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Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege:

I cannot live out of her company.
Duke F. You are a fool-You, niece, provide
yourself;

If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour,
And in the greatness of my word, you die.

[Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK and Lords.
Cel. O my poor Rosalind! whither wilt thou go?
Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine.
I charge thee be not thou more griev'd than I am.
Ros. I have more cause.
Cel.
Thou hast not, cousin ;
Pr'ythee be cheerful: know'st thou not, the duke
Hath banish'd me his daughter?
Ros.
That he hath not.
Cel. No? hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love
Which teacheth me that thou and I are one:
Shall we be sunder'd ? shall we part, sweet girl?
No; let my father seek another heir.
Therefore devise with me, how we may fly,
Whither to go, and what to bear with us:
And do not seek to take your change1 upon you,
To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out;
For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale,
Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee.
Ros. Why, whither shall we go?

Cel. To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden.
Ros. Alas what danger will it be to us,
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far?
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.

Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire,
And with a kind of umber2 smirch my face;
The like do you; so shall we pass along,
And never stir assailants.

Ros.
'Were it not better,
Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did suit me all points like a man?
A gallant curtle-axe3 upon my thigh,
A boar spear in my hand; and (in my heart
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will,)
We'll have a swashing and a martial outside;
As many other mannish cowards have,
That do out face it with their semblances.
Cel. What shall I call thee, when thou art a man?
Ros. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own
page,

And therefore, look you, call me Ganymede.
But what will you be call'd?

Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state; No longer Celia, but Aliena.

Ros. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal The clownish fool out of your father's court? Would he not be a comfort to our travel?

Cel. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me; Leave me alone to woo him: Let's away, And get our jewels and our wealth together; Devise the fitest time, and safest way To hide us from pursuit that will be made After my flight: Now go we in content, To liberty, and not to banishment.

[Exeunt.

1 The second folio reads charge. Malone explains it 'to take your change or reverse of fortune upon your. self, without any aid of participation.'

2A kind of umber,' a dusky yellow-coloured earth, brought from Umbria in Italy, well known to artists.

3 This was one of the old words for a cutlass, or short crooked sword, coutelas, French. It was variously spelled, courtlas, courtlar, curtlax.

ACT II.

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 Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we buis the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference; as, the icy fang, And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say,This is no flattery; these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am. Sweet are the uses of adversity; Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

Ami. I would not change it: Happy is your grace, That can translate the stubbornness of fortune Into so quiet and so sweet a style.

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:9 To the which place a poor sequester'd stag, That from the hunter's 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 nose1o 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 needless11 stream;
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
Poor deer, quoth he, thou mak'st a testament

To that which had too much :12 Then, being alone,
Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends;
'Tis right, quoth he; this misery doth part
The flux of company: Anon, a careless herd,
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him,
And never stays to greet him; Ay, quoth Jaques,
Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;
'Tis just the fashion: Wherefore do you look
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?
Thus most invectively he pierceth through
The body of country, city, court,

4 i. e. as we now say, dashing; spirited and calcula-sage ted to surprise.

5 The old copy reads 'not the penalty.' Theobald proposed to read but, and has been followed by subsequent editors. Surely the old reading is right,' says Mr. Boswell; here we feel not, do not suffer, from the penalty of Adam; for when the winter's wind blows upon my body, I smile and say'-

6 It was currently believed in the time of Shakspeare that the toad had a stone contained in its head which was endued with singular virtues. This was called the loud

stone.

7 It irks me, i. e. it gives me pain. Mi rincresce, mi fa male.'-Torriano's Dict.

8 Barbed arrows.

9 Gray, in his Elegy, has availed himself of this pas 'There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.' 10 Saucius at quadrupes nota intra tecta refugit Successitque gemens stabulis; questuque cruentus Atque imploranti similis, tectum omne replevit.' Virg. 11 i. e. the stream that needed not such a supply of moisture.

12 So in Shakspeare's Lover's Complaint:-in a river

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Upon whose weeping margin she was set Like usury applying wet to wet.'

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Upon the sobbing deer.

Duke S.

Show me the place;
I love to cope1 him in these sullen fits,
For then he's full of matter.

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 roynish2 clown, at whom so oft

Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.
Hesperia, the princess' gentlewoman,
Confesses, that she secretly o'er-heard
Your daughter and her cousin much commend
The parts and graces of the wrestler3
That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles;
And she believes, wherever they are gone,
That youth is surely in their company.
Duke F. Send to his brother; fetch that gallant
hither;

This is no place, this house is but a butchery;
Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.

Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go?

Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here. Orl. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food?

10

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:
Yet this I will not do, do how I can ;
I rather will subject me to the malice
Of a diverted blood, 1o and bloody brother.
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;
Take that: and He that doth the ravens feed,
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,
Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold;
All this I give you: Let me be your servant;
Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty:
For in my youth I never did apply

Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood;
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo
The means of weakness and debility;
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty, but kindly: let me go with you;
I'll do the service of a younger man
In all your business and necessities.

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Orl. 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 :12 it is not so with thee.
[Exeunt. But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree,
Enter OR-In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry:
That cannot so much as a blossom yield,

If he be absent, bring his brother to me, I'll make him find him: do this suddenly; And let not search and inquisition quail To bring again these foolish run-aways. SCENE III. Before Oliver's House. LANDO and ADAM, meeting.

Orl. Who's there?

But come thy ways, we'll go along together; And ere we have thy youthful wages spent,

Adam. What! my young master ?-O, my gentle We'll light upon some settled low content.

master,

O, my sweet master, O you memory
Of old Sir Rowland! why, what make you here?
Why are you virtuous? Why do people love you?
And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant?
Why would you be so fonds to overcome
The bony priser of the humorous duke?
Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.
Know you not, master, to some kind of men
Their graces serve them but as enemies?

No more do yours; your virtues, gentle master,
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.
O, what a world is this, when what is comely
Envenoms him that bears it!

Orl. Why, what's the matter?
Adam.

O unhappy youth, Come not within these doors; within this roof The enemy of all your graces lives:

Your brother-(no, no brother: yet the son-
Yet not the son;-I will not call him son
Of him I was about to call his father,)-
Hath heard your praises; and this night he means
To burn the lodging where you use to lie,
And you within it: if he fail of that,
He will have other means to cut you off:

I overheard him, and his practices.

1 i. e. to encounter him. Thus in K. Henry VIII. Act i. Sc. 2:

cope malicious censurers.'

2 The roynish clown,' mangy or scurvy, from neur, French. The word is used by Chaucer.

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 Ro-
SALIND in boy's clothes, CELIA drest like a Shep-
herdess, and TOUCHSTONE.

Ros. O Jupiter! how weary13 are my spirits! Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary.

Ros. I could find 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.

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,1 if Í did bear you; for, I think, you have no money in

your purse.

8 i. e. treacherous devices.

9 Place here signifies a seat, a mansion, a resi roig-dence: it is not yet obsolete in this sense.

3 Wrestler is here to be sounded as a trisyllable. 4To quail,' says Steevens, is to faint, to sink into dejection. It may be so, but in neither of these senses is the word here used by Shakspeare.

6 Shakspeare uses memory for memorial.

61 e. rash, foolish.

7 I suspect that a priser was the term for a wrestler, a prise was a term in that sport for a grappling or hold

taken.

10 i. e. blood turned out of a course of nature. Alfections alienated.

11 See St. Luke, xii. 6 and 24.

12 Even with the promotion gained by service is service extinguished.

13 The old copy reads merry; perhaps rightly. Ro salind's language as well as her dress may be intended to have an assumed character.

14 A cross was a piece of money stamped with a cross, on this Shakspeare often quibbles.

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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.
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 the cow's dugs that her pretty chopp'd hands had milk'd: and I remember the wooing of a peascod2 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, 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;

I faint almost to death.

Touch. Holla; you, clown!
Ros.

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
pture?

Cor. That young swain that you saw here but
That little cares for buying any thing.
erewhile,

Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock,
Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty,
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:
Go with me: if you like, upon report,
The soil, the profit, and this kind of life,
I will your very faithful feeder be,

SCENE V.

And buy it with your gold right suddenly. [Exeunt.
The same.
Enter AMIENS, JAQUES,
and others.
SONG.

Ami. Under the greenwood tree,
Who loves to lie with me,

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.

Jaq. More, more, I pr'ythee, more.
Ami. It will make you melancholy, monsieur
Jaques.

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.

Jac. 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 ine 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,

Peace, fool: he's not thy kinsman. sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues.

Cor. Who calls?

Touch. Your betters, sir.

Cor. Else are they very wretched.
Ros.

Good even to you, friend.

Peace, I say :

you

all.

Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to
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 shear the fleeces that I graze;
My master is of churlish disposition,
And little recks to find the way to heaven

1 Batlet, the instrument with which washers beat clothes.

A peascod. This was the ancient term for peas growing or gathered, the cod being what we now call the pod. It is evident why Shakspeare uses the former word.

3 In the middle counties, says Johnson, they use mortu as a particle of amplification, as mortal tall, mortal Eule. So the meaning here may be abounding in folly,'

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.

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No enemy,

But winter and rough weather.

4 i. e. heeds, cares for. So in Hamlet:- and recks not his own rede.'

5 i. e. cot or cottage, the word is still used in its com. pound form, as sheepcote in the next line.

6 In my voice, as far as I have a voice or vote, as far as I have the power to bid you welcome.

7 The old copy reads: And turne his merry note,' which Pope altered unnecessarily to tune, the reading of all the modern editions.

8 Ragged and rugged had formerly the same mean. 9 Disputable, i. e. disputatious.

ing.

Jaq. l'il give you a verse to this note, that I made Says, very wisely, It is ten o'clock: 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, ducdame, ducdame;1
Here shall he see,
Gross fools as he,

An if he will come to me.

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.2 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 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! [Exeunt.

A Table set out. Enter
Lords, and others.

SCENE VII. The same.
Duke senior, AMIENS,
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 himn.
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 forest,
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,

1 Sir Thomas Hanmer reads duc ad me, i. e. bring him to me, which reading Johnson highly approves. 2The firstborn of Egypt,' a proverbial expression for high-born persons; it is derived from Exodus, xii.

29.

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Thus may we see, quoth he, how the world wage
'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?

Jaq. O worthy fool!-One that hath been a
courtier ;

They have the gift to know it: and in his brain,-
And says, if ladies be but young, and fair,
Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit'
After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd
With observation, the which he vents
In mangled forms:-0, that I were a fool!
I am ambitious for a motley coat.
Duke S. Thou shalt have one.

Jaq.
It is my only suit;"
Of all opinion that grows rank in them,
Provided, that you weed your better judgments
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,
Even by the squand'ring glances of the fool.
The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd
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. Fye on thee! I can tell what thou
wouldst do.

Jaq. What, for a counter, 12 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 sting13 itself;
And all the embossed sores, and headed evils,
That thou with licence of free foot hast caught,
Wouldst 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?14
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 bravery15 is not on my cost,
(Thinking that I mean him,) but therein suits
His folly to the mettle of my speech?

8 My only suit,' a quibble between petition and dress is here intended.

9 In Henry V. we have :

"The wind, that charter'd libertine, is still.' 10 The old copies read only, seem senseless, &c. not to were supplied by Theobald. 11 So in Macbeth :

'Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff.' 12 About the time when this play was written, the French counters (i. e. pieces of false money used as a means of reckoning) were brought into use in England. They are again mentioned in Troilus and Cressida, and

in the Winter's Tale.

13 So in Spenser's Faerie Queene, b. i. c. xii. :A herd of bulls whom kindly rage doth sting. 14 The old copies read

'Till that the weary very means do ebb,' &c. The emendation is by Pope.

15 Finery.

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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;

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

This wide and universal theatre
Presents more woful 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
Sighing like furnace,10 with a woful ballad
Unwillingly to school: and then, the lover;
Made to his mistress' eye-brow: Then, a soldier;
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden11 and quick in quarrel,

Orl. You touch'd my vein at first; the thorny Secking the bubble reputation
point

Of bare distress hath ta'en2 from me the show
Of smooth civility; yet I am inland bred,
And know some nurture:4 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,

must die.

I

Duke S. What would you have? Your gentleness 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.

Orl. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray
you:

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 wip'd 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 ministered.

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
Limp'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.

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Even in the cannon's mouth: And then, the justice;
In fair round belly, with good capon lin❜d,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern12 instances,
And so he plays his part: The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon;13
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound: Last scene of all,
Is second childishness, and mere oblivion;
That ends this strange eventful history,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.
Re-enter ORLANDO, with ADAM.

Duke S. Welcome: Set down your venerable
burden,

And let him feed.
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.

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Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
Thou dost not bite so nigh
As benefits for got:

8 Pleonasms of this kind were by no means uncommon in the writers of Shakspeare's age; 'I was afearde to what end his talke would come to. Baret.

9 In the old play of Damon and Pythias, we havePythagoras said, that this world was like a stage whereon many play their parts.'

10 So in Cymbeline; 'He furnaceth the thick sighs from him.'

11 One of the ancient senses of sudden is violent 12 Trite, common, trivial.

13 The pantaloon was a character in the old Italian farces; it represented, as Warburton observes, a thin emaciated old man in slippers.

14 That is, thy action is not so contrary to thy kind, so unnatural, as the ingratitude of man.

15 Johnson thus explains this line, which some of the editors have thought corrupt or misprinted; 'Thou winter wind, says Amiens, thy rudeness gives the less pain, as thou art not seen, as thou art an enemy that dost not brave us with thy presence, and whose unkindness in therefore not aggravated by insult.'

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