He dies that touches any of this Fruit, 'Till I and my Affairs are answered. Jaq. And you will not be answered with Reason, I muit die. Duke Sen. What would you have? Your Gentleness fhall force, more than your Force Orla. I almoft die for Food, and let me have it. Duke Sen. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our Table And therefore put I on the Countenance Of ftern commandment. But whate'er you are Under the fhade of melancholy Boughs, If ever been where Bells have knoll'd to Church; Orla. Then but forbear your Food a little while, I will not touch a bit. Duke Sen. Go find him out, And we will nothing wafte 'till you return. Orla. I thank ye, and be blefs'd for your good Comfort. Duke Sen. Thou feeft we are not all alone unhappy: This wide and univerfal Theatre Presents more woful Pageants than the Scene Wherein we play. Jaq. All the World's a Stage, And all the Men and Women meerly Players; Made to his Miftrefs's Eye-brow. Then a Soldier, Even in the Canon's Mouth. And then the Juftice Duke Sen. Welcome: Set down your venerable Burthen, and let him feed. Orla. I thank you moft for him. Adam. So had you need, I scarce can speak to thank you for my felf. Duke Sen. Welcome, fall too: I will not trouble you, As yet to question you about your Fortunes. Give us fome Mufick, and good Coufin, fing. VOL. II. M SONG SONG. Blow, blow, thou Winter Wind, Thou art not fo unkind, as Man's Ingratitude ; Heigh ho, fing heigh ho, unto the green Holly; Frieze, Frieze, thou bitter Sky, that doft not bite so nigh Tho' thou the Waters warp, thy Sting is not fo fharp, Heigh ho, fing, &c. Duke Sen. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's Son, As you have whifper'd faithfully you were, And as mine Eye doth his Effigies witness, Moft truly limn'd, and living in your Face, Be truly welcome hither. I am the Duke That lov'd your Father: The refidue 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, ACT III. [Exeunt. SCENE I. SCENE the Palace. Enter Duke, Lords, and Oliver. Duke. N But were I not the better part made Mercy, TOT fee him fince? Sir, Sir, that cannot be: I should not feek an abfent Argument Of my Revenge, thou prefent: But look to it, Seek him with Candle; bring him dead or living, Thy Thy Lands and all things that thou doft call thine, 'Till thou canft quit thee by thy Brother's Mouth, Oli. Oh that your Highnefs knew my Heart in this: I never lov'd my Brother in my Life. Duke. More Villain thou. Well, pufh him out of Doors, And let my Officers of fuch a nature Make an Extent upon his House and Lands: Do this expediently, and turn him going. SCENE II. The Foreft. Enter Orlando. [Exeunt. Orla. Hang there my Verse, in witness of my Love, Enter Coren and Clown. [Exit. Cor. And how like you this Shepherd's Life, Mr. Touchstone? Clown. Truly, Shepherd, in refpect of it felf, it is a good Life; but in refpect that it is a Shepherd's Life, it is naught. In respect that it is folitary, I like it very well; but in refpect that it is private, it is a very vile Life. Now in respec it is in the Fields, it pleafeth me well; but in refpect 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. Has't any Phi lofophy in thee, Shepherd? Cor. No more, but that I know the more one fickens, the worse at ease he is: And that he that wants Mony, Means, and Content, is without three good Friends. That the Property of Rain is to wet, and Fire to burn: That good Pafture makes fat Sheep; and that a great caufe of the Night, is the 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. Clown. Such a one is a natural Philofopher. Was't ever in Court, Shepherd? Cor. No truly. Clown. Then thou art Damn'd. Clown. Truly thou art Damn'd, like an ill-roafted Egg, all on one fide. Cor. For not being at Court? Your reason. Clown. Why, if thou never waft at Court, thou never faw'ft good Manners; if thou never faw'ft 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: Thofe that have 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 Courtefie would be uncleanly, if Courtiers were Shepherds. Clown. Inftance, briefly; come, instance. Cor. Why, we are ftill handling our Ewes, and their Fels, you know, are greafie. Clown. Why, do not your Courtiers Hands fweat? And is not the Grease of Mutton as wholfome as the Sweat of a Man? Shallow, fhallow, a better Inftance, I fay: Come. Cor. Befides, our Hands are hard. Clown. Your Lips will feel them the fooner. Shallow again:. A more founder Inftance, come. Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the furgery of our Sheep; and would you have us kifs Tar? The Courtiers Hands are perfumed with Civet. Clown. Moft fhallow, Man: Thou Worms-meat, in refpect of a good piece of Flesh indeed; learn of the Wife and Perpend; Civet is of a bafer birth than Tar; the very uncleanly Flux of a Cat. Mend the Inftance, Shepherd. Cor. You have too Courtly a Wit for me; I'll reft. Clown. Wilt thou reft Damn'd? God help thee, fhallow Man; God make incifion in thee, thou art raw. Cor. |