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Thou hast not, cousin.
Prithee, be cheerful. Know’st thou not the duke
Hath banished me, his daughter?
No you haven’t, cousin. Please, be cheerful. Don’t you realize the duke has also banished me, his daughter?

That he hath not.
No, he hasn’t.



No, hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love
Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one.
Shall we be sundered? Shall we part, sweet girl?
No, let my father seek another heir.
Therefore devise with me how we may fly,
Whither to go, and what to bear with us,
And do not seek to take your change upon you,
To bear your griefs yourself and leave me out.
For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale,
Say what thou canst, I’ll go along with thee.
Oh, he hasn’t? Well, then, you don’t have the affection that would teach you that you and I are one. Will we be separated? Should we part, sweet girl? No. Let my father find another heir. So, help me plan how we’ll escape, where we’ll go, and what we’ll take with us. Don’t even try to take this all upon yourself, bearing your grief alone and leaving me out. I swear by the heavens, which have grown pale in sympathy with us, I’m going with you, whatever you say.

Why, whither shall we go?
But where will we go?

To seek my uncle in the Forest of Arden.
To the Forest of Arden, to find your father.


Alas, what danger will it be to us,
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far?
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.
But what danger we’ll put ourselves in, two young, innocent women traveling so far! Fresh beauty attracts thugs and thieves even more than money.

I’ll put myself in poor and mean attire
And with a kind of umber smirch my face.
The like do you. So shall we pass along
And never stir assailants.
I’ll put on some poor and ragged clothes and smudge my face with dirt. You do the same, and we’ll be able to travel without attracting any attackers' attention.


Were it not better,
Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did suit me all points like a man?
A gallant curtal-axe upon my thigh,
A boar-spear in my hand, and in my heart
Lie there what hidden woman’s fear there will,
We’ll have a swashing and a martial outside—
As many other mannish cowards have
That do outface it with their semblances.
Wouldn’t it be better—since I’m unusually tall for a woman—to dress myself like a man?
I’ll wear a big sword in my belt, carry a boar-spear in my hand, and hide all my womanish fear in my heart. We’ll maintain a swaggering, warrior look, like so many cowardly men, whose manner has nothing to do with what they’re feeling.

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As You Like It (No Fear Shakespeare)