Enter DUKE Senior, AMIENS, and other Lords, in the dress of Foresters.

Duke S. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference; as, the icy fang, And churlish chiding of the winter's wind; Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say,This is no flattery: these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am. Sweet are the uses of adversity; Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in every thing. Ami. I would not change it: 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 burgers of this desert city,Should in their own confines, with forked heads Have their round haunches gored.

1 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 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 mak’st 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; 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; 4, 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 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 assigned and native dwelling-place.
1 Cutlass, • Swaggering.

a Barbed arrows.

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

2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and co menting

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. [Exeu
SCENE II-A Room in the Palace.
Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, and Attendan
Duke F. Can it be possible that no man saw the
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 ! The ladies, her attendants of her chamber, Saw her a-bed; and, in the morning early, They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistres 2 Lord. My lord, the roynishs clown,at whom se Hesperia, the princess' gentlewoman, Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. Confesses, that she secretly o'erheard The parts and graces of the wrestler Your daughter and her cousin much commend That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles; That youth is surely in their company. And she believes, wherever they are gone,

Duke F. Send to his brother; fetch that gallan 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 quails
To bring again these foolish runaways. [Exeunt
SCENE III.-Before Oliver's House.

Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting.

0, 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 should you be so fonds to overcome
The bony prizer 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 yout
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,
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;
A bhor it, fear it, do not enter it.
• Encounter. • Scurvey.
Memorial.

• Sink into dejection.

• Inconsiderate.

Dr. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go?

Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here. Ori. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food!

with a base and boisterous sword, enforce thevish living on the common road?

us I must do, or know not what to do:

at this I will not do, do how I can;

ather will subject ine to the malice

a diverted blood, and bloody brother.

Adam. But do not so: I have five hundred crowns, e tarifty hire I sav'd under your father, hich I did store, to be my foster-nurse, ben service should in my old limbs lie lame, d unregarded age in corners thrown: se that: and He that doth the ravens feed, a. providently caters for the sparrow, confort to my age! Here is the gold; this I give you: Let me be your servant; hough I look old, yet I am strong and lusty: in my youth I never did apply t and rebellious liquors in my blood; or did not with unbashful forehead woo means of weakness and debility; herefore my age is as a lusty winter, toy, but kindly let me go with you; 1do the service of a younger man

ad your business and necessities.

Ori. O good old man; how well in thee appears
he constant service of the antique world,
hen service sweat for duty, not for meed!
ou art not for the fashion of these times,
here none will sweat, but for promotion;
nd having that do choke their service up
ven with the having: it is not so with thee.
ut. poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree,
hat cannot so much as a blossom yield,
Leu of all thy pains and husbandry:
ut come thy ways, we'll go along together;
nd ere we have thy youthful wages spent,
Well light upon some settled low content.

Bam. Master, go on; and I will follow thee,
To the last gasp with truth and loyalty.-
From seventeen years till now almost fourscore
He lived 1, but now live here no more.
At seventeen years many their fortunes seek;
Sul at fourscore, it is too late a week:
et fortune cannot recompense me better,
han to die well, and not my master's debtor.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-The Forest of Arden. Enter ROSALIND in Boy's clothes, CELIA dressed like a Shepherdess, and ToucaSTONE. Ras. O Jupiter! how weary are my spirits! Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were

not weary.

. I could find in my heart to disgrace my apparel, and to cry like a woman: but I must furt the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought show itself courageous to petticoat: therefore, catraze, good Aliena.

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

ks. 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 travelers must be content.

Rs. Ay, be so, good Touchstone:-Look you, who comes here; a young man and an old, in

Rolemn talk.

Enter CORIN and SILVIUS.

Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still! Si. 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,) How many actions most ridiculous East thou been drawn to by thy fantasy? Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.

Blood turned from its natural course.

A piece of money stamped with a cross.

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: 0 Phebe, Thebe, Phebe!
Exit SILVIUS.

Ros. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found my 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 anight2 to Jane Smile: and I remember the kissing of her batlet, and the cow's dugs that her pretty chop'd hands had milk'd: and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her; from whom I took two cobs, and giving her them again, said with weeping tears, Weur 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 yon man, If he for gold will give us any food;

I faint almost to death.

Touch. Holla; you clown!
Ros.

Peace, fool, he's not thy kinsman.

Cor. Who calls!

Touch. Your better, 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 pry'thee, 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 succor.

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 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 and pasture?

Cor. That young swain that you saw here but That little cares for buying any thing. erewhile,

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.

Go with me; if you like upon report,
Cor. Assuredly, the thing is to be sold;
I will your very faithful feeder be,
The soil, the profit, and this kind of life,

And buy it with your gold right suddenly. [Exeunt.
SCENE V.-The same.

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 beils have knoll'd to church;

If ever sat at any good man's feast;

If ever from your eyelids wiped 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 man's feast; and wiped 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 minister'd.

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

Lap'd in pure love; till he be first sufficed,

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 your return.

And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school: And then, the lover;
Shining 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

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 age shifts
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.
And whistles in his sound: Last scene of all
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
Is second childishness, and mere oblivion:
That ends this strange eventful history,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.
Re-enter ORLANDO, with ADAM.

Duke S. Welcome: set down vour 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.

II.

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 friend remember'd' not.

comfort!

[Exil.

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.

Joq.
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,
Hs acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Meling and puking in the nurse's arms;

And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel,

Duke S. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's

SCENE L-A Room in the Palace.

Attendants.

Duke F. Not see him since! Sir, sir, that cannot

be:

But were I not the better part made mercy,
I should not seek an absent argument

Of my revenge, thou present: But look to it;
Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is:

eek 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;