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That he hath not. A gallant curtle-ax upon my thigh, Cel. No ? hath not ? Rosalind lacks then the love A boar-spear in my hand; and (in my heart Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one : Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will,) Shall we be sunder'd ? shall we part, sweet girl ? We'll have a swashing and a martial outside ; No; let my father seek another beir.

As many other mannish cowards have, Therefore devise with me, how we may fly,' That do outface it with their semblances. Whither to go, and what to bear with us :

Cel. What shall I call thee, when thou art a man And do not seek to take your change upon you, Ros. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's ow? To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out;

page, For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, And therefore, look you, call me, Ganymede. Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee. But what will you be callid ? Ros. Why, whither shall we go?

Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state Cel.

To seek my uncle. No longer Celia, but Aliena. Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to us,

Ros. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal Maids as we are, to travel forth so far?

The clownish fool out of your father's court ? Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. Would he not be a comfort to our travel ?

Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire, Cel. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me And with a kind of umber smirch my face; Leave me alone to woo him: Let's away, The like do you ; so shall we pass along,

And get our jewels and our wealth together ; And never stir assailants.

Devise the fittest time, and safest way Ros.

Were it not better, To hide us from pursuit that will be made Because that I am more than common tall,

After my flight : Now go we in content, That I did suit me all points like a man?

To liberty, and not to banishment. (Eseun


SCENE I. - The Forest of Arden. That from the hunters' aim had ta'en a hurt, Enter Dukë Senior, Amiens, and other Lords, in | The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans,

Did come to languish ; and, indeed, my lord, the dress of Foresters.

That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat Duke S. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in Almost to bursting; and the big round tears exíle,

Cours'd one another down his innocent nose Hath not old custom made this life more sweet In piteous chase : and thus the hairy fool, Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, More free from peril than the envious court ? Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,

Augmenting it with tears. The seasons' difference; as, the icy fang,

Duke s.

But what said Jaques And churlish chiding of the winter's wind; Did he not moralize this spectacle ? Which when it bites and blows upon my body, 1 Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similies. Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, First, for his weeping in the needless stream; This is no flattery: these are counsellors

Poor deer, quoth he, thou mak'st a testament That feelingly persuade me what I am.

As worldlings do, giring thy sum of more Sweet are the uses of adversity;

To that which had too much: Then, being alone, Which, like the toad, ugly and venemous,

Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends; Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;

'Tis right, quoth he; this misery doth part And this our life, exempt from public haunt, The flux of company: Anon, a careless herd, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running Full of the pasture, jumps along by him, brooks,

And never stays to greet him ; Ay, quoth Jaques, Sermons in stones, and good in every thing. Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens ; Ami. I would not change it: Happy is your 'Tis just the fashion: Wherefore do you look grace,

Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there? That can translate the stubbornness of fortune Thus most invectively he pierceth through Into so quiet and so sweet a style.

The body of the country, city, court, Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison ? Yea, and of this our life : swearing, that we And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools, – Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse, Being native burghers of this desert city,

To fright the animals, and to kill them up, Should, in their own confines, with forked heads In their assign'd and native dwelling place. Have their round haunches gor'd.

Duke S. And did you leave him in this contem 1 Lord.

Indeed, my lord,

plation ? The melancholy Jaques grieves at that;

2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping, and com And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp

menting Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. Upon the sobbing deer. To-day, my lord of Amiens, and myself,

Duke S.

Show me the place; Did steal behind him, as he lay along

I love to cope him in these sullen fits, Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out For then he's full of matter. Upon the brook that brawls along this wood: 2 Lord. I'll bring you to him straight. To the which place a poor sequester'd stag,

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I rather will subject me to the malice SCENE II. - A Room in the Palace. Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother.

Adam. But do not so: I have five hundred crowns, Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, and Attendants.

The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father, Duke F. Can it be possible, that no man saw them? Which I did store, to be my foster-nurse, i annot be : some villains of my court

When service should in my old limbs lie lame, Are of consent and sufferance in this.

And unregarded age in corners thrown ; I Lord. I cannot hear of any that did see her. Take that: and He that doth the ravens feed, De ladies, her attendants of her chamber,

Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, s ber a-bed; and, in the morning early,

Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold ;
They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress. All this I give you : Let me be your servant ;
Lord. My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty :

For in my youth I never did apply
Tau grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood;
Hesperia, the princess' gentlewoman,

Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo
Confesses, that she secretly o'erheard

The means of weakness and debility; lour daughter and her cousin much commend Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, The parts and graces of the wrestler

Frosty, but kindly : let me go with you;
That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles ; I'll do the service of a younger man
Act she believes, wherever they are gone,

In all your business and necessities.
That youth is surely in their company:

Orl. O good old man; how well in thee appears Duke F. Send to his brother; fetch that gallant The constant service of the antique world, hither :

When service sweat for duty, not for meed! If he be absent, bring his brother to me,

Thou art not for the fashion of these times, 11 nake him find him: do this suddenly ; Where none will sweat, but for promotion ; And let not search and inquisition quail

And having that, do choke their service up
To bring again these foolish runaways. [Exeunt. Even with the having : it is not so with thee.

But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree,
SCENE III. – Before Oliver's House. That cannot so much as a blossom yield,
Erter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting.

In keu of all thy pains and husbandry :

But come thy ways, we'll go along together; OH. Who's there?

And ere we have thy youthful wages spent, Atan. What! my young master ? - 0, my We'll light upon some settled low content. gentle master,

Adam. Master, go on; and I will follow thee, O, my sweet master, O you memory

To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty. Of old sir Rowland! why, what make you here? From seventeen years till now almost fourscore Why are you virtuous? Why do people love you? Here lived I, but now live here no more. And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant ? | At seventeen years many their fortunes seek; Why would you be so fond to overcome

But at fourscore, it is too late a week : The bony priser of the humorous duke ?

Yet fortune cannot recompense me better, leur praise is come too swiftly home before you. Than to die well, and not my master's debtor. Know you not, master, to some kind of men

[Exeunt. Their graces serve them but as enemies? No more do yours; your virtues, gentle master,

SCENE IV. The Forest of Arden. Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.

Enter Rosalind in boy's clothes, Celia drest like a O, what a world is this, when what is comely

Shepherdess, and TOUCHETONE.
Earenorns him that bears it !
Oh. Why, what's the matter?

Ros. O Jupiter! how weary are my spirits ! Alans.

Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were

O unhappy youth, Come not within these doors; within this roof

not weary: The enemy of all your graces lives :

Ros. I could find in my heart to disgrace my Your brother – (no, no brother ; yet the son —

man's apparel, and to cry like a woman : but I must Fa mt the son ;- I will not call him son

comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose Of him I was about to call his father,)

ought to show itself courageous to petticoat : thereHath heard your praises ; and this night he means

fore, courage, good Aliena. To barn the lodging where you use to lie,

Cel. I pray you, bear with me; I can go no

further. And you within it: if he fail of that, He will have other means to cut you off;

Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you, 1 werbeard him, and his practices.

than bear you : yet I should bear no cross, if I did This is no place, this house is but a butchery ;

bear you ; for, I think, you have no money in your Abbor it, fear it, do not enter it.

purse. OH. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have

Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden. me go?

Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden : the more fool AdanNo matter whither, so you come not here. 1; when I was at home, I was in a better place ;

but travellers must be content. Orl. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food ?

Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone: Ot, with a base and boisterous sword, enforce

who comes here; a young man, and an old, in

solemn talk. A thievish living on the common road ? This I must do, or know not what to do.

Enter Corin and Silvius. Yet this I will not do, do how I can;

Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still.

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- Look you, No enemy,

Si. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love | That you will feed on; but what is, come see, her!

And in my voice most welcome shall you be. Cor. I partly guess; for I have lov'd ere now. Ros. What is he that shall buy his flock and Si. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess;

pasture ? Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover Cor. That young swain that you saw here but As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow :

erewhile, But if thy love were ever like to mine,

That little cares for buying any thing. (As sure I think did never man love so,)

Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, How many actions most ridiculous

Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?

And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.

Cel. And we will mend thy wages : I like this Si. O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily :

place, If thou remember'st not the slightest folly

And willingly could waste my time in it. That ever love did make thee run into,

Cor. Assuredly, the thing is to be sold : Thou hast not lov'd :

Go with me; if you like, upon report,
Or if thou hast not sat as I do now,

The soil, the profit, and this kind of life,
Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, I will your very faithful feeder be,
Thou hast not lov'd :

And buy it with your gold right suddenly. (Ereunt.
Or if thou hast not broke from company,
Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,

SCENE V. - The same. Thou hast not lov'd: O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe!

[Erit Silvius.

Enter AMIENS, Jaques, and others. Ros. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound,

SONG. I have by hard adventure found mine own.

Ami. Under the greenwood tree, Touch. And I mine : I remember, when I was

Who loves to lie with me, in love, I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid

And tune his merry note him take that for coming anight to Jane Smile :

Unto the sweet bird's throat, and I remember the kissing of her batlet, and the

Come hither, come hither, come hither ; cow's dugs that her pretty chop'd hands had milk'd :

Here shall he see 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

But winter and rough weather. my sake. We, that are true lovers, run into strange Jaq. More, more, I pr’ythee, more. capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all Ami. It will make you melancholy, monsieur nature in love mortal in folly.

Jaques. Ros. Thou speak'st wiser, than thou art 'ware of. Jaq. I thank it. More, I pr'ythee, more. I ca

Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own suck melancholy out of a song, as a weazel suck wit, till I break my shins against it.

eggs : More, I pr’ythee, more. Ros. Jove! Jove! this shepherd's passion Ami. My voice is ragged; I know, I canno Is much upon my fashion.

please you. Touch. And mine; but it grows something stale Jaq. I do not desire you to please me, I do desin

you to sing : Come, more ; another stanza; Cal Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man, you them stanzas ? If he for gold will give us any food;

Ami. What you will, monsieur Jaques. I faint almost to death.

Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names; they om Touch. Holla : you, clown!

me nothing : Will you sing ? Ros. Peace, fool ; he's not thy kinsman. Ami. More at your request, than to please my Cor. Who calis ?

self. Touch. Your betters, sir.

Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'1' Cor. Else are they very wretched.

thank you : but that they call compliment, is lik Ros.

Peace, I say: the encounter of two dog-apes ; and when a mai Good even to you, friend.

thanks me heartily, methinks, I have given him Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. penny, and he renders me the beggarly thanks

Ros. I pr’ythee, shepherd, if that love, or gold, Come, sing; and you that will not, hold you Can in this desert place buy entertainment,

tongues. Bring us where we may rest ourselves, and feed : Ami. Well, I'll end the song. - Sirs, cover th llere's a young maid with travel much oppressid, while; the duke will drink under this tree : -b And faints for succour.

hath been all this day to look you. Cor. Fair sir, I pity her.

Jaq. And I have been all this day to avoid him And wish for her sake, more than for mine own, He is too dispútable for my company : I think o My fortunes were more able to relieve her :

as many matters as he; but I give heaven thanks But I am shepherd to another man,

and make no boast of them. Coine, warble, corde 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 :

Who doth ambition shun, [All together here Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed,

And loves to live i' the sun, Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now,

Seeking the food he eats, By reason of his absence, there is nothing

And pleas'd with what he gels,

with me.

No enemy,


Come hither, come hither, come hither ;

And rail'd on lady Fortune in good terms,
Here shall he see

In good set terms, – and yet a motley fool.

Good-morrow, fool, quoth I: No, sir, quoth he, But winter and rough weather.

Call me not fool, till heaven hath sent me fortune : dag. I'll give you a verse to this note, that I made and then he drew a dial from his poke:

And looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
Festerday in despite of my invention.
Ami And I'll sing it.

Says, very wisely, It is ten o'clock :
Jaq. Thus it goes :

Thus may we see, quoth he, how the world wags :

'Tis but an hour ago, since it was nine ;
If it do come to pass,

And after an hour more, 'twill be eleven ;
That any man turn ass,

And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,
Leaving his wealth and ease,

And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot,
A stubborn will to please,

And thereby hangs a tale. When I did hear
Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame ;

The motley fool thus moral on the time,
Here shall he see,

My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,
Gross fools as he,

That fools should be so deep contemplative;
An if he will come to Ami.

And I did laugh, sans intermission,

An hour by his dial. - O noble fool! Ami. What's that ducdame?

A worthy fool ! Motley's the only wear. Jaz. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into

Duke S. What fool is this? a circle

. I'll go sleep if I can; if I cannot, I'll Jaq. O worthy fool! - One that hath been a rail against all the first-born of Egypt.

courtier ; AsaiAnd I'll go seek the duke; his banquet is And says, if ladies be but young, and fair,

[Exeunt severally. They have the gift to know it: and in his brain,

Which is as dry as the remainder bisket
SCENE VI. - The same.

After a voyage, - he hath strange places cramm'd

With observation, the which he vents
Enter OaLANDO and ADAM.

In mangled forms: - O, that I were a fool!
Adan. Dear master, I can go no further ; 0, 1 I am ambitious for a motley coat.

Duke S. Thou shalt have one. die for food ! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master.


It is my only suit: ORL Why how now, Adam! no greater heart in of all opinion that grows rank in them,

Provided, that you weed your better judgments thee? Live a little ; comfort a little ; cheer thyself That I am wise. I must have liberty a little : Ifthis uncouth forest yield anything savage, Withal, as large a charter as the wind, I will either be food for it, or bring it for food to the. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers.

To blow on whom I please ; for so fools have : For my sake, be comfortable ; hold death awhile at

And they that are most galled with my folly, the arm's end : I will here be with thee presently; The why is plain as way to parish church :

They most must laugh: And why, sir, must they so? sad if I bring thee not something to eat, I'll give He, that a fool doth very wisely hit, the leave to die : but if thou diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said! thou Not to seem senseless of the bob : if not,

Doth very foolishly, although he smart, book's cheerily: and I'll be with thee quickly. Yet thon liest in the bleak air : Come, I will bear

The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd thee to some shelter; and thou shall not die for

Even by the squandering glances of the fool. lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this Invest me in my motley, give me leave desert. Cheerly, good Adam!

To speak my mind, and I will through and through (Exeunt.

Cleanse the foul body of the infected world,

If they will patiently receive my medicine. SCENE VII. The same. A Table set out.

Duke S. Fye on thee! I can tell what thou

wouldst do. Eater Duze Senior, AMIENS, Lords, and others.

Jaq. What, for a counter, would I do, but Drike &. I think he be transform'd into a beast ;

good? For I can no where find him like a man.

Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding I Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone hence; Here was he merry, hearing of a song.

For thou thyself hast been a libertine, Duke s. If he, compact of jars, grow musical, As sensual as the brutish sting itself ; We shall have shortly discord in the spheres : And all the embossed sores, and headed evils, Go, sk him; tell him I would speak with him. That thou with licence of free foot hast caught, Enter JAQUES.

Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.

Jaq. Why, who cries out on pride,
I Lord. He saves my labour by his own approach. That can therein tax any private party?
Duke & Why, how now, monsieur ! what a life Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,
is thes,

Till that the very very means do ebb?
That your poor friends must woo your company? What woman in the city do I name,
What! you look merrily.

When that I say, The city-woman bears Jaz. A fool, a fool! - I met a fool i'the The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders ? forest,

Who can come in, and say, that I mean her, A motley fool; - a miserable world!

When such a one as she, such is her neighbour ? As I do live by food, I met a fool;

Or what is he of basest function,
Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, That says, his bravery is not on my cost,


sin :

(Thinking that I mean him,) but therein suits This wide and universal theatre
His folly
to the mettle of my speech?

Presents more woeful pageants than the scene There then; How, what then? Let me see Wherein we play in. wherein


All the world's å stage,
My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do bim right, And all the men and women merely players :
Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free, They have their exits, and their entrances ;
Why then, my taxing like a wild goose flies, And one man in his time plays many parts,
Unclaim'd of any man. — But who comes here? His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
Enter ORLANDO, with his sword drawna

And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel, Orl. Forbear, and eat no more.

And shining morning face, creeping like snail Jaq.

Why, I have eat none yet. Unwillingly to school : And then the lover ; Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd. Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of? Made to his mistress' eye-brow: Then a soldier: Duke S. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, distress;

Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Or else a rude despiser of good manners,

Seeking the bubble reputation. That in civility thou seem'st so empty ?

Even in the cannon's mouth : And then, the Orl. You touch'd my vein at first; the thorny

justice; point

In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd, Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred,

Full of wise saws and modern instances, And know some nurture: But forbear, I say ; And so he plays his part : The sixth age shifts He dics that touches any of this fruit,

Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon ; Till I and my affairs are answered.

With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ; Jaq. An you will not be answered with reason, His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide I must die.

For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Duke S. What would you have? Your gentleness Turning again toward childish treble, pipes shall force

And whistles in his sound : Last scene of all, More than your force more us to gentleness. That ends this strange eventful history,

Orl. I almost die for food, and let me have it. Is second childishness, and mere oblivion ;
Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans erery thing.

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

Re-enter ORLANDO, with Adam. you :

Duke 8. Welcome: Set down your venerable I thought, that all things had been savage here;

burden, And therefore put I on the countenance

And let him feed. Of stern commandment: But whate'er you are, Orl.

I thank you most for him. That in this desert inaccessible,

Adam. So had you need ; Under the shade of melancholy boughs,

I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time; Duke S. Welcome, fall to; I will not trouble If ever you have look'd on better days;

you If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church ; As yet, to question you about your fortunes : If ever sat at any good man's feast;

Give us some musick; and, good cousin, sing.
If ever from your eye-lids wip'd a tear,
And know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied ;

AMIENS sings.
Let gentleness my strong enforcement be :
In the which hope, I blush, and hide my sword.

Duke S. True it is that we have seen better

I. days; And have with holy bell been knollid to church;

Blow, blow, thou winter wind, And sat at good men's feasis; and wip'd our eyes

Thou art not so unkind Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd :

As man's ingratitude ; And therefore sit you down in gentleness,

Thy tooth is not so keen, And take upon command what help we have,

Because thou art not seen, That to your wanting may be ministred.

Although thy breath be rude. Orl. Then, but forbear your food a little while.

Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! unto the green kolly: Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn,

Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly : And give it food. There is an old poor man,

Then, heigh, ho, the holly!
Who after me hath many a weary step

This life is most jolly.
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.

Freeze, frecx, thou bitter skin
Duke S.
Go find him out,

That dost not bite so nigh
And we will nothing waste till you return.

As benefits forgot : Orl. I thank ye; and be bless'd for your good

Though thou the waters war]), comfort !


Thy sting is not so sharp Duke S. Thou seest, we are not all alone un

As friend remember'd not. happy :

Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ko ! &c.

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