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Cel. Hem them away!

Ros. I would try; if I could cry hem, and have him.
Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections!
Ros. 0, they take the part of a better wrestler than
myself.

Cel. O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in despite of a fall.-But, turning these jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest. Is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so strong a liking with old sir Rowland's youngest son?

Ros. The duke my father lov'd his father dearly.
Cel. Doth it therefore ensue, that you should love his
son dearly? By this kind of chase, I should hate him,
for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not
Orlando.

Ros. No, 'faith; hate him not, for my sake.
Cel. Why should I not? doth he not deserve well?
Ros. Let me love him for that; and do you love him,
because I do. Look, here comes the duke.

Cel. With his eyes full of anger.

Enter Duke FREDERICK, with Lords.

I

cannot live out of her company.

Duke F. You are a fool. You, niece, provide your-
self;

If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour,
And in the greatness of my word, you die.

[Exeunt Duke Frederick and Lords.
Cel. O my poor Rosalind! whither wilt thou go?
Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine.
I charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than I am.
Ros. I have more cause.

Cel. Thou hast not, cousin;

Pr'ythee, be cheerful! know'st thou not, the duke
Hath banish'd me his daughter?
Ros. That he hath not.

Cel. No? hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love,
Which teacheth thee, that then and I am one:
Shall we be sunder'd? shall we part, sweet girl?
No; let my father seek another heir!
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,

Duke F.Mistress, despatch you with your safest haste, To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out:

And get you from our court.

Ros. Me, uncle?

Duke F. You, cousin :

Within these ten days if that thou be'st found
So near our public court as twenty miles,
Thou diest for it.

Ros. I do beseech your grace,

Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me;
If with myself I hold intelligence,

Or have acquaintance with mine own desires:
If that I do not dream, or be not frantic,
(As I do trust I am not,) then, dear uncle,
Never, so much as in a thought unborn,
Did I offend your highness.

Duke F. Thus do all traitors;

If their purgation did consist in words,
They are as innocent, as grace itself;—
Let it suffice thee, that I thrust thee not.

Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor :
Tell me whereon the likelihood depends.

Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's enough.

Ros. So was I,when your highness took his dukedom;
So was I, when your highness banish'd him:
Treason is not inherited, my lord;
Or, if we did derive it from our friends,
What's that to me? my father was no traitor :
Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much,
To think my poverty is treacherons!
Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak.
Duke F. Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake,
Else had she with her father rang'd along.
Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay,
It was your pleasure, and your own remorse;
I was too young that time to value her,
But now I know her: if she be a traitor,
Why so am I; we still have slept together,

Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together;
And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans,
Still we went coupled, and inseparable.

Duke F. She is too subtle for thee, and her smooth

ness,

Her very silence, and her patience,

Speak to the people, and they pity her.
Thou art a fool: she robs thee of thy name;

For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale,
Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee.
Ros. Why, whither shall we go?
Cel. To seek my uncle.

Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to us,
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far?
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner, than gold.
Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire,
And with a kind of umber smirch my face;
The like do you; so shall we pass along,
And never stir assailants.

Ros. Were it not better,

heart

Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did suit me all points like a man?
A gallaut curtle-ax upon my thigh,
A boar-spear in my hand; and (in my
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will)
We'll have a swashing and a martial outside;
As many other mannish cowards have,
That do outface it with their semblances.

Cel. What shall I call thee, when thou art a man?
Ros. I'll have no worse a name, than Jove's own page,
And therefore look you call me Ganymede.
But what will you be call'd?

Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state;
No longer Celia, but Aliena.

Ros. But, cousin, what, if we assay'd to steal
The clownish fool out of your father's court?
Would he not be a comfort to our travel?

Cel. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me.
Leave me alone to woo him. Let's away,
And get our jewels and our wealth together;
Devise the fittest time, and safest way
To hide us from pursuit, that will be made
After my flight! Now go we in content,
Toliberty, and not to banishment.

АСТ II.

SCENE I.-The Forest of Arden.

[Exeunt.

Enter Duke senior, AMIENS, and other Lords, in the
dress of Foresters.

Duke S. 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

And thou wilt show more bright, and seem more vir- More free from peril, than the envious court?

tuous,

When she is gone. Then open not thy lips;

Firm and irrevocable is my doom,

Which I have pass'd upon her: she is banish'd.

Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege;

Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
The seasons' 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 :-

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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.
Ami. I would not change it. Happy is your grace,
That can translate the stubbornness of fortune
Into so quiet and so sweet a style!

Duke S. 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 own confines, with forked heads
Have their round haunches gor'd.

1 Lord. 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

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 gallant 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.

SCENE III.-Before Oliver's house. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting. Orl. Who's there?

[Exeunt.

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?
And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant?
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?

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

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; 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 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 to kill them up,
In their assign'd and native dwelling place.
Duke S.And did you leave him in this contemplation?
2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting
Upon the sobbing deer.

Duke S. Show me the place!

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.

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

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-Aroom 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 mistress.

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 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;
Abhorit, fear it, do not enter it!

Orl. Why, whither, Adam, would'st thou have me go?
Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here.
Orl. What, would'st 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 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 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 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.

T

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;
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 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. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. The Forest of Arden.

Enter ROSALIND in boy's clothes, CELIA drest 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 shew 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.
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;
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, thon 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,
Wearing thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
Thou hast not lov'd:

179 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, Ishall 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.

Touch. Aud mine; but it grows something 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.

Touch. Holla; 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,
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.

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 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 bat erewhile,
That little cares for buying any thing.

Or, if thou hast not broke from company, Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, Thou hast not lov'd: O Phebe, Phebe, Phehe! [Exit Silvius. 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 I kissing of her batlet, and then the cow's dugs that her pretty chop'd hands had milk'd: and I remember the

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. [Exeunt.

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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, pr'ythee, more!

Ami My voice is ragged; I know, I cannot please you. Jaq. I do not desire you to please me, I do desire you

to sing. Come, more! another stanza! call you them | Here was he merry, hearing of a song. stanzas?

Ami. What you will, monsieur Jaques.

Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me no-
thing. Willy
I you sing?

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

Who doth ambition shun,
And loves to live i' the sun,
Seeking the food he eats,

Duke S. Ifhe, 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,

[All together here. Says, very wisely, It is ten o'clock:

And pleas'd with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither!

Here shall he see

No enemy,

But winter and rough weather.

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,

Jaq. I'll give you a verse to this note, that I made My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,

yesterday in despite of my invention.

Ami. And I'll sing it.

Jaq. Thus it goes:

If it to come to pass,

That any man turn ass,
Leaving his wealth and ease,
A stubborn will to please,
Ducàdme, ducàdme, ducàdme!
Here shall he see
Gross fools as he,

And if he will come to me.
Ami. What's that ducàdme?

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, I die for
food! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave.
Farewell, kind master!

That fools should be so deep-contemplative;
Aud 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?

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 think 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.

SCENE VII.-The same.

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 bisket
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;

A table set out. Enter Duke senior, AMIENS, Lords, and others.

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;

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?
The why is plain as way to parish church:
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.
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 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 very means do ebb?

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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 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 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?

They have their exits, and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
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' eye-brow. 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 in 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 wellsav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes

Orl. You touch'd my vein at first; the thorny point And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,

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 answered.

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

Duke S. What would you have? your gentleness 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!
Orl. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you;
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 eye-lids 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 apon 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 com

fort!

[Exit.

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:

I

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 burden,
And let him feed!

Orl. I thank you most for him.

Adam. So had you need;

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!

[blocks in formation]

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! etc.

Duke S. If that you were the good sir Rowland'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.

А СТ III.

SCENE I. -A room in the palace.

[Exeun.

Enter DukeFrederick, OLIVER, Lords, and Attendants.
Duke F. Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be :
But were I not the better part made mercy,

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