Rof. 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 Highnefs took his Dukedom; So was I, when your Highness banish'd him. Or if we did derive it from our friends, Cel. Dear Sovereign, hear me fpeak. 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; the robs thee of thy name, And thou wilt fhow more bright, and feem more virtuous *, When she is gone. Then open not thy lips: Which I have past upon her. She is banish'd. 4 And thou wilt fhew more bright, and SEEM more virtuous, This implies her to be fome how remarkably defective in virtue; which was not the speaker's. thought. The poet doubtlefs wrote, - and SHINE more virtuous. i. e. her virtues would appear more fplendid when the luftre of her coufin's was away. WARBURTON. The plain meaning of the old and true reading is, that when she was seen alone, fhe would be more noted. Cel. C 4 Cel. Pronounce that fentence then on me, my Liege; I cannot live out of her company. Duke. You are a fool-You, Niece, provide your felf; If you out-stay the time, upon mine Honour, [Exeunt Duke, &c. SCENE X. Cel. O my poor Rofalind; where wilt thou go? Cel. Thou haft not, coufin; Pr'ythee, be cheerful; know'st thou not, the Duke Rof. That he hath not. Cel. No? hath not? Rofalind lacks then the love", Therefore devife with me, how we may fly; Rofalind lacks then the fenfe of the established text is not remote or obfcure. Where would be the abfurdity of faying, You know not the law which teaches you to do right. love Which teacheth thee that thou and I are one.] The poet certainly wrote which teacheth ME. For if Rofalind had learnt to think Celia one part of herfelf, fhe could not lack that love which Celia complains fhe does. WARBURTON. Either reading may ftand. The 6 take your change upon you,] In all the later editions, from Mr. Rowe's to Dr. Warburton's, change is altered to charge, without any reason. Rof. Rof. Why, whither fhall we go? Cel. To feek my Uncle in the foreft of Arden.: Ref. Were't not better, Because that I am more than common tall, That do outface it with their femblances. 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 affaid to steal The clownish Fool out of your father's Court? 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; 7 - curtle-axe, or cutlace, a broad fword. 8 [Exeunt. I'll have] Sir T. Hanmer, for we'll have. ACT ACT II. SCENE I. Arden FOREST. Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, and two or three Lords like Forefters.. N DUKE fenior. WOW, my co-mates, and brothers in exile, Hath not old cuftom made this life more fweet Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, In former editions, Here feel we not the Penalty.] What was the Penalty of Adam, hinted at by our Poet? The being fenfible of the Difference of the Seafons. The Duke fays, the Cold and Effects of the Winter feelingly perfuade him what he is. How does he not then feel the Penalty? Doubtlefs, the Téxt must be reftor'd as I have corrected it: and 'tis obvious in the Courfe of thefe Notes, how often not and but by Miltake have chang'd Place in our Author's former Editions. THEOBALD. Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head:] It was the current opinion in Shakespeare's time, that in the head of an old toad was to be found a stone, or pearl, to which great virtues were afcribed. This ftone has been often fought, but nothing has been found more than accidental or perhaps morbid indurations of the skull. Ami. I would not change it *. Happy is your Grace, That can tranflate the ftubbornnefs of fortune Into fo quiet and fo fweet a ftyle. Duke Sen. Come, fhall we go and kill us venifon? And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools, Being native burghers of this defert city, Should in their own Confines, with forked heads Have their round haunches goar'd, 1 Lord. Indeed, my Lord, The melancholy Jaques grieves at that; Duke Sen. But what faid Jaques? 1 Lord. O yes, into a thoufand fimilies. * I would not change it.] Mr. and makes Amiens begin, Happy Upton, not without probability, is your Grace. gives, these words to the duke, |