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

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

Cel. But is all this for your father?

Ros. No, some of it for my child's father1. O, how full of briars is this working-day world!

Cel. 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.

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

Cel. Hem them away.

Ros. I would try: if I could cry hem, and have him. Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. Ros. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself.

Cel. 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?

Ros. The duke my father lov'd his father dearly. Cel. 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 dearly2; yet I hate not Orlando.

1 Thus the old copies. Rowe transposed the phrase to 66 my father's child," and Coleridge says, "who can doubt that (the old reading) was a mistake for "my father's child," meaning herself. I do not venture, however, to alter the text, having regard to other speeches of Rosalind, which render this as it stands anything but an impossibility. Rosalind playfully means no more than my future husband.

Shakespeare's use of dear in a double sense has been already illustrated. See note on Twelfth Night, Act v. Sc. i.

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

Cel. Why should I not? doth he not deserve well? Ros. 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.

Enter Duke FREDERICK, with Lords.

Duke F. Mistress, dispatch you with your safest3

Within these ten days if that thou beʼst found
So near our public 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 mine own desires;
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.

Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor : Tell me, whereon the likelihood depends.

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

Ros. So was I, when your highness took his duke

dom;

So was I, when your highness banish'd him :

Safest, probably a misprint for swiftest.

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.

Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak.

Duke F. Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake, Else had she 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 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 smooth

ness,

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 vir

tuous,

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.
Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege :

I cannot live out of her company.

Duke F. You are a fool:

yourself;

You, niece, provide

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

[Exeunt Duke FREDERICK and Lords.
Remorse, i. e. pity, compassion. So in Macbeth :-
"Stop the access and passage to remorse."

Cel. O my poor Rosalind! whither wilt thou go? Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine. I charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than I am. Ros. I have more cause.

Cel. Thou hast not, cousin ; Pr'ythee, be cheerful: know'st thou not, the duke Hath banish'd me, his daughter?

Ros.

Cel. No hath not? Which teacheth thee

That he hath not.

Rosalind! lacks then the love

that thou and I am one:

Shall we be sunder'd? 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 at our sorrows pale,
Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee.
Ros. Why, whither shall we go ?

Cel. To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden.
Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to us,
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far!
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.

Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire,
And with a kind of umber8 smirch my face;
The like do you; so shall we pass along,

6 Warburton would read me instead of thee, but there is no doubt that the old text is right. "No hath not?" is an idiom which has been ably and amply illustrated by the Rev. Mr. Arrowsmith in Notes and Queries, vol. vii. p. 520 See note on K. John, Act iv. Sc. 2, where Hubert uses a similar phrase, "No had, my Lord?" Perhaps we should read thou and I are one; am and are, in old writing, are easily mistaken for each other.

7 The first folio reads,

"And do not seek to take your change upon you." The second folio rightly corrects change to charge. Whoever glances at the passage must see that the printer has here again mistaken ye charge of the MS. for y' change.

"A kind of umber," a dusky yellow-coloured earth, brought

Were it not better,

And never stir assailants.

Ros.
Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did suit me all points like a man?
A gallant curtle-axe9 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 10 and a martial outside ;
As many other mannish cowards have,

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 call'd?

Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state; No longer Celia, but Aliena.

Ros. But, cousin, what if we essay'd 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;
Devise the fittest time, and 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.

from Umbria in Italy, well known to artists. In the chorus to King Henry V. we have:

"The battle's umber'd face."

9 This was one of the old words for a cutlass, a short crooked sword, coutelas, French. It was variously spelled courtlas, courtlax, curtlax. So in Fairefaxe's Tasso, b. ix. st. 82:

"His curtlax on his thigh, short crooked fine."

66

10 Swashing here means swaggering, see Cotgrave in v. "Maheustre," as we now say, dashing. To swash is interpreted by Torriano," Strepitar con l'arme." Hence, a swash buckler was a swaggerer, a bragging toss-blade," a Captain Slash, according to the same authority.