Ami.

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.

First 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:
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 nose
In piteous chase: and thus the hairy fool,
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
Stood on th' extremest verge of the swift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.

Duke S.

But what said Jaques? Did he not moralize this spectacle?

First Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes.
First, for his weeping in the needless stream;(39)
"Poor deer," quoth he, "thou mak'st a testament
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more

To that which had too much :" then, being alone, (40)
Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends;(41)
"'Tis right," quoth he; "thus 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 the(42) country, city, court,
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 contemplation? Sec. Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting Upon the sobbing deer.

Duke S.

I love to cope him in these sullen fits,

Show me the place:

For then he's full of matter.

First 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.

First 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.

Sec. 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'erheard

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's;(43) fetch that gallant hither:

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(44)

To bring again these foolish runaways.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. Before OLIVER's house.

Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting.

Orl. Who's there?

Adam. What, my young master?-O my gentle master! O my sweet master! O you memory

Of old Sir Roland! 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(45) priser of the humorous duke?
Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.
Know you not, master, to some(46) 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.(47) Why, what's the matter?

Adam.

O unhappy youth,

Come not within these doors! within this roof(48)

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.

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. (40)

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(49)
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 swet for duty, not for meed !(59)
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: 'tis 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 (51)
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 drest like a shepherdess, and TOUCHSTONE.

Ros. O Jupiter, how weary 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;(52) 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. (53) Touch. 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.

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. 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,-