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I; when I was at home, I was in a better place; but travellers must be content.
Pos. Ay, be so, good Touchstone:-Look you, who comes here; a young man, and an old, in
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: Bat, 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. Sil. O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily: If thou remember'st not the slightest folly, That ever love did make thee run into, Thou hast not lov'd:
Or, if thou hast not sat as I do now,
Or, if thou hast not broke from company,
I have by hard adventure found mine 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 anight to Jane Smile: and I remember the kissing of her batlet, and then the cow's dugs that her pretty chapp'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 Is much upon my fashion.
Touch. And mine; but it grows something stale
Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond' man, If he for gold will give us any food;
I faint almost to death.
Touch. Holloa: you,
Peace, fool; he's not thy kinsman.
Cor. Else are they very wretched.
Peace, I say:
Good even to you, friend.
Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. Ros. I pr'ythee, shepherd, if that love, or gold, Can in this desert place buy entertainment, Bring us where we may rest ourselves, and feed: Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd, And faints for succour.
Cor. Fair sir, I pity her, And wish for her sake, more than for mine own, My fortunes were more able to relieve her: But I am shepherd to another man, And do not sheer the fleeces that I graze; My master is of churlish disposition, And little recks to find the way to heaven By doing deeds of hospitality: Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed, Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now, By reason of his absence, there is nothing That you will feed on ; but what is, come see, And in my voice most welcome shall you be.
Ros. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture? [erewhile, 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. [place, Cel. And we will mend thy wages: I like this And willingly could waste my time in it. Cor. Assuredly, the thing is to be sold: Go with me; if you like, upon report, The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, I will your very faithful feeder be, And buy it with your gold right suddenly. [Exeunt. SCENE V.-The same.
Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others.
Ami. Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither; Here shall he see
But winter and rough weather.
Jaq. More, more, I pr'ythee, more. [Jaqués. Ami. It will make you melancholy, monsieur Jaq. I thank it. More, I pr'ythee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs: More, I pr'ythee, more. [please you. Ami. My voice is ragged; I know, I cannot 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? [self. Ami. More at your request, than to please myJaq. 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 renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues.
Ami. Well, I'll end the song.-Sirs, cover the while; the duke will drink under this tree-he hath been all this day to look you.
Jaq. And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is too disputable for my company: I think of as many matters as he; but I give heaven thanks, and make no boast of them, Come, warble, come.
Who doth ambition shun, (All together here.)
Seeking the food he eats,
Come hither, come hither, come hither;
Here shall he see
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, Leaving his wealth and ease, A stubborn will to please, Ducdame, ducdàme, ducdàme; Here shall he see, Gross fools as he, An if he will come to Ami.
Ami. What's that ducdàme?
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. Ami. And I'll go seek the duke; his banquet is prepar❜d. [Exeunt severally. SCENE VI.-The same.
Enter ORLANDO and ADAM. Adam. Dear master, I can go no further: O, I 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 thyself 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 awhile 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 cheerily and I'll be with thee quickly.— Yet thou liest in the bleak air: Come, I will bear thee to some shelter; and thou shall not die for lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam! [Exeunt.
SCENE VII.-The same. A table set out. Enter 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.
1 Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone hence; Here was he merry, hearing of a song.
Duke S. If he, compact of jars, grow musical, We shall have shortly discord in the spheres:Go, seek him; tell him, I would speak with him. Enter JAQUES.
1 Lord. He saves my labour by his own approach. 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
Thus may we see, quoth he, how the world ways:
A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear.
Jaq. O worthy fool!-One, that hath been a And says, if ladies be but young and fair, They have the gift to know it: and in his brain,Which is as dry as the remainder bisket After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd With observation, the which he vents In mangled forms:-O, that I were a fool!
I am ambitious for a motley coat.
Withal, as large a charter as the wind,
Enter ORLANDO, with his sword drawn. Orl. Forbear, and eat no more. Jaq. Why, I have eat none yet. Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd. Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of? Duke S. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress;
Or else a rude despiser of good manners,
Orl. You touch'd my vein at first; the thorny Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred, And know some nurture: But forbear, I say; He dies, that touches any of this fruit, Till I and my affairs are answered.
Jaq. An you will not be answered with reason, I must die. [shall force, Duke S. What would you have? your gentleness More than your force move us to gentleness.
Orl. I almost die for food, and let me have it. Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our
Orl. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I thought that all things had been savage here; And therefore put I on the countenance Of stern commandment: But whate'er you are, That in this desert inaccessible, Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time; If ever you have look'd on better days; If ever been, where bells have knoll'd to church; If ever sat at any good man's feast;
If ever from your eye-lids wiped a tear,
And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church;
Orl. Then, but forbear your food a little while,
I will not touch a bit.
Go find him out,
Orl. I thank ye; and be bless'd for your good comfort!
Duke S. Thou seest, we are not all alone unhappy: This wide and universal theatre Presents more woeful pageants than the scene Wherein we play in. Jaq. All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits, and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms; And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel, And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school: And then, the lover; Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eye-brow: Then, a soldier, Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth: And then, the In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd, With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, Fall of wise saws and modern instances, And so he plays his part: The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon; With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side; His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Torning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound: Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness, and mere oblivion; Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.
Re-enter ORLANDO, with ADAM.
Duke S. Welcome: Set down your venerable
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Though thou the waters warp,
As friend remember'd not, Heigh, ho! sing heigh, ho! &c.
Duke S. If that you were the good sir Rowland's
As you have whisper'd faithfully, you were:
Enter ORLANDO, with a paper.
Orl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love: And, thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, Thy huntress' name, that my full life doth sway. O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books, And in their barks my thoughts I'll character; That every eye, which in this forest looks,
Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where. Run, run, Orlando; carve, on every tree, The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she. [Exit.
Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE.
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 you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast 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 sheep; and that a great cause of the night, is lack of the sun: That he, that hath learned no wit by nature nor art, may complain of good breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred.
Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court, shepherd?
Cor. No, truly.
Touch. Then thou art damn'd.
Touch. Truly, thou art damn'd; like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side.
Cor. For not being at court? Your reason. Touch. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never saw'st good manners; if thou never saw'st good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation: Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd.
Cor. Not a whit, Touchstone: those, that are good manners at the court, are as ridiculous in the country, as the behaviour of the country is most mockable at the court. You told me, you salute not at the court, but you kiss your hands; that courtesy would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds.
Touch. Instance, briefly; come, instance. Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes; and their fells, you know, are greasy.
Touch. Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? and is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow: A better instance, I say; come.
Cor. Besides, our hands are hard.
Touch. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow, again; a more sounder instance, come.
Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the surgery of our sheep; And would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are perfumed with civet.
Touch. Most shallow man! Thou worms-meat, in respect of a good piece of flesh: Indeed!-Learn of the wise, and perpend: Civet is of a baser birth than tar; the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd.
Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me; I'll rest. Touch. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God help thee, shallow man! God make incision in thee! thou art
Cor. Sir, I am a true labourer; I earn that I eat, get that I wear; owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness; glad of other men's good, content with my harm: and the greatest of my pride is, to see my ewes graze, and my lambs suck.
Touch. That is another simple sin in you; to bring the ewes and the rams together, and to offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle: to be bawd to a bell-wether; and to betray a she-lamb of a twelvemonth, to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou be'st not damn'd for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst 'scape.
Cor. Here comes young master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother.
Then to cart with Rosalind.
infect yourself with them? This is the very false gallop of verses; Why do you [tree.
Ros. Peace, you dull fool; I found them on a Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.
Ros. I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit in the country for you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medlar. let the forest judge. Touch. You have said; but whether wisely or no,
Enter CELIA, reading a paper.
Here comes my sister, reading; stand aside.
Runs his erring pilgrimage;
'Twixt the souls of friend and friend: But upon the fairest boughs,
Or at every sentence' end,
Teaching all that read, to know The quintessence of every sprite Heaven would in little show. Therefore heaven nature charg'd, That one body should be fill'd With all graces wide enlarg'd: Nature presently distill'd Helen's cheek, but not her heart: Cleopatra's majesty ; Atalanta's better part;
Sad Lucretia's modesty. Thus Rosalind of many parts
By heavenly synod was devis'd; Of many faces, eyes, and hearts,
To have the touches dearest priz'd. Heaven would that she these gifts should have, And I to live and die her slave.
Ros. O most gentle Jupiter!-what tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cry'd, Have patience, good people!
Cel. How now! back, friends;-Shepherd, go off a little :-Go with him, sirrah.
Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage.
[Exeunt Corin and Touchstone. Cel. Didst thou hear these verses?
Ros. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear. [verses. Cel. That's no matter; the feet might bear the Ros. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse.
thy name should be hang'd and carved upon these Cel. But didst thou hear, without wondering how
Res. I pr'ythee, who?
Cel. O lord, lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes, and so encounter.
Ros. Nay, but who is it?
Ros. Nay, I pray thee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is,
Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all whooping!
Ros. Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am caparison'à like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more is a South-sea-off discovery. I pr'ythee, tell me, who is it? quickly, and speak apace: I would thou couldst stammer, that thou might'st pour this concealed man ont of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-mouth'd bottle; either too much at ence, or none at all. I pr'ythee take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may drink thy tidings.
Cel. So you may put a man in your belly. Ros. Is he of God's making? What manner of man? Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard?
Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES.
Cel. You bring me out:-Soft! comes he not here? Ros. "Tis he; slink by, and note him. (Celia and Rosalind retire.) Jaq. I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone.
Orl. And so had I; but yet, for fashion's sake, I thank you too for your society. [can. Jag. God be with you; let's meet as little as we
Ort. I do desire we may be better strangers. Jaq. I pray you, mar no more trees with writing love-songs in their barks.
Orl. I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading them ill-favouredly.
Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name?
Jaq. I do not like her name.
Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you, when she was christen'd.
Jaq. What stature is she of?
Orl. Just as high as my heart.
Jaq. You are full of pretty answers: Have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conn'd them out of rings?
Orl. Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence you have studied your questions. Jaq. You have a nimble wit; I think it was made of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two will rail against our mistress the world, and all our misery.
Orl. I will chide no breather in the world, but myself; against whom I know most faults.
Jaq. The worst fault you have, is to be in love. Orl. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am weary of you.
Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool, when I found you.
Orl. He is drown'd in the brook; look but in, and you shall see him.
Jaq. There shall I see mine own figure.
Orl. Which I take to be either a fool, or a cypher. Jaq. I'll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good signior love.
Orl. I am glad of your departure: adieu, good monsieur melancholy.
[Exit Jaques.-Celia and Rosalind come forward. Ros. I will speak to him like a saucy lacquey, and under that habit play the knave with him. Do you hear, forester?
Orl. Very well; what would you?
Orl. You should ask me, what time o' day; there's no clock in the forest.
Ros. Then there is no true lover in the forest; else sighing every minute, and groaning every hour, would detect the lazy foot of time, as well as a clock.
Orl. And why not the swift foot of time? had not that been as proper?
Ros. By no means, sir: Time travels in divers paces with divers persons: I'll tell you who time ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal.
Orl. I pr'ythee, who doth he trot withal? Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, between the contract of her marriage, and the day it is solemnized: if the interim be but a se'nnight, time's pace is so hard, that it seems the length of seven years.
Orl. Who ambles time withal?
Orl. Where dwell you, pretty youth?
Ros. With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat. Orl. Are you native of this place?