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 boar-spear in my hand; and in my heart 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 Ganymede. But what will you be called? Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state; No longer Celia, but Aliena. Ros. But, cousin, what if we assayed 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; XCVII. W. Shakespeare. AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT II. SCENE I.-The Forest of Arden. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and two or three Lords, like foresters. Duke S. OW, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; And this our life exempt from public haunt Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones and good in every thing. I would not change it. Ami. Happy is your grace, That can translate the stubbornness of fortune Into so quiet and so sweet a style. Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison ? And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools, Being native burghers of this desert city, Should in their own confines with forked heads Have their round haunches gored. First Lord. Indeed, my lord, The melancholy Jaques grieves at that, And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp Did steal behind him as he lay along Under an oak whose antique root peeps out Coursed one another down his innocent nose Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, Duke S. But what said Jaques ? Did he not moralize this spectacle? First Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes. First, for his weeping into the needless stream ; 'Poor dear,' quoth he, 'thou makest a testament As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more To that which had too much :' then, being there alone, Left and abandoned of his velvet friends, "T is right:' quoth he 'thus misery doth part The flux of company :' anon a careless herd, And never stays to greet him; 'Ay,' quoth Jaques, In their assigned and native dwelling-place. Duke S. And did you leave him in this contemplation? Sec. Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and com menting Upon the sobbing deer. Duke S. Show me the place : I love to cope him in these sullen fits, For then he's full of matter. First Lord, I'll bring you to him straight. W. Shakespeare. Orl. XCVIII. AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT II. SCENE III.-Before OLIVER's house. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting. HO'S there? Adam. What, my young master? O my gentle master! O my sweet master! O you memory Of old Sir Rowland! why, what make you here? O, what a world is this, when what is comely Orl. Why, what's the matter? A dam. O unhappy youth ! Come not within these doors; within this roof The enemy of all your graces lives: Your brother-no, no brother; yet the son Yet not the son, I will not call him son Of him I was about to call his father Hath heard your praises, and this night he means And you within it if he fail of that, I overheard him and his practices. This is no place; this house is but a butchery : Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go? Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here. Orl. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food? Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce A thievish living on the common road? I rather will subject me to the malice Adam. But do not so. I have five hundred crowns, Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood, In all your business and necessities. Orl. O good old man, how well in thee appears |