SCENE I-The forest of Arden. Enter Duke senior, Amiens, and other Lords, in the dress. of Foresters. Duke S. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Ami. I would not change it: Happy is your grace, That can translate the stubbornness of fortune Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison? And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools,Being native burghers of this desert city,Should, in their own confines, with forked heads! Have their round haunches gor'd. 1 Lord. Indeed, my lord, The melancholy Jaques grieves at that; And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. To-day, my lord of Amiens, and myself, Did steal behind him, as he lay along Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out Upon the brook that brawls along this wood: To the which place a poor sequester'd stag, That from the hunters' aim had ta'en a hurt, Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord, The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans, That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat Almost to bursting; and the big round tears Cours'd one another down his innocent nose In piteous chase: and thus the hairy fool, Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, Augmenting it with tears. Duke S. But what said Jaques? Did he not moralize this spectacle? 1 Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes. First, for his weeping in the needless stream; Poor deer, quoth he, thou mak'st a testament As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more To that which had too much: Then, being alone, Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends; (1) Barbed arrows. (2) Encounter. (3) Scurvy. (4) Sink into dejection. (5) Memorial. 'Tis right, quoth he; this misery doth part 2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting Upon the sobbing deer. Duke S. Show me the place; 2 Lord. I'll bring you to him straight. [Exeunt. SCENE II-A room in the palace. Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, and attendants. Duke F. Can it be possible, that no man saw them? It cannot be some villains of my court Are of consent and sufferance in this. 1 Lord. I cannot hear of any that did see her. The ladies, her attendants of her chamber, Saw her a-bed; and, in the morning early, They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress. 2 Lord. My lord, the roynish3 clown, at whom so oft Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. Duke F. Send to his brother; fetch that gallant If he be absent, bring his brother to me, Orl. Who's there? Adam. What! my young master?—O, my gentle master, O, my sweet master, O you memory5 Orl. Why, what's the matter? (6) Inconsiderate. Your brother-(no, no brother; yet the son- He will have other means to cut you off: This is no place, this house is but a butchery; Orl. Why, whither, Adam, would'st thou have Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here. Orl. What, would'st thou have me go and beg my food? Or, with a base and boisterous sword, enforce A thievish living on the common road? The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father, Orl. O good old man; how well in thee appears Adam. Master, go on; and I will follow thee, To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty.From seventeen years till now almost fourscore Here lived I, but now live here no more. At seventeen years many their fortunes seek; But at fourscore, it is too late a week; Yet fortune cannot recompense me better, Than to die well, and not my master's debtor. [Exeunt. Enter SCENE IV-The Forest of Arden. Ros. O Jupiter! how weary are my spirits! Iman's apparel, and to cry like a woman: but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat: therefore, courage, good Aliena. Cel. I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go no further. Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you, than bear you: yet I should bear no cross,3 if I did bear you; for, I think, you have no money in your purse. Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden. Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden: the more fool I; when I was at home, I was in a better place; but travellers must be content. Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone:-Look you who comes here; a young man, and an old, in solemn talk. Enter Corin and Silvius. Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still. Sil. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her! Cor. I partly guess; for I have lov'd ere now. Sil. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess; Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow: But if thy love were ever like to mine (As sure I think did never man love so,) How many actions most ridiculous Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy? Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten. Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, Or if thou hast not broke from company, Ros. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found inine own. Touch. And I mine: I remember, when I was in love, I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming anight4 to Jane Smile: and I remember the kissing of her batlet,5 and the cow's dugs that her pretty chop'd hands had milk'd: and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her; from whom I took two cods, and giving her them again, said with weeping tears, Wear these for my sake. We, that are true lovers, run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly Ros. Thou speak'st wiser, than thou art 'ware of. Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own wit, till I break my shins against it. Ros. Jove! Jove! this shepherd's passion Touch. And mine; but it grows something stale with me. Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man, If he for gold will give us any food; I faint almost to death. Peace, fool; he's not thy kinsman. Fair sir, I pity her, And wish for her sake, more than for mine own, But I am shepherd to another man, And little recks' to find the way to heaven Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed, Cor. That young swain that you saw here but That little cares for buying any thing. Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. Cel. And we will mend thy wages: I like this place, And willingly could waste my time in it. Cor. Assuredly, the thing is to be sold: [Exe. SCENE V.-The same. Enter Amiens, Jaques, Ami. Under the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note No enemy, But winter and rough weather. Jaq. I thank it. More, I pr'ythee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weazel sucks eggs: More, I pr'ythee, more. Ami. My voice is ragged ;? I know, I cannot please you. Jaq. I do not desire you to please me, I do desire you to sing: Come, more; another stanza; Call you them stanzas? Ami. What you will, monsieur Jaques. Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing: Will you sing? Ami. More at your request, than to please myself. Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you: but that they call compliment, is like the encounter of two dog-apes; and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks I have given him a penny, and he records me the beggarly thanks. But winter and rough weather. Jaq. I'll give you a verse to this note, that I made yesterday in despite of my invention. Ami. And I'll sing it. Jaq. Thus it goes: If it do come to pass, That any man turn ass, An if he will come to Ami. Ami. What's that ducdame? Jaq. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I'll go sleep if I can; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the first-born of Egypt. prepar'd. Ami. And I'll go seek the duke; his banquet is [Exeunt severally. SCENE V1.-The same. Enter Orlando and Adam. Adam. Dear master, I can go no further: 0, 1 die for food! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master. Orl. Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee? Live a little; comfort a little; cheer thy self a little: If this uncouth forest yield any thing savage, I will either be food for it, or bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. For my sake, be comfortable; hold death a while at the arm's end: I will here be with thee presently; and if I bring thee not something to eat, I'll give thee leave to die: but if thou diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said! thou look'st cheerly: and I'll be with thee quickly.-Yet thou liest in the bleak air: Come, I will bear thee to some shelter; and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam! [Exe. SCENE VII.-The same. A table set out. En ter Duke senior, Amiens, Lords, and others. Duke S. I think he be transform'd into a beast; For I can no where find him like a man. Here was he merry, hearing of a song. We shall have shortly discord in the spheres:- 1 Lord. He saves my labour by his own approach (4) Made up of discords. Duke S Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this, That your poor friends must woo your company? What! you look merrily. Jaq. A fool, a fool!- -I met a fool i' the forest, Thus may we see, quoth he, how the world wags: An hour by his dial.-O noble fool! A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear. Duke S. What fool is this? The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders? distress; Or else a rude despiser of good manners, Orl. You touch'd my vein at first; the thorny point Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show Jaq. O worthy fool!-One that hath been a Till I and my affairs are answered. courtier ; And says, if ladies be but young, and fair, In mangled forms :-O, that I were a fool! Jaq. What, for a counter, would I do, but good? Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin: For thou thyself hast been a libertine, As sensual as the brutish sting itself; And all the embossed sores, and headed evils That thou with license of free foot hast caught, Would'st thou disgorge into the general world. Jaq. Why, who cries out on pride, That can therein tax any private party? Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, Till that the very very means do ebb? What woman in the city do I name, When that I say, The city-woman bears (1) The fool was anciently dressed in a partycoloured coat. Jaq. An you will not be answered with reason, I must die. Duke S. What would you have? Your gentleness shall force, More than your force move us to gentleness. table. Orl. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you: I thought that all things had been savage here; Of stern commandment: But whate'er you are, Under the shade of melancholy boughs, If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church; days; And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church; Orl. Then, but forbear your food a little while, Duke S. Thou seest, we are not all alone un-1 As you have whisper'd faithfully, you were; happy: This wide and universal theatre Even in the cannon's mouth: And then, the justice; Orl. I thank you most for him. Adam. So had you need; I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. Duke S. Welcome, fall to: I will not trouble you As yet, to question you about your fortunes:Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing. Amiens sings. Blow, blow, thou winter wind, As man's ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen, Although thy breath be rude. Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! unto the green holly: Then, heigh, ho, the holly! II. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, As friend remember'd1 not. Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! &c. And as mine eye doth his effigies witness ACT III. SCENE I-A room in the palace. Enter Duke Duke F. Not see him since? Sir, sir, that can- I should not seek an absent argument Thy lands, and all things that thou dost call thine, Oli. O, that your highness knew my heart in this! Duke F. More villain thou.-Well, push him And let my officers of such a nature [Exe. |SCENE II.—The Forest. Enter Orlando, with Orl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love: Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where. Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life, master Touchstone? Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life, look it fits you, my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast thou any philosophy in thee, shepherd? Cor. No more, but that I know, the more one sickens, the worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money, means, and content, is without three good friends:-That the property of rain is to wet, and fire to burn: That good pasture makes fat Duke S. If that you were the good sir Row-sheep; and that a great cause of the night, is lack land's son, of the sun: That he, that hath learned no wit by (5) Seize by legal process. (6) Expeditiously. |