I were invisible, to hold that
Fencer's Arm but a Moment.
Cæ.
If I had a Thunder-bolt in my Hand I cou'd
tell who should fall.
Marsh.
Sound Trumpets, and set forward Combatants.
[Trumpets sound.
Char.
Come, Sir, I'll whip you from your foining Fence,
Spight of your May of Youth and Bloom of Blood.
Orl.
You promise well, come on, Sir, this to try
How well your Acts and Words agree.
[they fight,
[Charles is wounded by Orlando, and falls.
Duke.
Part 'em—No more of this;
He bleeds, he faints, how doest thou, Charles.
Le-Beu.
He can not speak, my Liege,
Duke,
Bear him away; What is thy Name young Man?
-- 12 --
Orl.
Orlando, Sir, a younger Son of Sir Rowland du Bois.
Duke.
I wou'd thou hadst been Son to some Man else,
The World esteem'd thy Father honourable,
But I did find him still mine Enemy;
Thou shouldst have better pleas'd me with this Deed,
Hadst thou descended from another House;
But fare thee well, thou art a gallant Youth:
I wou'd thou hadst told me of another Father.
Now break we up the Lists; Marshal, Record
The Appeal, and the Success.
[Exit Duke and Attendants.
Orlando, Cælia, Rosalind, Le-Beu.
Orl.
Yes, I am proud to be Sir Rowland's Son,
His younger Son, nor wou'd I change that Name,
To be adopted Heir to Frederick.
Ros. to Cæ.
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,
I should have added Tears unto my Wishes
For his Success.
Cæ.
—Gentle Cousin,
Let us go thank him, and encourage him,
My Father's rough and envious Disposition
Sticks me at Heart: [to Orl.] Sir, you have well deserv'd,
If you do keep your Promises in Love,
But justly, as you have exceeded all in Prowess,
Your Mistress will be happy.
Ros.
Sir, you will wear this for me:
[giving him a Favour.
One out of Fortune's Favour that wou'd give more,
but that her Hand lack Means. Shall we go,
Cousin?
-- 13 --
Cæ.
Aye!—Fare you well, Sir.
Orl.
Can I not say, I thank you? My better Parts
Are all thrown down, and that which here stands up
Is but a Statue, a meer Lifeless Block.
Ros. returning.
He calls us back: My Pride fell with my Fortunes,
I'll ask him what he wou'd—Did you call, Sir?
Sir, you have fought it well, and overthrown
More than your Enemies.
Cæ.
Will you go, Cousin?
Ros.
Have with you—Fare you well.
[Exeunt Cælia and Rosalind.
Orlando, Le-Beu.
Orl.
What Passion hangs these Weights upon my Tongue,
I cannot speak to her, yet she urged Conference,
Oh! poor Orlando, thou art overthrown,
And something, weaker than Charles, masters thee.
I pray ye tell me, Sir, which of these Ladies
Is Daughter to the Duke?
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,
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 against his gentle Niece,
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.
[Exeunt.
-- 14 --
Scene 3
SCENE a Chamber.
Cælia and Rosalind.
Cæ.
Why, Cousin! why, Rosalind! Cupid have
Mercy! Not a Word?
Ros.
Not one to throw at a Dog.
Cæ.
No; thy Words are too precious to be thrown
away upon Curs, throw some of them at me; come,
lame me with Reasons! But is all this Melancholly
for your Father?
Ros.
No, some of it is for my Child's Father:
Oh! how full of Briers is this Working-day World.
Cæ.
They are but Burrs, Cousin, thrown upon
thee in Holy-day Foolery; if we walk in the trodden
Paths our very Petticoats will catch 'em.
Ros.
I cou'd shake them off my Coat; these Burrs
are in my Heart.
Cæ.
Hem them away.
Ros.
I wou'd try, if I cou'd cry Hem, and have
him.
Cæ.
Come, come, you must, like a good Christian,
War with your Affections.
Ros.
Alas! they take the Part of a better Warrior
than myself.
Cæ.
Is it then possible, that so suddenly you
should fall into so strange a liking of old Sir Rowland's
younger Son?
Ros.
The Duke my Father loved his Father dearly.
Cæ.
Does 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.
Cæ.
Why should I not? Does he not deserve it?
-- 15 --
Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords.
Ros.
Let me love him for that, and do you love
him because I do; look ye, here comes the Duke,
your Father,
Cæ.
With his Eyes full of Anger.
Duke to Ros.
Mistress, dispatch you with your safest Haste,
And get you from our Court.
Ros.
Me! Uncle?
Duke.
You, Cousin; if thou art found within ten
Days, 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 myself I hold Intelligence,
Or have acquaintance with my own Desires,
If that I do not dream, or be not frantick,
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 itself;
Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not.
Ros.
Yet your Mistrust can not make me a Traitor,
Tell me, whereon the likelyhood depends?
Duke.
Thou art thy Father's Daughter, that's enough.
Ros.
So was I when your Highness took his Dukedom,
So was I when your Highness banish'd him,
Treason is not inherited, my Lord.
Cæ.
Dear Sovereign, hear me speak.
Duke.
Aye, Cælia, we stay'd her for your Sake,
Else had she with her Father rang'd along,
I will not be intreated, not a Word,
-- 16 --
Firm and irrevocable is the Doom
Which I have pass'd upon her, she is banish'd.
Cæ.
Pronounce that Sentence then on me, my Liege,
I can not live out of her Company.
Duke.
You are a Fool—You, Niece, provide yourself,
If you out stay the Time, upon my Honour,
And in the Greatness of my Word, you die.
Exit Duke and Lord.
Cælia and Rosalind.
Cæ.
Oh my poor Rosalind! whither wou't thou go,
I charge thee be not thou more griev'd than I am.
Ros.
I have more Cause.
Cæ.
—Thou hast not, Cousin,
Prithee be chearful, knowest thou not the Duke
Hath banish'd me his Daughter?
Ros.
That he hath not.
Cæ.
No! Hath not? Rosalind lacks then the Love
Which should teach her that she and I are one,
Shall we be sundred? Shall we part sweet Girl?
No, let my Father seek another Heir:
Therefore devise with me how we may fly,
Whither to go, and what to bear with us,
And do not seek to take the Charge upon you,
To bear your Griefs yourself, and leave me out;
For by this Heaven, now as our Sorrows pale,
Say what thou can'st I'll go along with thee.
Ros.
—Why whither shall we go?
Cæ.
To seek my uncle, in the Forrest of Arden.
Ros.
Alass! what Danger will it be to us,
(Maids as we are) to travel forth so far?
Beauty provoketh Thieves sooner than Gold.
Cæ.
I'll put myself in poor and mean Attire,
And with a Kind of Umber smut my Face,
-- 17 --
The like do you, so shall we pass along
And never stir Assailants.
Ros.
—Were it not better,
That I did suit me in all Points like a Man,
A gallant Cutlass 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 Swaggering and Martial Outside,
As many other Mannish Cowards have
That do out-face it with their Semblances.
Cæ.
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 call'd?
Cæ.
Something that has a Reference to my State,
No longer Cælia, but Aliena.
Ros.
—Let's away,
And get our Jewels and our Wealth together,
Devise the fittest, and the 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.
The End of the First ACT.
-- 18 --
Charles Johnson [1723], Love in a Forest. A comedy. As it is Acted at the Theatre Royal in Drury-Lane, By His Majesty's Servants... By Mr. Johnson (Printed for W. Chetwood... and Tho. Edlin [etc.], London) [word count] [S37000].
