No more do yours; your virtues, gentle master;
Are fanctified and holy traitors to you.

Oh, what a world is this, when what is comely
Envenoms him that bears it!

Orla. Why, what's the matter?

Adam. O unhappy youth,

yet the fon,

Come not within these doors; within this roof
The enemy of all your graces lives:
Your brother-no; no brother
Yet not the fon-I will not call him fon
Of him I was about to call his father,
Hath heard your praifes, 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;
Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.

Orla. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me

go?

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

food?

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 fubject me to the malice
Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother.

Adam. But do not fo. I have five hundred crowns,
The thrifty hire I fav'd under your father,
Which I did store, to be my fofter 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,

*diverted blood.) Blood turned out of the course of nature.

!

Be comfort to my age! ! Here is the gold,
All this I give you, let me be your fervant;
Tho' I look old, yet I am strong and lufty;
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 neceflities.

Orla. Oh! good old man, how well in thee appears
The constant service of the antique world;
When service fsweat 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 cloak their fervice up
Even with the Havings. It is not fo 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 fettled low Content.

Adam. Master, go on; and I will follow thee
To the last gafp 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 recompence me better
Than to die well, and not my master's debtor.

[Exeunt.

$ Even with the having.] Even with the promotion gained by fervice is service extinguished.

SCENE

Changes to the FOREST of Ardern.

Enter Rosalind in Boys cloaths for Ganimed, Celia drest like a Shepherdess for Aliena, and Touchstone the Clown.

Rof. Fupiter ca

how weary are my spirits?

Clo. I care not for my spirits, if my legs

were not weary.

Rof. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel, and cry like a woman; but I must comfort the weaker veffel, as doublet and hose ought to show it felf courageous to petticoat; therefore, courage, good Aliena.

Cel. I pray you bear with me; I can go no further. Clo. 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. Rof. Well, this is the forest of Arden.

Clo. Ay; now I am in Arden, the more fool I; when I was at home, I was in a better place; but travellers must be content.

Rof. Ay, be fo, good Touchstone. Look you, who tomes here; a young man and an old in folemn talk.

Enter Corin and Silvius.

Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still.

• O Jupiter! how merry are my Spirits?] And yet, within the Space of one intervening Line, She says, She could find in her Heart to disgrace her Man's Apparel, and cry like a Woman. Sure, this is but a very bad Symptom of the Briskness of Spirits:

rather a direct Proof of the con-
trary Disposition. Mr. Warbur-
ton and I, concurred in conjectur-
ing it should be, as I have re-
formed in the Text:
weary are my Spirits? And the
Clown's Reply makes this Read-
ing certain.

- botu

THEOBALD.

!

Sil. 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,
Tho' in thy youth thou wast as true as a lover,
As ever figh'd upon a midnight pillow;
But if thy love were ever like to mine,
As, fure, I think, did never man love so,
How many Actions most ridiculous
Haft 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 flightest folly',
That ever love did make thee run into;
Thou hast not lov'd.

-

Or if thou hast not fate as I do now,
Wearying the hearer in thy mistress, praife,
Thou haft not lov'd.--

Or if thou hast not broke from company,
Abruptly, as my paffion now makes me;
Thou haft not lov'd.

O Phebe! Phebe! Phebe!

[Exit Sil.

Rof. Alas, poor Shepherd! searching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found my own.

Clo. And I mine. I remember, when I was in love, I broke my fword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming a-nights to Jane Smile; and I remember the kissing of her batlet, and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopt 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 fake. 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,

Rof. Thou speak'st wiser, than thou art 'ware of. Clo. Nay, I shall ne'er be aware of mine own wit, 'till I break my shins against it.

Rof. Jove! Jove! this Shepherd's paffion is much upon my fashion.

Clo. And mine; but it grows fomething stale with

me.

Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man,

If he for gold will give us any food;
I faint almost to death.

Clo. Holla; you, Clown!

Rof. Peace, fool; he's not thy kinsman.

Cor. Who calls?

Clo. Your Betters, Sir.

Cor. Elfe they are very wretched.

Rof. Peace, I fay-Good Even to you, friend.
Cor. And to you, gentle Sir, and to you all.
Rof. I pry'thee, shepherd, if that love or gold
Can in this defert 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 fuccour.

Cor. Fair Sir, I pity her,

And wish for her fake, more than for mine own,
My fortunes were more able to relieve her:
But I am Shepherd to another man,

* For cods it would be more like sense to read peas, which, hav. ing the shape of pearls, resembled the common presents of lovers.

9

-fo is all nature in love mortal in folly.] This expression I do not well understand. In the middle counties, mortal, from mort

a great quantity, is used as a particle of amplification; as, mortal tall, mortal little. Of this sense I believe Shakespeare takes advantage to produce one of his darling equivocations. Thus the meaning will be, so is all nature in love, abounding in folly.

And