BOOK

Gives us free scope; only doth backward pull

Advice.

SHAKSPEARE.

I am undone; there is no living, none, If Bertram be away. It were all one, That I should love a bright particular star, And think to wed it, he is so above me! In his bright radiance and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere, Th' ambition in my love thus plagues itself: The hind that would be mated by the lion Must die for love. "Twas pretty tho' a plague, To see him every hour; to sit and draw His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, In our heart's table: heart, too capable Of every line and trick of his sweet favor! But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy Must sanctify his relics.

A parasitical vain Coward.

I know him a notorious liar; Think him a great way fool, solely a coward; Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him, That they take place, when virtue's steely bones Look bleak in the cold wind: withal, full oft

we see

Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.

The Remedy of Evils generally in ourselves. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to Heaven. The fated sky

Impossible be strange attempts to those
That weigh their pain in sense, and do suppose
What hath been cannot be. Who ever strove

To show her merit, that did miss her love?
Character of a noble Courtier, by an old
Cotemporary.

King. I would I had that corporal soundness

now,

As when thy father and myself in friendship
First tried our soldiership! He did look far
Into the service of the time, and was
Discipled of the bravest. He lasted long;
But on us both did haggish age steal on,
And wore us out of act. It much repairs me
To talk of your good father. In his youth
He had the wit which I can well observe
To day in our young lords; but they may jest
Till their own scorn return to them unnoted,
Ere they can hide their levity in honor:
So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness
Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were,
His equal had awak'd them; and his honor,
Clock to itself, knew the true minute when
Exception bid him speak; and at that time
His tongue obey'd his hand. Who were below
He us'd as creatures of another place, [him
And bow'd his imminent top to their low ranks,
Making them proud of his humility,
In their poor praise he humbled; such a man
Might be a copy to these younger times,
Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them
But goers backward.
[now
Would I were with him!-He would always

say-

(Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words
He scatter'd not in ears; but grafted them
To grow there, and to bear) Let me not live'
-Thus his good melancholy oft began,
On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,
When it was out- Let me not live,' quoth he,
After my flame lacks oil; to be the snuff
Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
All but new things disdain; whose judge-
[stancies
Mere fathers of their garments; whose con-
Expire before their fashions'-This he wish'd.

ments are

I, after him, do after him wish too,
-Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home,
I quickly were dissolved from my hive,
To give some laborer room.

Idolatrous Worship.

-Thus Indian like,

Religious in mine error, I adore
The sun, that looks upon his worshipper,
But knows of him no more!

Mean Instruments often successful.
What I can do, can do no hurt to try,
Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy,
He that of greatest works is finisher,
Oft does them by the weakest minister;
So holy writ in babes hath judgement shown,
When judges have been babes; great floods
have flown

From simple sources; and great seas have dry'd,
When miracles have by the greatest been deny'd.
Oft expectation fails, and most oft there
Where most it promises; and oft it hits
Where hope is coldest, and despair most fits.
Honor due to personal Virtue, not to Birth.
Strange is it, that our bloods, [together,
Whose color, weight, and heat, pour'd out
Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off
In diff'rences so mighty. If she be

All that is virtuous, save what thou dislik'st,
-A poor physician's daughter, thou dislik'st
Of virtue for the name,-But do not so
From lowest place when virtuous things pro-

ceed,

The place is dignified by the doer's deed.
Where great addition swells, and virtue none,
It is a dropsied honor; good alone
Is good without a name; vileness is so:
The property, by what it is, should go,
Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair;
In these, to nature she's immediate heir;
And these breed honor: that is honor's scorn,
Which challenges itself as honor's born,
And is not like the sire. Honors thrive
When rather from our acts we them derive
Than our fore-goers; the mere word's a slave
Debauch'd on every tomb, on every grave;
A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb,
Where dust and damn'd oblivion is the tomb
Of honor'd bones indeed.

Self-accusation of too great Love.
Poor lord! is 't I

That chase thee from thy country, and expose
Those tender limbs of thine to the event
Of the none-sparing war? And is it I [thou
That drive thee from the sportive court, where
Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers,
That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
Fly with false aim; move the still-piercing air,
That sings with piercing, do not touch my

lord I

Whoever shoots at him, I set him there:
Whoever charges on his forward breast,
I am the caitiff that do hold him to it:
And though I kill him not, I am the cause
His death was so effected. Better 'twere

I met the raving lion, when he roar'd
With sharp constraint of hunger, better 'twere
That all the miseries which nature owes
Were mine at once. No, come thou home,
Rousillon,

Whence honor but of danger wins a scar,
As oft it loses all. I will be gone:
My being here it is, that holds thee hence.
Shall I stay here to do it? No, no, although
The air of Paradise did fan the house,
And angels offic'd all: I will be gone;
That pitiful rumor may report my flight,

To consolate thine ear.

Cowardly Braggart.

Yet am I thankful: if my heart were great, "Twould burst at this. Captain I'll be no more: But I will eat, and drink, and sleep as soft As captain shall: simply the thing I am Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart,

That every braggart shall be found an ass.
Let him fear this; for it will come to pass,
Rust, sword! cool, blushes! and Parolles, live
Safest in shame! being fool'd, by fool'ry thrive.
There's place and means for every man alive.
The Rashness of youth excused.
I beseech your majesty to make it
Natural rebellion, done in the blaze of youth,
When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force,
O'erbear it, and burn on.

What's lost most valued.
Praising what is lost,
Makes the remembrance dear.
Against Delay.

Let's take the instant by the forward top; For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees Th' inaudible and noiseless foot of time Steals, ere we can effect them.

Excuse for unreasonable Dislike. At first I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue: Where the impression of mine eye enfixing, Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me, Which warp'd the line of every other favor; Scorned a fair color, or express'd it stolen; Extended or contracted all proportions To a most hideous object: thence it came, That she whom all men prais'd, and whom myself,

Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in my eye The dust that did offend it.

Impediments stimulate.

As "all impediments in fancy's course
Are motives of mere fancy."

§ 2. AS YOU LIKE IT. SHAKSPEARE.
Playfellow.

We have still slept together;
[ther;
Rose at an instant; learn'd, play'd, eat toge-
And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans,
Still we went coupled, and inseparable.
Fond youthful Friendship.
Celia. O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt
thou go?
[mine.
Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee
I charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than
Rosalind. I have more cause. [I am.
Celia. Thou hast not, cousin. [Duke
Pr'ythee be cheerful: know'st thou not, the
Has banish'd me, his daughter?
Rosalind. That he hath not.
Celia. No hath not? Rosalind lacks then
Which teacheth me that thou and I are one:
Shall we be sundered? Shall we part, sweet
No, let my father seek another heir. [girl?
Therefore devise with me how we may fly,
Whither to go, and what to bear with us:
And do not seek to take your change upon you,
To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out:
For by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale,
Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee.
Beauty.

[the love

Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.
Woman in a Man's Dress.
Wer't not better,

Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did suit me all points like a man?
A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh,
A boar-spear in my hand, and (in my heart,
Lie there what hidden woman's fears there
will)

I'll have a swashing and a martial outside;
As many other mannish cowards have,
That do outface it with their semblances.
Solitude preferred to a Court Life, and the
Advantages of Adversity.
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 season's 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.
I would not change it!

Amiens. Happy is your grace,
That can translate the stubbornness of fortune
Into so quiet and so sweet a style!
Reflections on a wounded Stag, and on the
melancholy Jaques.
Come, shall we go and kill us venison ?

And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools, Being native burghers of this desert city, Should in their old confines, with forked heads, Ha e their round haunches gored.

you.

1st Lord. Indeed, my lord, The melancholy Jaques grieves at that; And, in that kind swears, you do more usurp Than doth your brother who hath banish'd To-day my lord of Amiens and myself, Did steal behind him, as he lay along Under an oak, whose antique roots peep 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 th' extremest verge of the swift brook Augmenting it with tears.

Duke s. But what said Jaques? Did he not moralize this spectacle?

1st 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: Ah, 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 kill them up,
In their assign'd and native dwelling-place.
D. s. And did you leave him in this con-
templation?
[menting
Amiens. We did, my lord, weeping and com-
Upon the sobbing deer.

D. s. Shew me the place;

I love to cope him in these sullen fits,
For then he is full of matter.

Conspicuous Virtue exposed to Envy. Adam. What! my young master? O my gentle master,

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?
[liant?
And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and va-
Why would you be so fond to overcome
The bony priser 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?

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 I 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.

[appears
Orlando. Oh! good old man, how well in thee
The constant service of the antique world,
When servants 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 choak 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 soine 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 lived 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.
Lover described.

Oh 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 sate 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 Morals on the Time.
Jaques. 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 ternis-and yet a motley fool.
Good-morrow, fool,' quoth I: 'No, Sir, 'quoth
he,
[fortune.'
Call me not fool, till Heaven hath sent me
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: [wags:
Thus we may see' quoth he, how the world
'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine:
'And after one 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.

Duke. What fool is this?

[courtier;

Jaques. O worthy fool! one that had been a
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
After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd
With observation, the which he vents
In mangled forms. Oh that I were a fool!
I am ambitious for a motley coat!
A Fool's Liberty of Speech.
Duke. Thou shalt have one.
Jaques. It is my only suit:
Provided that you weed your better judgements
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, whom 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 [through
To speak my mind, and I will through and
Cleanse the foul body of th' infected world,
If they will patiently receive my medicine.

Duke. Fie on thee-I can tell thee what
[but good?

thou wouldst do.
Jaques. What, for a counter, would I do
Duke. Most mischievous foul sin in chiding
For thou thyself hast been a libertine, [sin;
As sensual as the brutish sting itself:
And all th' imbossed sores and headed evils,
That thou with licence of freefoot hast caught,
Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.
An Apology for Satire.

Jaques. 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?