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Orchard of OLIVER'S house.

As I remember, Adam, it was upon
this fashion bequeathed me by will but poor a
thousand crowns, and, as thou sayest, 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 proerly,
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 lies, 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 against this servitude: I will no longer
endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy
how to avoid it.

Yonder comes my master, your brother.

Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear (30)
how he will shake me up. Enter OLIVER.

Now, sir! what make you here?

Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing.

What mar you then, sir?

Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar
that which God made, a poor unworthy
brother of yours, with idleness.

Marry, sir, be better employed, and (39)
be naught awhile.

Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks
with them? What prodigal portion have I
spent, that I should come to such penury?

Know you where you are, sir?

O, sir, very well; here in your orchard.

Know you before whom, sir?

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 courtesy of nations
allows you my better, in that you are the firsborn;
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.

What, boy!

Come, come, elder brother, you are
too young in this.

Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?

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 pulled out thy tongue
for saying so: thou hast railed on thyself.

Sweet masters, be patient: for your
father's remembrance, be at accord.

Let me go, I say.

I will not, till I please: you shall hear
me. My father charged you in his will to give
me good education: you have trained me 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.

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.

I will no further offend you than becomes
me for my good.

Get you with him, you old dog.

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. [Exeunt Orlando and Adam.

Is it even so? begin you to grow
upon me? I will physic your rankness, and yet
give no thousand crowns neither. Holla, Dennis! Enter DENNIS.

Calls your worship?

Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler,
here to speak with me?

So please you, he is here at the
door and importunes access to you.

Call him in. [Exit Dennis.]
'Twill be
a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is. Enter CHARLES.

Good morrow to your worship.

Good Monsieur Charles, what's the
new news at the new court?

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 voluntary exile with him, whose lands
and revenues enrich the new duke; therefore
he gives them good leave to wander.

Can you tell if Rosalind, the duke's (111)
daughter, be banished with her father?

O, no; for the duke's daughter, her
cousin, so 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. (119)

Where will the old duke live?

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
carelessly, as they did in the golden world.

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

Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint
you with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly
to understand that your younger brother
Orlando hath a disposition to come in disguised
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 my own honor, 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.

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
labored to dissuade him from it, but he is resolute.
I'll tell thee, Charles: it 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: 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, 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 must blush
and weep and thou must look pale and

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

Farewell, good Charles. [Exit 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 schooled and yet learned, full of
noble device, of all sorts enchantingly beloved,
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 (180)
the boy thither; which now I'll go about. [Exit.


Lawn before the DUKE's palace.

I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz,
be merry.

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 banished father, you must not learn me
how to remember any extraordinary pleasure.

Herein I see thou lovest me not with
the full weight that I love thee. If my uncle,
thy banished father, had banished thy uncle,
the duke my father, so 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 so righteously
tempered as mine is to thee.

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

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
honor, I will; and when I break that
oath, let me turn monster: therefore, my sweet
Rose, my dear Rose, be merry.

From henceforth I will, coz, and devise
sports. Let me see; what think you of
falling in love?

Marry, I prithee, 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 mayst in honor come off

What shall be our sport, then?

Let us sit and mock the good housewife
Fortune from her wheel, that her gifts
may henceforth be bestowed equally.

I would we could do so, for her benefits
are mightily misplaced, and the bountiful
blind woman doth most mistake in her gifts to

'Tis true; for those that she makes
fair she scarce makes honest, and those that
she makes honest she makes very ill-favoredly.

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 TOUCHSTONE.

No? when Nature hath made a fair
creature, may she not by Fortune fall into the
fire? That Nature hath given us wit to flout
at Fortune, hath not Fortune sent in this fool (50)
to cut off the argument?

Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for
Nature, when Fortune makes Nature's natural
the cutter-off of Nature's wit.

Peradventure this is not Fortune's
work neither, but Nature's; who perceiveth
our natural wits too dull to reason of such
goddesses and hath sent this natural for our
whetstone; for always the dulness of the fool
is the whetstone of the wits. How now, wit!
whither wander you? (61)

Mistress, you must come away to your father.

Were you made the messenger?

No, by mine honor, but I was bid
to come for you.

Where learned you that oath, fool?

Of a certain knight that swore by
his honor they were good pancakes and swore
by his honor the mustard was naught: now
I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught and
the mustard was good, and yet was not the (71)
knight forsworn.

How prove you that, in the great heap
of your knowledge?

Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom.

Stand you both forth now: stroke
your chins, and swear by your beards that I
am a knave.

By our beards, if we had them, thou art.

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 honor, for he never
had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away
before ever he saw those pancakes or that

Prithee, who is't that thou meanest?

One that old Frederick, your father,

My father's love is enough to honor
him: enough! speak no more of him; you'll (91)
be whipped for taxation one of these days.

The more pity, that fools may not
speak wisely what wise men do foolishly.

By my troth, thou sayest true; for
since the little wit that fools have was silenced,
the little foolery that wise men have makes a
great show. Here comes Monsieur Le Beau.

With his mouth full of news.

Which he will put on us, as pigeons (100)
feed their young.

Then shall we be news-crammed.

All the better; we shall be the more
marketable. Enter LE BEAU.
Bon jour, Monsieur Le Beau: what's the news?

Le Beau.
Fair princess, you have lost much
good sport.

Sport! of what color?

Le Beau.
What color, madam! how shall
I answer you? (110)

As wit and fortune will.

Or as the Destinies decree.

Well said: that was laid on with a

Nay, if I keep not my rank,--

Thou losest thy old smell.

Le Beau.
You amaze me, ladies: I would
have told you of good wrestling, which you
have lost the sight of.

Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling.

Le Beau.
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.

Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried.

Le Beau.
There comes an old man and his
three sons,--

I could match this beginning with an
old tale.

Le Beau.
Three proper young men, of excellent (130)
growth and presence.

With bills on their necks, 'Be it
known unto all men by these presents.'

Le Beau.
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 served the second, and so
the third. Yonder they lie; the poor old man,
their father, making such pitiful dole over (140)
them that all the beholders take his part with weeping.


But what is the sport, monsieur,
that the ladies have lost?

Le Beau.
Why, this that I speak of.

Thus men may grow wiser every
day: it is the first time that ever I heard
breaking of ribs was sport for ladies.

Or I, I promise thee.

But is there any else longs to see this
broken music in his sides? is there yet another
dotes upon rib-breaking? Shall we see
this wrestling, cousin?

Le Beau.
You must, if you stay here; for
here is the place appointed for the wrestling,
and they are ready to perform it.

Yonder, sure, they are coming: let us
now stay and see it. Flourish. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, ORLANDO, CHARLES, and Attendants.

Duke F.
Come on: since the youth will
not be entreated, his own peril on his forwardness. (160)

Is yonder the man?

Le Beau.
Even he, madam.

Alas, he is too young! yet he looks

Duke F.
How now, daughter and cousin!
are you crept hither to see the wrestling ?

Ay, my liege, so please you give us

Duke F.
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.

Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau.

Duke F.
Do so: I 'll not be by.

Le Beau.
Monsieur the challenger, the princesses
call for you.

I attend them with all respect and duty.

Young man, have you challenged (179)
Charles the wrestler?

No, fair princess; he is the general
challenger: I come but in, as others do, to try
with him the strength of my youth.

Young gentleman, your spirits are too
bold for your years. You have seen cruel proof
of this man's strength: if you saw yourself
with your eyes or knew yourself with your
judgement, the fear of your adventure would
counsel you to a more equal enterprise. We
pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your (190)
own safety and give over this attempt.

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.

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 foiled, there is but one shamed that was
never gracious; if killed, but one dead that
was willing to be so: I shall do my friends no
wrong, for I have none to lament me, the
world no injury, for in it I have nothing; only
in the world I fill up a place, which may be
better supplied when I have made it empty.

The little strength that I have, I would
it were with you.

And mine, to eke out hers.

Fare you well: pray heaven I be deceived (210)
in you!

Your heart's desires be with you!

Come, where is this young gallant
that is so desirous to lie with his mother earth?

Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a
more modest working.

Duke F.
You shall try but one fall.

No, I warrant your grace, you shall
not entreat him to a second, that have so (219)
mightily persuaded him from a first.

An you mean to mock me after, you
should not have mocked me before: but come
your ways.

Now Hercules be thy speed, young man!

I would I were invisible, to catch the
strong fellow by the leg. [They wrestle.

O excellent young man!

If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I
can tell who should down. [Shout. Charles is thrown.

Duke F.
No more, no more. (230)

Yes, I beseech your grace: I am not yet well breathed.

Duke F.
How dost thou, Charles?

Le Beau.
He cannot speak, my lord.

Duke F.
Bear him away. What is thy name, young man?

Orlando, my liege; the youngest son
of Sir Rowland de Boys.

Duke F.
I would thou hadst been son to some man else:

The world esteem'd thy father honorable,

But I did find him still mine enemy:

Thou shouldst have better pleased 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. [Exeunt Duke Fred., train, and Le Beau.

Were I my father, coz, would I do this?

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.

My father loved 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 given him tears unto entreaties,

Ere he should thus have ventured.

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 deserved:

If you do keep your promises in love

But justly, as you have exceeded all promise,

Your mistress shall be happy.

Gentleman, [Giving him a chain from her neck.

Wear this for me, one out of suits with fortune,

That could give more, but that her hand lacks means.

Shall we go, coz?

Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman. (261)

Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts

Are all thrown down, and that which here stands up

Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block.

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.

Will you go, coz?

Have with you. Fare you well. [Exeunt Rosalind and Celia.

What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue?

I cannot speak to her, yet she urged conference. (271)

O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown!

Or Charles or something weaker masters thee. Re-enter LE BEAU.

Le Beau.
Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you

To leave this place. Albeit you have deserved

High commendation, true applause and love,

Yet such is now the duke's condition

That he misconstrues all that you have done.

The duke is humorous: what he is indeed,

More suits you to conceive than I to speak of. (280)

I thank you, sir: and, pray you, tell me this;

Which of the two was daughter of the duke

That here was at the wrestling?

Le Beau.
Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners;

But yet indeed the lesser 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 'gainst his gentle niece, (291)

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.

I rest much bounden to you: fare you well. [Exit Le Beau.

Thus must I from the smoke into the smother; (300)

From tyrant duke unto a tyrant brother:

But heavenly Rosalind! [Exit.


A room in the palace.

Why, cousin! why, Rosalind! Cupid
have mercy! not a word?

Not one to throw at a dog.

No, thy words are too precious to be
cast away upon curs; throw some of them at
me; come, lame me with reasons.

Then there were two cousins laid up;
when the one should be lamed with reasons
and the other mad without any. (10)

But is all this for your father?

No, some of it is for my child's father.
O, how full of briers is this working-day world!

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.

I could shake them off my coat:
these burs are in my heart.

Hem them away. (20)

I would try, if I could cry 'hem' and have him.

Come, come, wrestle with thy affections.

O, they take the part of a better wrestler
than myself!

O, a good wish upon you! you will
try in time, in despite 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 strong a liking with old Sir
Rowland's youngest son?

The duke my father loved his father (31)

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.

No, faith, hate him not, for my sake.

Why should I not? doth he not deserve

Let me love him for that, and do you
love him because I do. Look, here comes the (41)

With his eyes full of anger. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords.

Duke F.
Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste

And get you from our court.

Me, uncle?

Duke F.
You, cousin:

Within these ten days if that thou be'st found

So near our public court as twenty miles,

Thou diest for it.

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 mine own desires, (51)

If that I do not dream or be not frantic,--

As I do trust I am not--then, dear uncle,

Never so much as in a thought unborn

Did I offend your highness.

Duke F.
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.

Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor:

Tell me whereon the likelihood depends. (60)

Duke F.
Thou art thy father's daughter; there's enough.

So was I when your highness took his dukedom;

So was I when your highness banish'd him:

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.

Dear sovereign, hear me speak.

Duke F.
Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake, (70)

Else had she with her father ranged along.

I did not then entreat to have her stay;

It was your pleasure and your own remorse:

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, play'd, eat together,

And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans,

Still we went coupled and inseparable.

Duke F.
She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness, (80)

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 pass'd upon her; she is banish'd.

Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege:

I cannot live out of her company.

Duke F.
You are a fool. You, niece, provide yourself: (90)

If you outstay the time, upon mine honor,

And in the greatness of my word, you die. [Exeunt Duke Frederick and Lords.

O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt thou go ?

Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine.

I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than I am.

I have more cause.

Thou hast not, cousin;

Prithee, be cheerful: know'st thou not, the duke

Hath banish'd me, his daughter?

That he hath not.

No, hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love

Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one:

Shall we be sunder'd? shall we part, sweet girl? (101)

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 your change upon you,

To bear your griefs yourself and leave me out;

For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale,

Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee.

Why, whither shall we go? (109)

To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden.

Alas, what danger will it be to us,

Maids as we are, to travel forth so far!

Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.

I'll put myself in poor and mean attire

And with a kind of umber smirch my face;

The like do you: so shalt we pass along

And never stir assailants.

Were it not better,

Because that I am more than common tall,

That I did suit me all points like a man? (119)

A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh,

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.

What shall I call thee when thou art a man?

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?

Something that hath a reference to my state (130)

No longer Celia, but Aliena.

But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal

The clownish fool out of your father's court?

Would he not be a comfort to our travel?

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 (139)

After my flight. Now go we in content

To liberty and not to banishment. [Exeunt.

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