If

you do keep your promises in love,

But juftly as you have exceeded all promife,
Your mistress fhall be happy.

Rof. Gentleman,

Wear this for me; one out of fuits with fortune,

8

That could give more, but that her hand lacks means. -Shall we go, coz? [Giving him a Chain from her Neck. Cel. Ay-Fare you well, fair gentleman.

Orla. Can I not fay, I thank you?—my better parts

Are all thrown down; and that, which here ftands up, Is but a quintaine, a meer lifeless block.

Rof. He calls us back-my pride fell with my for

tunes.

I'll afk him what he would.-Did you call, Sir?-
Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown

More than your enemies.
Cel. Will you go, coz?

Rof. Have with you

Fare you well. [Exeunt Rofalind and Celia. Orla. What paffion hangs thefe weights upon my

tongue?

I cannot speak to her; yet fhe urg'd conference.

8

one cut of fuits with fortune,] This feems an allufion to cards, where he that has no more cards to play of any particular fort is out of fuit.

9 Is but a quintaine, a meer lifeless block.] A Quintaine was a Poft or Butt fet up for feveral kinds of martial exercifes, against which they threw their darts and exercifed their arms. The allufion is beautiful, I am, fays Orlando, only a quintaine, a lifeless block on which love only exercifes his arms in jeft; the great disparity of condition between Rosalind and

me, not suffering me to hope that love will ever make a serious matter of it. The famous fatirift Regnier, who lived about the time of our author, ufes the fame metaphor, on the fame fubject, tho' the thought be different.

C 2

O

Enter Le Beu.

poor Orlando! thou art overthrown; Or Charles, or fomething weaker, mafters thee. Le Beu. Good Sir, I do in friendship counsel you To leave this place. Albeit you have deferv'd High commendation, true applause, and love; Yet fuch is now the Duke's condition,

That he misconstrues all that you have done.
The Duke is humorous; what he is, indeed,
More fuits you to conceive, than me to speak of.
Orla. 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 Beu. Neither his daughter, if we judge by man

ners;

But yet, indeed, the fhorter is his daughter.
The other's daughter to the banish'd Duke,
And here detain❜d by her ufurping Uncle
To keep his daughter company; whofe loves
Are dearer than the natural bond of fifters.
But I can tell you, that of late this Duke
Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle Niece;
Grounded upon no other argument,

But that the people praise her for her virtues,
And pity her for her good father's fake;
And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady
Will fuddenly break forth.-Sir, fare ye well;
Hereafter, in a better world than this,

I fhall defire more love and knowledge of you. [Exit.
Orla. I reft much bounden to you: fare ye well!
Thus muft I from the fmoke into the fmother;

From tyrant Duke unto a tyrant Brother:
But, heav'nly Rofalind!

[Exit.

Antonio the Merchant of Venice, is called by his friend the best conditioned man.

SCENE

Cel

Changes to an Apartment in the Palace.

Re-enter Celia and Rofalind.

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 reafons.

Rof. Then there were two Coufins laid up; when the one fhould be lam'd with Reasons, and the other mad without any.

Cel. But is all this for your father?

2

Rof. No, fome of it is for my father's child. Oh, how full of briars 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; these burs are in my heart.

Cel. Hem them away.

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

Cel. O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in defpight 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 Sir Rowland's youngest fon?

Rof. The Duke my father lov'd his father dearly.

2- for my father's child.] The by Mr. Theobald, for my future old Editions have it, for my child's husband.

father, that is, as it is explained

Cel. Doth it therefore enfue, that you fhould love his fon dearly? by this kind of chafe, I fhould hate him; for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando.

Rof. No, faith, hate him not, for my fake.
Cel. Why fhould I? doth he not deserve well?

SCENE IX.

Enter Duke, with Lords.

Rof. Let me love him for that; and do you lové him, becaufe I do. Look, here comes the Duke. Cel. With his eyes full of anger.

Duke. Miftrefs, difpatch you with your fafest hafte, And get you from our Court.

Rof. Me, Uncle !

Duke. You, Coufin.

Within these ten days if that thou be'st found
So near our publick Court as twenty miles,
Thou dieft for it.

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;
If that I do not dream, or be not frantick,
As I do truft, I am not, then, dear Uncle,
Never fo much as in a thought unborn
Did I offend your Highness.

Duke. Thus do all traitors;

If their purgation did confift in words,
They are as innocent as grace itself.
Let it fuffice thee, that I trust thee not.

3 by this kind of chafe,] That is, by this way of flowing the argument. Dear is ufed by Sake/peare in a double fenfe, for beloved, and for hurtful, hated, baleful. Both fenfes are autho

rifed, and both drawn from etymology, but properly beloved is dear, and hateful is dere. Rfalind ufes dearly in the good, and Celia in the bad fenfe.

Rof

Ref. 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 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, 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 remorfe;
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; fhe 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 paft upon her.

She is banifh'd.

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

WARBURTON.

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

C 4

Cel.