William Shakespeare The Complete Works (37 plays, 160 sonnets and 5 Poetry Books With Active Table of Contents). William Shakespeare
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Scene III
Enter Celia and Rosalind.
Cel. Why, cousin, why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy, not a word?
Ros. Not one to throw at a dog.
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 lam’d with reasons, and the other mad without any.
Cel. But is all this for your father?
Ros. No, some of it is for my child’s father. O how full of briers 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, wrastle with thy affections.
Ros. O, they take the part of a better wrastler 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 dearly; yet I hate not Orlando.
Ros. No, faith, hate him not, for my sake.
Cel. Why should I not? Doth he not deserve well?
Enter Duke [Frederick] with Lords.
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.
Duke F.
Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste,
And get you from our court.
Ros.
Me, uncle?
Duke F.
You, cousin.
Within these ten days if that thou beest 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 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, 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 subtile for thee, and her smoothness,
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 virtuous
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. You, niece, provide yourself;
If you outstay the time, upon mine honor,
And in the greatness of my word, you die.
Exit Duke [with Lords].
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,
Prithee be cheerful. Know’st thou not the Duke