Saw her-a-bed; and, in the morning early,
They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress.
2 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; fetch that gal

lant 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
To bring again these foolish runaways. [exeunt.

SCENE III. BEFORE OLIVER'S HOUSE.

Enter Orlando and Adam, meeting.
Orl. Who's there?
[tle master,
Adam. What! my young master?-O, my gen-
0,
O, 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 would you be so fond 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 your's: 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 youth,

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 us'd 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.

here.

This is no place, this house is but a butchery;
Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. [me go?
Orl. Why, whither, Adam, would'st thou have
Adam. No matter whither, so you come not
[my food?
Orl. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg
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.
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 n
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.

Orl. O good old man! how well in thee appeara
The constant service of the antique world,
When service sweat for duty, not for meed!
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: it is 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 years till now almost fourscore Here liv'd 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 dressed 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: 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.

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. [love her! Sil. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do Cor. I partly guess; for I nave 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
Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?

Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.
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: O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe!
[exit.
Ros. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound,
I have by hard adventure found mine 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 a-night to Jane Smile: and I remember the kissing of her batlet, and then the cow's dugs that her pretty chopp'd hands had milk'd: and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her; from whom I took two cods, and giving her them again, said, with weeping tears, Wear 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. [stale with me. Touch. And mine; but it grows something Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man, If he for gold will give us any food;

I faint almost to death.

Touch. Holoa; you clown!

Ros. Peace, fool; he's not thy kinsman.
Cor. Who calls?

Touch. Your betters, sir.

Cor. Else are they very wretched.

Ros. Peace, I say :—

Good even to you, friend.

Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. Ros. I pr'ythee, shepherd, if that love or gold Cau 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 succour.

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 sheer the fleeces that I

graze;

My master is of churlish disposition,
And little recks do 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 sheep-cote 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?

That little cares for buying any thing.

[place,

Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. Cel. And we will mend thy wages: I like this And willingly could waste my time in it. Cor. Assuredly, the thing is to be sold: Go with me; if you like, upon report, The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, I will your very faithful feeder be, And buy it with your gold right suddenly. [exeunt

SCENE V. THE SAME.

Enter Amiens, Jaques, and others.
Song.

AML. Under the greenwood tree,
Who loves to lie with me,

And tune his merry note,
Under the sweet bird's throat,

Come, hither, come hither, come hither:
Here shall he see

No enemy,

But winter and rough weather.

Jaq. More, more, I pr'ythee, more! Ami. It will make you melancholy, monsieur Jaques. Jaq. I thank it. More, I pr'ythee, more! I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weazel sucks eggs: More, I pr'ythee, more! [please you. Ami. My voice is ragged; I know, I cannot Jaq. I do not desire you to please me, I do desire you Come, more; another stanza. to sing. Call you them stanzas?

Ami. What you will, monsieur Jaques. Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names; they Will you sing? owe me nothing.

Ami. More at your request, than to please myself. Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you: but that, they call compliment, is like the encounter of two dog-apes; and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks I have given him a penny, and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues.

Ami. Well, I'll end the song.-Sirs, cover the while; the duke will drink under this tree :-he hath been all this day to look you.

Jaq. And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is too disputable for my company: I think of as many matters as he: but I give heaven thanke, and make no boast of them. Come, warble, coma. Song.

Who doth amibtion shun, [All together hern
And loves to live i'the sun,

Seeking the food he eats,

And pleas'd with what he gets,

Come hither, come hither, come hither;

Here shall he see

No enemy,

But winter and rough weather.

Jaq. I'll give you a verse to this note which I
made yesterday, in spite of my invention.
Ami. And I'll sing it.
Jaq. Thus it goes:

If it do come to pass,
That any man turn ass,
Leaving his wealth and ease,
A stubborn will to please,
Ducdáme, ducdáme, ducdáme;
Here shall he see,

Gross fools as ne,

An if he will come to Ami

mi. What's that ducdáme?

Jaq. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I'H go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the first-born of Egypt. Ami. And I'll go seek the duke; his banquet is prepared. [exeunt severally.

SCENE VI. THE SAME.

Enter Orlando and Adam. Adam. Dear master, I can go no further: O, I die for food! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master.

Orl. Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee? Live a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little: If this uncouth forest yield any thing savage, I will either be food for it, or bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. For my sake, be comfortable; hold death awhile at the arm's end: I will here be with thee presently: and if I bring thee not something to eat, I'll give thee leave to die: but, if thou diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said! thou look'st cheerily; and I'll be with thee quickly.-Yet thou liest in the bleak air. Come, I will bear thee to some shelter; and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam! [exeunt. A table set out. Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, Lords, and others.

SCENE VII. THE SAME.

Duke S. I think he be transform'd into a beast; For I can no where find him like a man.

1 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.

1 Lord. He saves my labour 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 s 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 bisket
After a voyage,-—he hath strange places cramm'd
With observation, the which he vents
In mangled forms :-0, 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
The why is plain as way to parish church: [so?
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.
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. Fie on thee! I can tell what thou would'st do.

[sin:

Jaq. What, for a counter, would I do but good? Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding For thou thyself hast been a libertine, As sensual as the brutish sting itself; And all the emboss'd sores and headed evils That thou with licence of free foot hast caught, Would'st thou disgorge into the general world.

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 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 seo
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.
Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of?
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 answer'd.

Jaq. An you will not be answered with reason, I must die.

Duke S. What would you have? Your gentle-
ness shall force,

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.
[you
Orl. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray
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.

[erit. 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.

Jaq. 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,

SCENE I. A ROOM IN THE PALACE.

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 honour, sudden and quick in quarrel.
Seeking the bubble reputation

Even at 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,
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 And let him feed. [burden,

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.

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.

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

Duke S. If that you were the good sir Rawland's son,

As 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.

Enter Duke Frederick, Oliver, Lords, and Attendants. [be: Duke F. Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot 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;
Seek him with candle; bring him, dead or living
Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no mos“.

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;
"Tiil thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth,
Of what we think against thee.

Oli. O, that your highness knew my heart in
this!

I never lov'd my brother in my life.

Duke F. More villain thou.-Well, push him out of doors;

And let my officers of such a nature
Make an extent upon his house and lands:
Do this expediently, and turn him going. [exeunt.

SCENE II. 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. [erit. Enter Corin and Touchstone.

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 humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee,

shepherd?

Cor. No more, but that I know, the more one sickens, the worse at case 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 nor art, may complain of good breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred.

Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher.Wast ever in court, shepherd?

Cor. No, truly.

Touch. Then thou art damn'd.
Cor. Nay, I hope,-

Touch. Truly, thou art damn'd; like an illroasted egg, all on one side.

Cor. For not being at court? Your reason. Touch. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never saw'st good manners; if thou never saw'st good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damuation. Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd.

Cor. Not a whit, Touchstone: those, that are 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 courtesy would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds.

Touch. Instance, briefly; come, instance. Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes ; and their fells, you know, are greasy.

Touch. Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? and is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow: a better instance, I say; come.

Cor. Besides, our hands are hard.

Touch. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow, again: a more sounder instance, come.

Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the surgery of our sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are perfumed with civet.

Touch. Most shallow man! Thou worm's-meat, in respect of a good piece of flesh. Indeed!-learn of the wise, and perpend: civet is of a baser birth than tar, the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd.

[rest.

Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me; I'll Touch. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God help thee, shallow man! God make incision in thee! thou art raw.

Cor. Sir, I am a true labourer; I earn that I eat, get that I wear; owe no man 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.

Touch. That is another simple sin in you; to bring the ewes and the rams together, and to offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle: to be bawd to a bell-weather; and to betray a shelamb of a twelvemonth, to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. thou be'st not damn'd for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see how thou should'st 'scape.

If

Cor. Here comes young master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother.

Enter Rosalind reading a paper.

Ros. From the east to western Ind,
No jewel is like Rosalind.

Her worth, being mounted on the wind,
Through all the world bears Rosalind.
All the pictures, fairest limn'd,

Are but black to Rosalind.

Let no face be kept in mind,
But the fair of Rosalind.

Touch. I'll rhyme you so, eight years together; dinners, and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted: it is the right butter-woman's rank to market. Ros. Out, fool! Touch. For a taste:

If a hart do lack a hind,
Let him seek out Rosalind.
If the cat will after kind,
So, be sure, will Rosalind.
Winter-garments must be lin'd,
So must slender Rosalind.
They that reap, must sheaf and bind:
Then to cart with Rosalind,

Sweetest nut hath sowrest rind,

Such a nut is Rosalind.

He that sweetest rose will find,

Must find love's prick, and Rosalind. This is the very false gallop of verses; why do you infect yourself with them?

Ros. Peace, you dull fool; I found them on a trce Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.