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SCENE IV.

Another Part of the Forest.

Enter Jaques, Amiens, and three other Lords, as
Foresters.

Jaq. More, more, I pr'ythee, more.
Ami. It will make you melancholy, Jaques.

Jaq. I thank it; I do love it better than laughing. Ami. Those that are in the extremity of either, are abominable fellows, and betray themselves to every modern censure worse than drunkards.

Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; nor the soldier's, which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politick; nor the lady's, which is nice; nor the lover's, which is all these: but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects; and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me, is a most humourous sadness.—Sing, I pr'ythee, sing.

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. I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs.—Come, warble, warble.

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Jaq. I'll go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the first-born of Egypt.

Ami. And we will go seek the Duke: his banquet is prepar'd.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Another Part of the Forest.

Enter Rosalind in boy's clothes, Touchstone, and
Celia, drest like a Shepherdess, leaning on him.
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 show 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 Silvius, and Corin.

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, thou 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 talk'd as I do now,
Wearing thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
Thou has not lov'd:

Or if thou hast not broke from company,
Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,
Thou hast not lov'd: O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe!

[Exeunt Silvius, and Corin. 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 anight to Jane Smile: and I remember the kissing of her batlet, and the cow's dugs that her pretty chop'd 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 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, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own wit, till I break my shins against it.

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.

Enter Corin,

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 shear 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 but erewhile,

That little cares for buying any thing.

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.

SCENE VI.

Another Part of the Forest.

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.

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 thing 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.

Another Part of the Forest.

A Banquet prepared.

Musick of Horns.

Enter Duke senior, Amiens, and four Lords, as Foresters.

Duke S. I think he be transform'd into a beast; For I can no where find him like a man.

Ami. My lord, he parted from me even now,

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