SCENE V.-Another part of the Forest. A Table set out.

Enter 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.

1st 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.

1st Lord. He saves my labor 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,
Says, very wisely, It is ten o'clock :

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. What fool is this?

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

And say, if ladies be but young, and fair,

They have the gift to know it: and in his brain,

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

Duke S. Thou shalt have one.

Jaq.

It is my only suit;
Provided, that you weed your better judgments
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 senseless of the bob: if not,
The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd

Even by the squandering glances of the fool.
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 would'st do.
Jaq. What, for a counter, would I do, but good?
Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin:

For thou thyself hast been a libertine.

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?
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 neighbor?
Or what is he of basest function,

That says, his bravery is not on my cost,
(Thinking that I mean him,) but therein suits
His folly to the mettle of my speech!

There then How, what then? Let me see wherein
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.

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?

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

Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show
Of smooth civility: yet am I 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,

I must die.

Duke S. What would you have? Your gentleness shall forca 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 eyelids 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 ministred.

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.

Duke S.

Go find him out,

And we will nothing waste till you return.

Orl. I thank ye; and be bless'd for your good comfort!
Duke S. Thou seest, we are not all alone unhappy;
This wide and universal theatre

Presents more woeful pageants than the scene
Wherein we play in.

All the world's a stage.

Jaq.
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits, and their entrances;

[Exu

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
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation

age shifts

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 modern instances,
And so he plays his part. The sixth
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
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.

AMIENS sings.

SONG.

I. Blow, blow, thou winter wind,

Thou art not so unkind

As man's ingratitude;

Thy tooth is not so keen,

Because thou art not seen,

Although thy breath be rude.

Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
Then, heigh, ho, the holly!

This life is most jolly.

As

II. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
Thou dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot:

Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remember'd not.

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

Duke S. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son,you have whisper'd faithfully, you were;

And as mine eye doth his effigies witness

Most truly limn'd, and living in your face,-
Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke,

That lov'd your father: The residue of your fortune,
Go to my cave and tell me.-Good old man ;
Thou art right welcome as thy master is ;

Support him by the arm.-Give me your hand,

And let me all your fortunes understand.

[Exeunt.

Duke Frederick on discovering the flight of his daughter and Rosalind, suspects that Orlando has aided them. He sends for Oliver, and commands him to seek the fugitives. Orlando remains in the forest under the protection of the banished Duke.

ACT III.

The Forest.

Enter ORLANDO, with a paper.

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.

Enter CORIN, and TOUCHSTONE.

[Exit.

Cor. 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 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 humor well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in Nee, shepherd?

Cor. No more, but that I know, the more one sickens, the worse