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,
Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
Thou hast not lov'd:

Or, if thou hast not broke from company,
Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,
Thou hast not lov'd: O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe !
[Exit Silvius.

Ros. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound,

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 with me.

Cal. 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, clown!

Ros.

Peace, fool; he's not thy kinsman.

Cor. Who calls?
Touch. Your betters, sir.

Cor. Else are they very wretched.
Ros.

Good even to you, friend.

Peace, I say:

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' My master is of churlish disposition, And little recks to find the way to heaven By doing deeds of hospitality:

graze;

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.

[place,

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 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,
SONG.

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

No enemy,

But winter and rough weather.

[Jaques.

Jaq. More, more, I pr'ythee, more. 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.

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, 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.

[forest,

Jaq. A fool, a fool!I met a fool i' the
A motley fool;-a miserable world!-
As I do live by food, I met a fool;
Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun,
And rail'd on lady Fortune in good terms,
In good set terms,-and yet a motley fool.
Good-morrow, fool, quoth I: No, sir, quoth he,
Call me not fool, till heaven hath sent me fortune:
And then he drew a dial from his poke;
And looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
Says, very wisely, It is ten o'clock:

Thus may we see, quoth he, how the world ways:
'Tis but an hour ago, since it was nine;
And after an hour more, 'twill be eleven;
And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,
And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot,
And thereby hangs a tale. When I did hear
The motley fool thus moral on the time,
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,
That fools should be so deep-contemplative;
And I did laugh, sans intermission,
An hour by his dial.-O noble fool!
A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear.
Duke S. What fool is this?

[courtier;
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.
Duke S. Thou shalt have one.
Jaq.
It is my only suit;
Provided, that you weed your better judgments
Of all opinion that grows rank in them,
That I am wise. I must have liberty

Withal, as large a charter as the wind,
To blow on whom I please; for so fools have;
And they, that are most galled with my folly,
They most must laugh: And why, sir, must they so?
The why is plain as way to parish church:
He, that a fool doth very wisely hit,
Doth very foolishly, although he smart,
Not to seem senseless of the bob: if not,
The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd
Even by the squand'ring glances of the fool.
Invest me in my motley; give me leave
To speak my mind, and I will through and through
Cleanse the foul body of the infected world,
If they will patiently receive my medicine.
Duke S. Fy on thee! I can tell what thou
wouldst do.
[good?
Jaq. What, for a counter, would I do, but
Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding
For thou thyself hast been a libertine, [sin:
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
The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders?
Who can come in, and say, that I mean her,
When such a one as she, such is her neighbour?
Or what is he of basest function,

That says, his bravery is not on my cost,
(Thinking that I mean him,) but therein suits
His folly to the mettle of my speech?
There then; How, what then? Let me see wherein
My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right,
Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free,
Why then, my taxing like a wild-goose flies,
Unclaim'd of any man.-But who comes here?
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;

[point

Or else a rude despiser of good manners,
That in civility thou seem'st so empty?
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

table.

[you:

Orl. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray 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 know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied; Let gentleness my strong enforcement be: In the which hope, I blush, and hide my sword. Duke S. True is it, that we have seen better days;

And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church;
And sat at good men's feasts; and wip'd our eyes
Of drops, that sacred pity hath engender'd:
And therefore sit you down in gentleness,
And take upon command what help we have,
That to your wanting may be ministred.

Orl. Then, but forbear your food a little while,
Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn,
And give it food. There is an old poor man,
Who after me hath many a weary step
Lamp'd in pure love; till he be first suffic'd,-
Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,
I will not touch a bit.

Duke S.

Go find him out,

And we will nothing waste, till you return.

Orl. I thank ye; and be bless'd for your good comfort! [Exit. 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
[justice;
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,
Full 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 And let him feed. [burden,

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..
SONG.
I.

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,

Thou art not so unkind

As man's ingratitude;

Thy tooth is not so keen,

Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.

Heigh, ho! sing heigh, ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly!
Then, heigh, ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.
II.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot:

Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remember'd not. Heigh, ho! sing heigh, ho! &c.

Duke S. If that you were the good sir Rowland's

son,

As you have whisper'd faithfully, you were:
And as mine eye doth his effigies witness
Most truly limn'd, and living in your face,-
Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke,
Go to my cave and tell me.—Good old man,
That lov'd your father: The residue of your fortune,
Thou art right welcome as thy master is;
Support him by the arm.-Give me your hand,
And let me all your fortunes understand. [Exeunt.
ACT III.

SCENE I.-A Room in the Palace.
Enter DUKE FREDERICK, OLIVER, Lords, and
Attendants.

Duke F. Not see him since? Sir, sir, that can-
not be ;

But were I not the better part made mercy,
I should not seek an absent argument

Of my revenge, thou present: But look to it;
Find out thy brother, whereso'er he is;
Seek him with candle; bring him, dead or living,
Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more
To seek a living in our territory.

Thy lands, and all things that thou dost call thine,
Worth seizure, do we seize into our hands;
Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth,
Of what we think against thee.

Oli. O, that your highness knew my heart in this! I never lov'd my brother in my life.

Duke F. More villain thou.-Well, push him out of doors;

And let my officers of such a nature

Make an extent upon his house and lands:
Do this expediently, and turn him going. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.-The Forest.

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?

Ros. Nay, but who is it? Cel. Is it possible?

Ros. Nay, I pray thee now, with most petitionary rehemence, 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'd 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 out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-mouth'd bottle; either too much at ance, 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?

Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard.

Ros. Why, God will send more, if the man will be thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin.

Cel. It is young Orlando; that tripp'd up the wrestler's heels, and your heart, both in an instant. Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking; speak sad brow, and true maid.

Cel. I'faith, coz, 'tis be. Ros. Orlando?

Cel. Orlando.

Ros. Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose ?-What did he, when thou saw'st him? What said he? How look'd he? Wherein weat he? What makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see him again? Answer me in one word.

Cel. You must borrow me Garagantua's mouth first: 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's size: To say, ay, and no, to these particulars, is more than to answer in a catechism.

Ros. But doth he know that I am in this forest, and in man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled?

Cel. It is as easy to count atomies, as to resolve the propositions of a lover :-but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with a good observance. I found him under a tree, like a dropp'd acorn. Ros. It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it drops forth such fruit.

Cel. Give me audience, good madam.
Ros. Proceed.

[knight. Cel. There lay he, stretch'd along, like a wounded Ros. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground.

Cel. Cry, holla! to thy tongue, I pr'ythee; it curvets very unseasonably. He was furnish'd like a banter.

Ros. O ominous! he comes to kill my heart. Cel. I would sing my song without a burden: thou bring'st me out of tune.

Ros. Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on.

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

Orl. 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?
Orl. Yes, just.

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?
Res. I pray you, what is't o'clock ?
Orl. You should ask me, what time o' day;
no clock in the forest.

there's

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?

Ros. With a priest, that lacks Latin, and a rich man, that hath not the gout: for the one sleeps easily, because he cannot study; and the other lives merrily, because he feels no pain: the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning; the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury: These time ambles withal.

Orl. Who doth he gallop withal?

Ros. With a thief to the gallows for though he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there.

Orl. Who stays it still withal?

Ros. With lawyers in the vacation: for they sleep between term and term, and then they perceive not how time moves.

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?

S 12