In the which hope I blush, and hide my fword. Duke Sen. True is it, that we have seen better days; Orla. Then but forbear your food a little while, Duke Sen. Go find him out, And we will nothing wafte till you return. 1 Orl. I thank ye; and be bless'd for your good com fort! [Exit. Duke Sen. Thou feeft, we are not all alone unhappy : This wide and univerfal Theatre Prefents more woful pageants, than the scene Jaq. All the world's a Stage, And all the men and women meerly Players; Made to his mistress' eye-brow. Then, a foldier ;: Even in the cannon's mouth. And then, the juftice Full Full of wife faws and modern inftances, With spectacles on nofe, and pouch on fide; Is fecond childishness, and meer oblivion, Enter Orlando, with Adam. Duke Sen. Welcome: fet down your venerable bur then, 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 to: I will not trouble you, As yet to question you about your fortunes. Give us fome mufick; and, good coufin, fing. SONG.. Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not fo unkind As man's ingratitude;. Thy tooth is not fo keen, Becaufe thou art not feen, Altho' thy breath be rude. Heigh be! fing, heigh ho! unto the green holly; This life is moft jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That doft not bite fo nigh N 5 The Tho' thou the waters warp, Thy fing is not fso sharp As friend remembred not. Duke Sen. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's As you have whisper'd faithfully you were, your fortune [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE, the PALA CE. N DUKE. OT fee him fince? Sir, Sir, that cannot be : Of my revenge, thou prefent: but look to it; Thy lands and all things that thou doft call thine, Oli. Oh, that your Highness 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 Do this expediently, and turn him going. [Exeunt. SCENE changes to the FOREST. Enter Orlando. my love; Orla. Hang there, my vercrowned Queen of Night And thou furvey, With thy chafte eye, from thy pale sphere above, [Exit. Cor. And how like you this fhepherd's life, Mr. TouchStone? Clo. Truly, fhepherd, in refpect of it felf, it is a good life; but in refpect that it is a fhepherd's life, it is naught. In refpect that it is folitary, I like it very well; but in refpect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now in refpect 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 fpare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much againft my ftomach. Haft any philosophy in thee, fhepherd ? Cor. No more, but that I know, the more one fickens, the worfe at eafe he is: and that he, that wants mony, means, and content, is without three good good friends. That the property of rain is to wet, and fire to burn that good pafture makes fat fheep; 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. Wast ever Clo. Such a one is a natural philofopher. in Court, fhepherd ? Cor. No, truly.. Clo. Then thou art damn'd. Cor. Nay, I hope Clo. Truly, thou art damn'd, like an ill-roafted egg, all on one fide.. Gor. For not being at Court? your reason. Clo. 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 wickednefs is fin, and fin is damnation thou art in a parlous state, shepherd. Cer. Not a whit, Fouchstone: thofe, that are good manners at the Court, are as ridiculous in the Country, as the behaviour of the Country is moft mockableat the Court. You told me, you falute not at the Court, but you kiss your hands; that courtefie would. be uncleanly, if Courtiers were shepherds. Clo. Inftance, briefly; come, inftance: Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes; and their fels, you know, are greafie: Clo. Why, do not your Courtiers hands fweat? and is not the grease of a mutton as wholfome as the sweat of a man? fhallow, fhallow; — a better instance, I fay: come. Cor. Befides, our hands are hard. Clo. Your lips will feel them the fooner. gain: a more founder inftance, come. Shallow a Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the furgery of our fheep; and would you have us kifs tarr? the Courtier's hands are perfumed with civet. Clo. Most shallow man! thou worms-meat, in refpect of a good piece of flesh, indeed! learn of the |