Yea, and of this our life; swearing, that we
Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse,
To fright the animals, and to kill them up,
In their assign'd and native dwelling-place.

Duke S. And did you leave him in this contem-
plation?

2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and comment

ing

Upon the sobbing deer.

Duke S.

Show me the place;
I love to cope 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 roynish 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 wrestler'
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?

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, and bloody brother.
The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father,
Adam. But do not so: I have five hundred crowns
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,11
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.

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,
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. Enter
LANDO and ADAM, meeting.

Orl. Who's there?

But come thy way, 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 fond 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,
you within it: if he fail of that,

And

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:

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.

[Exeuni

SCENE IV. The Forest of Arden. Enter RoSALIND in boy's clothes, CELIA drest like a Shepherdess, 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.

14

Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you, than bear you; yet I should bear no cross, 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. 4 'To quail,' says Steevens, is to faint, to sink into dejection. It may be so, but in neither of these senses la the word here used by Shakspeare.

5 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. Af fections alienated.

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

12 Even with the promotion gained by service is ser vice 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 crosson this Shakspeare often quibbles.

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 travellers 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.

Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still.
Sil. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her!
Cor. partly guess; for I have lov'd ere now.
Sit. 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 inilk'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.

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 an
pasture?

Cor. That young swain that you saw here bu
That little cares for buying any thing.
crewhile

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,

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 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 it of a song, as a weazel sucks eggs: More, I pr'y hee, 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 me nothing: Will you sing?

Ami. More at your request, than to please myself. Jay. 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 :

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 shear the fleeces that I graze;
My master is of churlish disposition,
And little recks to find the way to heaven

1 Ballet, the instrument with which washers beat clothes.

2 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.

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 o. as many matters as he; but I give heaven thanks and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come

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

9 Disputable, i. e. disputatious

Jaq. I'll 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.

Thus may we see, quoth he, how the world wags:
'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. Wla: fool is this?

Adam. Dear master, I can go no further: O,II 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.

Enter

SCENE VII. The same. A Table set out.
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.

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.
2 The firstborn of Egypt,' a proverbial expression
for high-born persons; it is derived from Exodus, xii.

29.

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
am ambitious for a motley coat.
In mangled forms:-O, that I were a fool!

Duke S. Thou shalt have one.

Provided, that you weed your better judgments
Jaq.
It is my only suit;
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 sense ess 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 w1 through and through
Cleanse the foul body of the mfected world,11
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 bravery1s 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. no! 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 eco,' &c. The emendation is by Pope.

15 Finery.

There then; How then, what then?

wherein

Let me sce| This wide and universal theatre
Presents more woful pageants than the score
Wherein we play in.
All the world's a stage,

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?

Jaq.

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 bailad
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 Seeking the bubble reputation

point

Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show

Of smooth civility; yet I am 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,

must die.

I

Duke S. What would you have? Your gentle-
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.

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

sword.

my
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 it food. There is an old poor man,
Who after me hath many a weary step

give

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.

Duke S.

Go find him out,

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,
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning 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
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.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
Thou dost not bite so nigh

As benefits for got:

S Pleonasms of this kind were by no means uncom mon 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 arces, 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 win ter wind, eays 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 is therefore not aggravated by insult.'

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 argument3
Of my revenge, thou present: But look to it;
Find out thy brother, wheresoe'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.

6

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.

Corin. 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

1 Though thou the waters warp.' Mr. Holt White has pointed out a Saxon adage in Hickes's Thesaurus, vol i. p. 221; Winter shall warp water. So that Shakspeare's expression was anciently proverbial. To warp, from the Gothic Wairpan, jacere, projicere, signified anciently to weave, as may be seen in Florio's Dict. v. ordire; or in Cotgrave v. ourdir. Though thou the waters warp,' may therefore be explained, as Mr. Nares suggests, Though thou weave the waters into a firm

texture.'

2 Remember'd for remembering. So afterwards in Act iii. Sc. ult. And now I am remember'd,' i. e and now that I bethink me, &c.

3 The argument is used for the contents of a book; hence Shakspeare considered it as meaning the subject, and then used it for subject in another sense.

4 Seize by legal process.

5 i. e. expeditiously. Expedient is used by peare throughout his plays for expeditious.

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.

Wast ever in court, shepherd?

Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher.

Cor. No, truly.

Touch. Then thou art damn'd.
Cor. Nay, I hope,-

Touch. Truly, thou art damn'd; like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side,10

Cor. For not being at court? Your reason.

Touch. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never saw'st good manners; if thou never saw'st good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation: Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd.

Cor. Not a whit, Touchstone: those, that are good manners at the court, are as ridiculous in the country, as the behaviour of the country is most mockable at the court. You told me, you salute not at the court, but you kiss your hands; that courtesy would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds.

Touch. Instance, briefly; come, instance.

Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes; and their fells, vou know, are greasy.

Touch. Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? and is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow: A better instance, I say; come.

Cor. Besides, our hands are hard.

Touch. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow, again: a more sounder instance, come.

gery of our sheep; And would you have us kiss Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the surfar? The courtier's hands are prefumed with civet.

Touch. Most shallow man! Thou worms-meal, in respect of a good piece of flesh: Indeed!Learn of the wise, and perpend: Civet is of a baser birth than tar; the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd.

Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me; I'll rest. Touch. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God help thee, shallow man! God make incision in thee! thou art raw. 12

Cor. Sir, I am a true labourer; I earn that I eat, happiness; glad of other men's good, content get that I wear; owe no man hate, envy no man's with my harm and the greatest of my pride is, to see my ewes graze, and my lambs suck.

Hymns to Night and to Cynthia, which, though over-
informed with learning, have many highly poetical pas-
sages.
7 i. e. inerpressible.

Of good breeding,' &c. The anomalous use of this preposition has been remarked on many occasions in these plays.

9 A natural being a common term for a fool, Touchstone evidently intended to quibble on the word.

10 Touchstone,' says Malone, I apprehend only means to say, that Corin is completely damned; as irre ing, by being done on one side only. With Johnson I trievably destroyed as an egg that is spoiled in the roastmust say, that 'I do not fully comprehend the meaning of this jest.'

11 God make incision in thee! thou art raw.' It has been ingeniously urged that insition or grafling is here meant, and that the phrase may be explained God put knowledge into thee,'-but we want instances to confirm Shaks-this. Steevens thought the allusion here was to the subsequent speech of Touchstone, That is another common expression of cutting for the simples; and the simple sin in you,' gives colour to this conjecture. 14 ie. ignorant, unexperienceî.

6 This passage seems to evince a most intimate knowledge of ancient mythology, but Shakspeare was doubt-¡ leas familiar with that fine racy old poet, Chapman's