than bear you: yet I should bear no cross, 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 travelers 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. "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. Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond' man, If he for gold will give us any food: Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you I faint almost to death. still. Sil. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her! Cor. I partly guess; for I have loved ere now. Sil. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess; Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover As ever sighed 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 I have by hard adventures 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 the cow's dugs that her pretty chapped hands had milked 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, Touch. Holloa; you clown! Ros. Peace, fool; he's not thy kinsman. Touch. Your betters, sir. Cor. Else are they very wretched. Good even to you, friend. Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. Ros. I pr'y thee, 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 oppressed, And faints for succor. And wish for her sake, more than for mine own, Cor. That young swain that you saw here but That little cares for buying anything. 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 while; the Duke will drink under this tree:— he hath been all this day to look you. place, Jaq. More, more; I pr'y thee, more. Ami. It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques. Jaq. I thank it. More, I pr'y thee, more, I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I pr'y thee, more. 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. All sing together here. Who doth ambition shun, And loves too live i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats, And pleased with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither; Here shall he see No enemy, 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. If it do come to pass, Gross fools as he, An if he will come to me. Ami. What's that ducdàme? Jac. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into Ami. My voice is ragged; I know I cannot a circle. I'll go sleep if I can; if I cannot, I'll 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 renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues. 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 anything savage, I will either be food for it, or bring it for food for thee. Thy conceit is nearer death Ami. Well, I'll end the song.-Sirs, cover the 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 labor. 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 shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live anything in this desert. Cheerily, good Adam! [Exeunt. A table set out. SCENE VII. The same. Duke S. I think he be transformed into a For I can no where find him like a man. And after one hour more 't will be eleven; Jaq. O worthy fool!-One that hath been a And says, if ladies be but young and fair, After a voyage,- he hath strange places crammed 1st Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone In mangled forms.- O, that I were a fool! 1st Lord. He saves my labor by his own ap- To blow on whom I please; for so fools have: proach. And they that are most galléd with my folly, Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur! what a life They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they is this, That your poor friends must woo your company? What you look merrily. so? The why is plain as way to parish church: Jaq. A fool, a fool!—I met a fool i' the forest, Doth very foolishly, although he smart, As I do live by food, I met a fool; Who laid him down and basked him in the sun, "Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me for- And then he drew a dial from his poke; Thus may we see," quoth he, "how the world wags: "T is but an hour ago since it was nine; Not to seem senseless of the bob: if not, Duke S. Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do. 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 embosséd sores, and headed evils, Till that the weary very means do ebb? There then; how then? what then? Let me see wherein My tongue hath wronged him: if it do him right, Then he hath wronged himself; if he be free, Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies, Unclaimed of any man. - But who comes here? Enter ORLANDO, with his sword drawn. Orl. Forbear, and eat no more. Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be served. Or else a rude despiser of good manners, Orl. You touched my vein at first; the thorny point Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show Orl. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you: I thought that all things had been savage here; Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time; If ever been where bells have knolled to church; If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear, days; And have with holy bell been knolled to church; Orl. Then, but forbear your food a little while, All the world's a stage, Jaq. An you will not be answered with reason, And all the men and women merely players: I must die. They have their exits and their entrances; Duke S. What would you have? Your gentle- And one man in his time plays many parts, ness shall force, 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. His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms: 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 Even in the cannon's mouth: and then, the justice, In fair round belly, with good capon lined, age shifts With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, Is second childishness, and mere oblivion; Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. Re-enter ORLANDO, with Adam. As you have whispered faithfully you were; And as mine eye doth his effigies witness Duke S. Welcome: set down your venerable Most truly limned and living in your face, SCENE I. A Room in the Palace. Seek him with candle; bring him, dead or living, Enter DUKE FREDERICK, OLIVER, Lords and At-To seek a living in our territory. tendants. Thy lands, and all things that thou dost call thine, Duke F. Not see him since? Sir, sir, that can- Worth seizure, do we seize into our hands; |