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 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 needless stream; Poor deer, quoth he, thou makʼst a testament As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more To that which had too much: 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?

GRATITUDE IN AN OLD SERVANT.

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.

DESCRIPTION OF A LOVER.

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.

DESCRIPTION OF A FOOL, AND HIS MORALIZING ON

TIME.

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 says 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

* The fool was anciently dressed in a party-coloured

coat.

-he hath strange places cramm'd

After a voyage,

With observation, the which he vents
In mangled forms.

A FOOL'S LIBERTY OF SPEECH.

I must have liberty

Withall, 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 squand'ring glances of the fool.

APOLOGY FOR SATIRE

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 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 neighbour?
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 he be free,
Why then, my taxing like a wild goose flies,
Unclaim'd of any man.

A TENDER PETITION.

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;

* Finery.

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.

THE SEVEN AGES.

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
Muling and puking in the nurse's arms;

And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel, And shining morning face, creepnig like snail Unwillingly to school; And then, the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad

Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then, a soldier; Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden* and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation

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 modernt instances,
And so he plays his part: The sixth age
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon;
With spectacle 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 towards 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.

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.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp

As friends remember'd* not

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

ACT III.

A SHEPHERD'S PHILOSOPHY.

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 or art, may complain of good breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred.

CHARACTER OF AN HONEST AND SIMPLE SHEPHERD

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

DESCRIPTION OF A LOVER.

A lean cheek; which you have not; a blue eye, and sunken; which you have not: an unquestionable spirit;t which you have not; a beard neglected; which you have not:-but I pardon you for that; for, simply, your having‡ in beard is a younger brother's revenue: Then your hose should be ungarter * Remembering. A spirit averse to conversation + Estate.