O my sweet master! O you memory Of old Sir Rowland! why, what make you here? No more do yours: your virtues, gentle master, O, what a world is this, when what is comely QRLANDO. Why, what 's the matter? ADAM. 12 O unhappy youth! Come not within these doors; within this roof Your brother,-no, no brother; yet the son,— Hath heard your praises, and this night he means He will have other means to cut you off. I overheard him and his practices. This is no place; this house is but a butchery: ORLANDO. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go? ADAM. No matter whither, so you come not here. ORLANDO. What! wouldst thou have me go and beg my food? Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce A thievish living on the common road? This I must do, or know not what to do: I rather will subject me to the malice ADAM. But do not so. I have five hundred crowns, The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father, Which I did store to be my foster-nurse When service should in my old limbs lie lame, And unregarded age in corners thrown. 32 38 36 40 Take that; and He that doth the ravens feed, 44 52 57 09 64 ORLANDO. O good old man! how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed ! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat but for promotion, And having that, do choke their service up Even with the having: it is not so with thee. But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree, That cannot so much as a blossom yield, In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry. But come thy ways, we'll go along together, And ere we have thy youthful wages spent, We'll light upon some settled low content. 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. SCENE IV. The Forest of Arden. Enter ROSALIND in boy's clothes, CELIA dressed like ROSALIND. O Jupiter! how weary are my spirits. TOUCHSTONE. I care not for my spirits if my legs were not weary. ROSALIND. I Could find it in my heart to disgrace my man'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. 8 CELIA. I pray you, bear with me: I cannot go no further. 14 TOUCHSTONE. For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear you; yet I should bear no cross if I did bear you, for I think you have no money in your purse. ROSALIND. Well, this is the forest of Arden. TOUCHSTONE. 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. ROSALIND. Ay, be so, good Touchstone. Look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in solemn talk. Enter CORIN and SILVIUS. 17 20 CORIN. That is the way to make her scorn you still. SILVIUS. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her! CORIN. I partly guess, for I have lov'd ere now. SILVIUS. 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 25 28 Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy? CORIN. Into a thousand that I have forgotten. SILVIUS. O! thou didst then ne'er love so heartily. If thou remember'st not the slightest folly 33 That ever love did make thee run into, Thou hast not lov'd: Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, 335 36 Wearing thy hearer with thy mistress' praise, Or if thou hast not broke from company Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, 40 [Exit. ROSALIND. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found mine own. 43 TOUCHSTONE. And I mine. I remember, when I was in love I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming a-night to Jane Smile; and I remember the kissing of her batler, and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopped 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, 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. ROSALIND. Thou speakest wiser than thou art ware of. 55 TOUCHSTONE. Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I break my shins against it. ROSALIND. Jove, Jove! this shepherd's passion TOUCHSTONE. And mine; but it grows something stale with me. CELIA. I pray you, one of you question yond man, If he for gold will give us any food : I faint almost to death. TOUCHSTONE. Holla, you clown! ROSALIND. Peace, fool: he's not thy kinsman. CORIN. TOUCHSTONE. Your betters, sir. CORIN. 61 64 Who calls? Else are they very wretched. ROSALIND. Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend. CORIN. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. ROSALIND. I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold Can in this desert place buy entertainment, And wish, for her sake more than for mine own, But I am shepherd to another man, And do not shear the fleeces that I graze : Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed 68 72 76 80 . That you will feed on; but what is, come see, And in my voice most welcome shall you be. 84 ROSALIND. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture? CORIN. That young swain that you saw here but erewhile, That little cares for buying anything. ROSALIND. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, 88 CELIA. And we will mend thy wages. I like this place, And willingly could waste my time in it. CORIN. Assuredly the thing is to be sold: And buy it with your gold right suddenly. AMIENS. SCENE V. Another part of the Forest. SONG. Under the greenwood tree And turn 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. More, more, I prithee, more. 92 96 [Exeunt. AMIENS. It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques. JAQUES. I thank it. More! I prithee, more. 11 I can suck melancholy out of a song as a weasel sucks eggs. More! I prithee, more. AMIENS. My voice is ragged; I know I cannot please you. 16 JAQUES. I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to sing. Come, more; another stanzo: call you them stanzos? |