« IndietroContinua »
And pity her for her good father's fake;
Reenter Celia, and Rofalind.
Cel. Why, coufin, why, Rofalind; Cupid have mercy! not a word?
Rof. Not one to throw at a dog.
Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be caft away upon curs, throw fome of them at me; come, lame me with reasons.
Rof. Then there were two coufins lay'd up; when the one fhould be lam'd with reafons, and the other mad without any.
Cel. But is all this for your father?
Rof. No, fome of it is for my father's child. O, how full of briers is this working-day-world!
Cel. They are but burs, coufin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery; if we walk not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats will catch them.
Rof. I could fhake them off my coat; thefe burs are in my heart.
Cel. Hem them away.
Rof. I would try, if I could cry, hem, and have him.
Rof. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself. Cel. O, a good with upon you! you will try in time, in despite of a fall: but, turning these jefts out of fervice, let us talk in good earneft: is it poffible, on fuch a fudden, you should fall into fo ftrong a liking with old fir Rowland's youngest fon?
Rof. The duke my father lov'd his father dearly.
Cel. Doth it therefore enfue, that you should love his fon dearly? by this kind of chase I should hate him; for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando.
Rof. No, 'faith; hate him not, for my fake.
Enter Duke, with Lords.
Rof. 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, despatch you with fafest hafte,
And get you from our court.
Within these ten days if that thou be'st found
Rof. I do befeech your grace,
Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me:
If with myself I hold intelligence,
Or have acquaintance with my own defires,
Duke. Thus do all traitors;
If their purgation did confift in words,
Rof. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor;
Duke. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's enough.
So was I when your highness banish'd him :
Or, if we did derive it from our friends,
Cel. Dear fovereign, hear me speak.
Duke. Ay, Celia, we but stay'd her for your sake,
Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay;
Duke. She is too fubtle for thee; and her fmoothness,
Her very filence, and her patience,
Speak to the people, and they pity her:
Thou art a fool; fhe robs thee of thy name,
And thou wilt show more bright, and feem more virtuous
Firm and irrevocable is my doom,
Which I have pass'd upon her; fhe is banish'd.
Cel. Pronounce that fentence then on me, my liege;
Duke. You are a fool: you, neice, provide yourself;
[Exe. Duke, &c.
Cel. O my poor Rofalind! where wilt thou go?
Rof. I have more cause.
Cel. Thou haft not, dearest coufin;
Pr'ythee, be cheerful; know'ft thou not, the duke
Rof. That he hath not.
Cel. No? hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love
And do not seek to take your charge upon you,
Cel. To feek my uncle in the forest of Arden.
Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire,
Rof. Were't not better,
Because that I am more than common tall,
A boar-spear in my hand, and (in my heart
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 affay'd to steal The clownish fool out of your father's court? Would he not be a comfort to our tavel?
Cel. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me.
ACT II. SCENE I.
Enter Duke fenior, Amiens, and two or three Lords like forefters. DUKE Senior.
OW, my comates, and brothers in exile,
Hath not old cuftom made this life more fweet
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,