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Rof. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor; Tell me whereon the likelihood depends.

Duke. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's enough. Rof. So was I, when your Highnefs took his Dukedom;

So was I, when your Highness banish'd him.
Treafon 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, miftake me not fo much,
To think my poverty is treacherous.

Cel. Dear Sovereign, hear me fpeak.
Duke. Ay, Celia, we but ftaid her for your fake;
Elfe had the with her father rang'd along.
Cel. 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 fhe be a traitor,
Why fo am I; we ftill have flept together,
Rofe at an inftant, learn'd, play'd, eat together;
And wherefoe'er we went, like Juno's Swans,
Still we went coupled, and infeparable.

Duke. She is too fubtle for thee; and her smoothness, Her very filence and her patience,

Speak to the people, and they pity her.

Thou art a fool; the robs thee of thy name,

And thou wilt fhow more bright, and feem 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.

4 And thou wilt fhew more bright, and SEEM more virtuous, This implies her to be fome how remarkably defective in virtue; which was not the speaker's. thought. The poet doubtlefs



and SHINE more virtuous.

i. e. her virtues would appear more fplendid when the luftre of her coufin's was away.


The plain meaning of the old and true reading is, that when she was seen alone, fhe would be more noted. Cel.

C 4

Cel. Pronounce that fentence then on me, my Liege; I cannot live out of her company.

Duke. You are a fool-You, Niece, provide your


If you out-stay the time, upon mine Honour,
And in the Greatnefs of my word, you die.

[Exeunt Duke, &c.


Cel. O my poor Rofalind; where wilt thou go?
Wilt thou change fathers! I will give thee mine:
I charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than I am.
Rof. I have more cause.

Cel. Thou haft not, coufin;

Pr'ythee, be cheerful; know'st thou not, the Duke
Has banifh'd me his daughter?

Rof. That he hath not.

Cel. No? hath not? Rofalind lacks then the love",
Which teacheth thee that thou and I are one.
Shall we be fundred? fhall we part, fweet Girl?
No, let my father feek another heir.

Therefore devife with me, how we may fly;
Whither to go, and what to bear with us;
And do not feek to take your change upon you,
To bear your griefs yourfelf, and leave me out :
For by this heav'n, now at our forrows pale,
Say what thou canft, I'll go along with thee.

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Rofalind lacks then the fenfe of the established text is not remote or obfcure. Where would be the abfurdity of faying, You know not the law which teaches you to do right.

love Which teacheth thee that thou

and I are one.] The poet certainly wrote which teacheth ME. For if Rofalind had learnt to think Celia one part of herfelf, fhe could not lack that love which Celia complains fhe does.

WARBURTON. Either reading may ftand. The


take your change upon you,] In all the later editions, from Mr. Rowe's to Dr. Warburton's, change is altered to charge, without any reason.


Rof. Why, whither fhall we go?

Cel. To feek my Uncle in the foreft of Arden.:
Rof. Alas, what danger will it be to us,
Maids as we are, to travel forth fo far!
Beauty provoketh thieves fooner than gold.
Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire,
And with a kind of umber fmirch my face;
The like do you; fo fhall we pafs along,
And never ftir affailants.

Ref. Were't not better,

Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did fuit me all points like a man?
A gallant Curtle-ax' upon my thigh,
A boar-fpear in my hand, and (in my heart
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will)
I'll have a swashing and a martial outside,
As many other mannish Cowards have,

That do outface it with their femblances.

Cel. What fhall I call thee, when thou art a man? Rof. 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.

Rof. But, Coufin, what if we affaid 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;
Devife the fitteft time, and fafeft way
To hide us from purfuit that will be made
After my flight: now go we in content
To Liberty, and not to Banifhment.

7 - curtle-axe, or cutlace, a broad fword.



I'll have] Sir T. Hanmer, for we'll have.




Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, and two or three Lords like Forefters..


DUKE fenior.

WOW, my co-mates, and brothers in exile,

Hath not old cuftom made this life more fweet
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 Seafons' difference; as, the icy fang,
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind;
Which, when it bites and blows upon my body,
Even 'till I fhrink with cold, I fmile, and fay,
This is no Flattery: thefe are Counsellors,
That feelingly perfuade me what I am.
Sweet are the ufes of Adverfity,

Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head *:
And this our life, exempt from pablick haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in ftones, and good in every thing.

In former editions, Here feel we not the Penalty.] What was the Penalty of Adam, hinted at by our Poet? The being fenfible of the Difference of the Seafons. The Duke fays, the Cold and Effects of the Winter feelingly perfuade him what he is. How does he not then feel the Penalty? Doubtlefs, the Téxt must be reftor'd as I have corrected it: and 'tis obvious in the Courfe of thefe Notes, how often not and but by Miltake have chang'd Place in

our Author's former Editions.

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Which, like the toad, ugly and


Wears yet a precious jewel in his

head:] It was the current opinion in Shakespeare's time, that in the head of an old toad was to be found a stone, or pearl, to which great virtues were afcribed. This ftone has been often fought, but nothing has been found more than accidental or perhaps morbid indurations of the skull.

Ami. I would not change it *. Happy is your Grace, That can tranflate the ftubbornnefs of fortune Into fo quiet and fo fweet a ftyle.

Duke Sen. Come, fhall we go and kill us venifon? And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools, Being native burghers of this defert city, Should in their own Confines, with forked heads Have their round haunches goar'd,

1 Lord. Indeed, my Lord,

The melancholy Jaques grieves at that;
And in that kind fwears you do more ufurp
Than doth your brother, that hath banish'd you.
To day my Lord of Amiens, and myself,
Did fteal behind him, as he lay along
Under an oak, whofe antique root peeps out
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood;
To the which place a poor fequeftred ftag,
That from the hunters' aim had ta'en a hurt,
Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord,
The wretched Animal heav'd forth fuch groans
That their discharge did ftretch his leathern coat
Almost to bursting; and the big round tears
Cours'd one another down his innocent nofe
In piteous chafe; and thus the hairy fool,
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
Stood on th' extremeft verge of the fwift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.

Duke Sen. But what faid Jaques?
Did he not moralize this fpectacle?

1 Lord. O yes, into a thoufand fimilies.
First, for his weeping in the needlefs ftream;
Poor Deer, quoth he, thou mak'st a teftament
As worldlings do, giving thy fum of more
To that which had too much. Then being alone,
Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends:

* I would not change it.] Mr. and makes Amiens begin, Happy Upton, not without probability, is your Grace.

gives, these words to the duke,

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