After a voyage,-he hath strange płaces eramm'd
With observation, the which he vents
In mangled forms.

A FOOL'S LIBERTY OF SPEECH.
I must have liberty
Withall, 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.

APOLOGY FOR SATIRE

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?
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 wrongd him: if he be free,
Why then, my taxing like a wild goose flies,
Unclaim'd of any man.

A TENDER PETITION.

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;

* Finery

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.

THE SEVEN AGES.

All the world's a stage.
And all the men and women merely players:
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
Muling and puking in the nurse's arms;,
And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creepnig like snäil
Unwillingly to school; And then, the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. 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 modernt instances,
And so he plays his part: The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipperd pantaloon;
With spectacle on nose, and pouch on side;
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again towards childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound: Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness, and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.

INGRATITUDE. A SONG.
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind

As man's ingratitude;
* Violent. + Trite, common.

Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,

Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:

Then, heigh, ho, the holly!

This life is most jolly.
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 friends remember d* not.
Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! &c.

ACT III.

A SHEPHERD'S PHILOSOPHY. I know, the more one sickens, the worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money, means, and content, is without three good friends:—That the property of rain is to wet, and fire to burn: That good pasture makes fat sheep; and that a great cause of the night, is lack of the sun. That he, that hath learned no wit by nature or art, may complain. of good breeding, or comes of a very

duli kindred.

CHARACTER OF AN HONEST AND SIMPLE SHEPHERD

Sir, I am a true labourer; I earn that I eat, get that I wear; owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness; glad of other men's good, content with my harm; and the greatest of my pride is, to see my ewes graze, and my lambs suck.

DESCRIPTION OF A LOVER.

A lean cheek; which you have not; a blue eye, and sunken; which you have not: an unquestionable spirit;f which you have not; a beard neglected; which you have not:--but I pardon you for that; for, simply, your havingt in beard is a younger brother's revenue: Then your hose should be ungarter * Remembering

† A spirit averse to conversation

# Estate.

ed, your bonet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and every thing about you demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such man: you are rather point-device* in your accoutrements; as loving yourself, than seeming the lover of any other.

REAL PASSION DISSEMBLED. Think not I love him, though I ask for him; 'Tis but a peevisht boy: yet he talks well; But what care I for words? yet words do well, When he that speaks them pleases those that hear, It is a pretty youth: not very pretty: But, sure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes

him: He'll make a proper man: The best thing in him Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue Did make offence, his eye did heal it up. He is not tall; yet for his years he's tall; His leg is but so, so; and yet 'tis well: There was a pretty redness in his lip; A little riper and more lusty red Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the differ-' Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask. There be some women, Silvius, had they marked him In parcels as I did, would have gone near To fall in love with him: but, for my part, I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet I have more cause to hate him than to love him: For what had he to do to chide at me ? He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair black; And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me: I marvel, why I answer'd not again: But that's all one; omittance is no quittance.

ence

ACT IV.
THE VARIETIES OF MELANCHOLY.

I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical;

nor the courtiers, which is proud; nor the soldier's,
which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is poli-
tic; nor the lady's, which is nice;* nor the lover's,
which is all of these.
MARRIAGE ALTERS THE TEMPER OF BOTH SEXES.

Say a day, without the ever: No, no, Orlando, men are April when they woo, December when they wed: maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen; more clamorous than a parrot against rain; more new-fangled than an ape; more giddy in my desires than a monkey; I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you are disposed to be merry; I will laugh like a byen, and that when thou art inclined to sleep.

CUPID'S PARENTAGE. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of thought,t conceiv'd of spleen, and born of madness; that blind rascally boy, that abuses every one's eyes, because his own are out, let him be judge, how deep I am in love.

OLIVER'S DESCRIPTION OF HIS DANGER WHEN

SLEEPING.

Under an oak, whose boughs were moss’d with age,
And high top bald with dry antiquity,
A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,
Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck
A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself,
Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'd
The opening of his mouth; but suddenly
Seeing Orlando, it unlinked itself,
And with indented glides did slip away
Into a bush: under which bush's shade
A lioness, with udders all drawn dry,
Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch,
When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis
The royal disposition of that beast
To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead.
* Trifling:

| Melancholy