SCENE: OLIVER'S house; FREDERICK'S court; and the Forest of Arden  ACT I. SCENE I. Orchard of OLIVER'S house  Enter ORLANDO and ADAM    ORLANDO. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed     me by will but poor a thousand crowns, and, as thou say'st,     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     hir'd; 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.                             Enter OLIVER    ADAM. Yonder comes my master, your brother.   ORLANDO. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me     up.                                           [ADAM retires]   OLIVER. Now, sir! what make you here?   ORLANDO. Nothing; I am not taught to make any thing.   OLIVER. What mar you then, sir?   ORLANDO. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a     poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness.   OLIVER. Marry, sir, be better employed, and be nought awhile.   ORLANDO. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them? What     prodigal portion have I spent that I should come to such penury?   OLIVER. Know you where you are, sir?   ORLANDO. O, sir, very well; here in your orchard.   OLIVER. Know you before whom, sir?   ORLANDO. 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.   OLIVER. What, boy!                               [Strikes him]   ORLANDO. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this.   OLIVER. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?   ORLANDO. 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 pull'd out thy     tongue for saying so. Thou has rail'd on thyself.   ADAM. [Coming forward] Sweet masters, be patient; for your father's     remembrance, be at accord.   OLIVER. Let me go, I say.   ORLANDO. I will not, till I please; you shall hear me. My father     charg'd you in his will to give me good education: you have     train'd 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.   OLIVER. 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.   ORLANDO. I no further offend you than becomes me for my good.   OLIVER. Get you with him, you old dog.   ADAM. 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.                                          Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM   OLIVER. Is it even so? Begin you to grow upon me? I will physic     your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. Holla,     Dennis!                            Enter DENNIS    DENNIS. Calls your worship?   OLIVER. not Charles, the Duke's wrestler, here to speak with me?   DENNIS. So please you, he is here at the door and importunes access     to you.   OLIVER. Call him in. [Exit DENNIS] 'Twill be a good way; and     to-morrow the wrestling is.                            Enter CHARLES    CHARLES. Good morrow to your worship.   OLIVER. Good Monsieur Charles! What's the new news at the new     court?   CHARLES. 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.   OLIVER. Can you tell if Rosalind, the Duke's daughter, be banished     with her father?   CHARLES. 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.   OLIVER. Where will the old Duke live?   CHARLES. 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.   OLIVER. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new Duke?   CHARLES. 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 disguis'd against     me to try a fall. To-morrow, 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     thing of his own search and altogether against my will.   OLIVER. 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.   CHARLES. I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come     to-morrow 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!  Exit   OLIVER. 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 school'd 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 misprised. 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.                       Exit