Ros. Fare you well. 'Pray heaven, I be de- Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee. ceived in you! Le Beau. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel

I'll ask him what he would:-Did you call, sir?-love
Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown
More than your enemies.

Cel.
Will you go, coz?
Ros. Have with you :-Fare yon well.
[Exeunt Rosalind and Celia.

SCENE IIL

Have their round haunches gor'd. 1 Lord.

AS YOU LIKE IT.

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; 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?
Thus most invectively he pierceth through
The body of 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 assign'd and native dwelling-place.
Duke S. And did you leave him in this con-
templation?

SCENE III. Before Oliver's House.
Enter Orlando and Adam, meeting.

Orl. Who's there?

Adam. What! my young master?-0, 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?
And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and va-

liant?

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?
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.
No more do yours; your virtues, gentle master,
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:
Yet not the son;-I will not call him son
Your brother-(no, no brother: yet the 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,
I overheard him, and his practices.
He will have other means to cut you off:
This is no place, this house is but a butchery;
Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.

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

Adam. No matter whither, so you come not

here.

Orl. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food?

2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and com-A thievish living on the common road?

Or, with a base and boisterous sword, enforce

menting

Upon the sobbing deer.

Duke S.

This I must do, or know not what to do:
Yet this I will not do, do how I can;

Show me the place; I rather will subject me to the malice
Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother.
Adam. But do not so: 1 have five hundred

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.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II A Room in the Palace.
Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, and Attendants.
Duke F Can it be possible that no man saw
them?

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 her.
The ladies, her attendants of her chamber,
Saw her a-bed: and in the morning early,
They found the bed untreasur'd of their mis-

tress.

2 Lord. My lord, the roynish clown, at whom

so oft

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,
Be confort to my age! Here is the gold;
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,
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 rebellions 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,
I'll do the service of a younger man
Frosty, but kindly let me go with you;
In all your business and necessities.

Orl. O good old man; how well in thee appears
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.
gal-That cannot so much as a blossom yield,
But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree,

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
lant hither;

he be absent, bring his brother to me, make him find trim: do this suddenly; And let not search and inquisition quail' To bring again these foolish runaways.

I faint almost to death.
Touch Holla; you,
Ros.

From seventeen years till now almost fourscore | If he for gold will give us any food;
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 iny master's debtor.

Cor. Who calls?"

Touch. Your betters, sir.

Cor. Else they are very wretched.
Roɛ.

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,
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 succour.
Fair sir, I pity her,

Ros. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel, and to cry like a woman: but And wish for her sake, more than for mine own, 1 must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet My fortunes were more able to relieve her: and hose ought to show itself courageous to pet-But I am shepherd to another man, ticoat: therefore, courage, good Aliena. Cel. I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go no

And do not shear the fleeces that 1 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
erewhile,

That little cares for buying any thing.

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
place,

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.

while; the duke will drink under this tree !-he| A motley fool;-a miserable world!
hath been all this day to look you.
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 1: No, sir, quoth he,
Call me not fool, till heaven have sent me for

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 thanks, and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come.

And then he drew a dial from his poke;

Who doth ambition shun, [All together here. And looking on it with lack-lustre eye,

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.

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,

Jaq. I'll give you a verse to this note, that I The motley fool thus moral on the time,

made yesterday in despite 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,
Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame;
Here shall he see,
Gross fools as he,

An if he will come to me.
Ami. What's that ducdame?

Jaq. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I'll 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 prepar'd [Exeunt severally. SCENE VI. The same. Enter Orlando and Adam. Adam. Dear master, I can go no further: O, 1 die for food! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master.

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
After a voyage,-he hath strange places cramm'd
With observation, the which he vents
In mangled forms:- O, 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 so?

Orl. Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee! Live a little; comfort a little; cheer The why is plain as way to parish church: thyself a little: If this uncouth forest yield any He, that a fool doth very wisely hit, thing savage, I will either be food for it, or Doth very foolishly, although he smart, bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer Not to seem senseless of the bob: if no, death than thy powers. For my sake, be com- The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd fortable; hold death awhile at the arm's end: Even by the squand'ring glances of the fool. I will here be with thee presently; and if I Invest me in my motley; give me leave bring thee not something to eat, I'll give thee To speak my mind, and I will through and leave to die: but if thou diest before I come, through 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.

SCENE VII.

The same.

A Table set out.
Enter Duke senior, Amiens, Lords, and others.
Duke S. 1 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.

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
wouldst do.

Jaq, What, for a counter, would I do, but good?
Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding

sin:

For thou thyself hast been a libertine,
As sensual as the brutish sting itself;
And all the embossed sores and headed evils,
That thou with license of free foot hast caught,
Jaq. Why, who cries out on pride,
Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.
Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,
That can therein tax any private party?
Till that the very very means do ebb 7
When that I say, the city-woman bears
What woman in the city do I name,
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,

1 Lord. He saves my labour by his own ap-That says his bravery is not on my cost,
proach.

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 fo-
rest,

(Thinking that I mean him,) but therein saits
His folly to the mettle of my speech 7
There then; How, what then? Let me see 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 contes here?