Limp'd in pure love; till he be sufficed 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 comfort! [Exit. Duke S. Thou seest, we are not all alone un happy: This wide and universal theatre Presents more woeful pageants than the scene Jaq. All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel, 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 lined, With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side; Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing. Duke S. Welcome: set down your venerable burden, And let him feed. Orl. I thank you most for him. Adam. So had you need; I 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. AMIENS sings. I. Blow, blow, thou winter wind, As man's ingratitude; 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. II. Freezc, freeze, thou bitter sky, Thou dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot: Though thou the waters warp, As friend remember'd not. Heigh, ho! Sing, heigh, ho! &c. Duke. S. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's And son, As you have whisper'd faithfully, you were; That loved your father: the residue of your for tune, Go to my cave and tell me.-Good old man, ACT III. SCENE I.-A Room in the Palace. Enter Duke FREDERICK, OLIVER, Lords, and At tendants. Duke. F. Not see him since? Sir, Sir, that cannot be: But were I not the better part made mercy, To seek a living in our territory. Thy lands, and all things that thou dost call thine, Oli. O, that your highness knew my heart in this! I never loved my brother in my life. Duke F. More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors; And let my officers of such a nature SCENE II.-The Forest. Enter ORLANDO, with a Paper. [Exeunt. Orl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love: And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, Thy huntress' name, that my full life doth sway. O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books, And in their barks my thoughts I'll character; That every eye, which in this forest looks. Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where. Run, run, Orlando; carve, on every tree, The fair, the chaste; and unexpressive ‡ she. Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE. [Exit. Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life, master Touchstone? Touch. Truly; shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now, in respects it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, • Seized by legal process. VOL. II. † Inexpressible. Z + Expeditiously. it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd? Cor. No more, but that 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 learn'd no wit by nature nor art, may complain of good breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred. Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court, shepherd? Touch. Then thou art damn'd. Touch. Truly, thou art damn'd; like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side. Cor. For not being at court? Your reason. Touch. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never saw'st good manners; if thou never saw'st good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation: thou art in a parlous state, shepherd. Cor. Not a wit, Touchstone: those, that are good manners at the court, are as ridiculous in the country, as the behaviour of the country is most mockable at the court. You told me, you salute not at the court, but you kiss your hands; that courtesy would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds. Touch. Instance, briefly; come, instance. Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes; and their fells, you know, are greasy. Touch. Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? And is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow: a better instance, I say; come. Cor. Besides, our hands are hard. Touch. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow, again: a more sounder instance, come. Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the surgery of our sheep': and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are perfumed with civet. Touch. Most shallow man! Thou worms-meat, in respect of a good piece of flesh: Indeed!-Learn of the wise, and perpend: civet is of a baser birth than tar; the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd. Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me; I'll rest. i Touch. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God help thee, shallow man! God make incision in thee! Thou art raw*. Cor. 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 ewes graze, and my lambs suck. Touch. That is another simple sin in you; to bring the ewes and the rams together, and to offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle: to be bawd to a bell-wether; and to betray a she-lamb of a twelvemonth, to a crook'd-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou be'st not damn'd for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst 'scape. Cor. Here comes young master Ganymede, my new_mistress's brother. Enter ROSALIND, reading a Paper. Ros. From the east to western Ind, Her worth, being mounted on the wind, Let no face be kept in mind, But the fair of Rosalind. Touch. I'll rhyme you so, eight years together; pinners, and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted: it is the right butter-woman's rank to market. Ros. Out, fool! Touch. For a taste : If a hart do lack a hind, If the cat will after kind, They that reap must sheaf and bind; Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, He that sweetest rose will find, • Unexperienced. + Delineated. Complexion, beauty. |