As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed me by will but

poor a thousand crowns, and, as thou sayst, charged my brother, on his

blessing, to breed me well; and there begins my sadness. My brother

Jaques he keeps at school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit.

For my part, he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more

properly, stays me here at home unkept; for call you that keeping, for

a gentleman of my birth, that differs not from the stalling of an ox?

His horses are bred better, for, besides that they are fair with their

feeding, they are taught their manage and to that end riders dearly

hired; but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth, for the

which his animals on his dunghills are as much bound to him as I.

Besides this nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the something

that nature gave me his countenance seems to take from me. He lets me

feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a brother, and as much as in

him lies, mines my gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that

grieves me, and the spirit of my father, which I think is within me,

begins to mutiny against this servitude. I will no longer endure it,

though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it.

Yonder comes my master, your brother.

Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up.

Now, sir, what make you here?

Nothing. I am not taught to make anything.

What mar you then, sir?

Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a poor

unworthy brother of yours, with idleness.

Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile.

Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them? What prodigal portion

have I spent that I should come to such penury?

Know you where you are, sir?

O, sir, very well: here in your orchard.

Know you before whom, sir?

Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I know you are my eldest

brother, and in the gentle condition of blood you should so know me.

The courtesy of nations allows you my better in that you are the

first-born, but the same tradition takes not away my blood, were there

twenty brothers betwixt us. I have as much of my father in me as you,

albeit I confess your coming before me is nearer to his reverence.

What, boy!

Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this.

Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?

I am no villain. I am the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys; he was

my father, and he is thrice a villain that says such a father begot

villains. Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy

throat till this other had pulled out thy tongue for saying so. Thou

has railed on thyself.

[_Coming forward_.] Sweet masters, be patient. For your father’s

remembrance, be at accord.

Let me go, I say.

I will not till I please. You shall hear me. My father charged you in

his will to give me good education. You have trained me like a peasant,

obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities. The spirit

of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer endure it.

Therefore allow me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me

the poor allottery my father left me by testament; with that I will go

buy my fortunes.

And what wilt thou do? Beg when that is spent? Well, sir, get you in. I

will not long be troubled with you. You shall have some part of your

will. I pray you leave me.

I no further offend you than becomes me for my good.

Get you with him, you old dog.

Is “old dog” my reward? Most true, I have lost my teeth in your

service. God be with my old master. He would not have spoke such a

word.

Is it even so? Begin you to grow upon me? I will physic your rankness,

and yet give no thousand crowns neither. Holla, Dennis!

Calls your worship?

Was not Charles, the Duke’s wrestler, here to speak with me?

So please you, he is here at the door and importunes access to you.

Call him in.

’Twill be a good way, and tomorrow the wrestling is.

Good morrow to your worship.

Good Monsieur Charles. What’s the new news at the new court?

There’s no news at the court, sir, but the old news. That is, the old

Duke is banished by his younger brother the new Duke, and three or four

loving lords have put themselves into voluntary exile with him, whose

lands and revenues enrich the new Duke; therefore he gives them good

leave to wander.

Can you tell if Rosalind, the Duke’s daughter, be banished with her

father?

O, no; for the Duke’s daughter, her cousin, so loves her, being ever

from their cradles bred together, that she would have followed her

exile or have died to stay behind her. She is at the court and no less

beloved of her uncle than his own daughter, and never two ladies loved

as they do.

Where will the old Duke live?

They say he is already in the Forest of Arden, and a many merry men

with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England. They

say many young gentlemen flock to him every day and fleet the time

carelessly, as they did in the golden world.

What, you wrestle tomorrow before the new Duke?

Marry, do I, sir, and I came to acquaint you with a matter. I am given,

sir, secretly to understand that your younger brother Orlando hath a

disposition to come in disguised against me to try a fall. Tomorrow,

sir, I wrestle for my credit, and he that escapes me without some

broken limb shall acquit him well. Your brother is but young and

tender, and for your love I would be loath to foil him, as I must for

my own honour if he come in. Therefore, out of my love to you, I came

hither to acquaint you withal, that either you might stay him from his

intendment, or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into, in that

it is a thing of his own search and altogether against my will.

Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt find I will

most kindly requite. I had myself notice of my brother’s purpose

herein, and have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him from it;

but he is resolute. I’ll tell thee, Charles, it is the stubbornest

young fellow of France, full of ambition, an envious emulator of every

man’s good parts, a secret and villainous contriver against me his

natural brother. Therefore use thy discretion. I had as lief thou didst

break his neck as his finger. And thou wert best look to’t; for if thou

dost him any slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace himself on

thee, he will practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by some

treacherous device, and never leave thee till he hath ta’en thy life by

some indirect means or other. For I assure thee (and almost with tears

I speak it) there is not one so young and so villainous this day

living. I speak but brotherly of him, but should I anatomize him to

thee as he is, I must blush and weep, and thou must look pale and

wonder.

I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come tomorrow I’ll give

him his payment. If ever he go alone again I’ll never wrestle for prize

more. And so, God keep your worship.

Farewell, good Charles. Now will I stir this gamester. I hope I shall

see an end of him; for my soul—yet I know not why—hates nothing more

than he. Yet he’s gentle, never schooled and yet learned, full of noble

device, of all sorts enchantingly beloved, and indeed so much in the

heart of the world, and especially of my own people, who best know him,

that I am altogether misprized. But it shall not be so long; this

wrestler shall clear all. Nothing remains but that I kindle the boy

thither, which now I’ll go about.