For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice, 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. SONG. [Confers with ORLANDO.1 Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind 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: This life is most jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, Though thou the waters warp, Heigh, ho! sing, &c. 2 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 That lov'd your father. The residue of your fortune, 1 Not in fe. 2 Weave together. Thou art right welcome as thy master is. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I.-A Room in the Palace. Enter Duke FREDERICK, OLIVER, Lords and Attendants. Duke F. Not seen him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be: But were I not the better part made mercy, I should not seek an absent argument Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it: Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is; Seek him with candle: bring him, dead or living, Thy lands, and all things that thou dost call thine, Oli. O, that your highness knew my heart in this! I never lov'd my brother in my life. Duke F. More villain thou.—Well, push him out of doors; And let my officers of such a nature Make an extent upon his house and lands. Do this expediently,' and turn him going. SCENE II.The Forest of Arden. [Exeunt. Enter ORLANDO, hanging a paper on a tree.2 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. 1 Expeditiously. 2 with a paper in f. e. [Exit. Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE. 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 respect 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, 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 learned 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? Cor. No, truly. Touch. Then thou art damned. Cor. Nay, I hope, Touch. Truly, thou art damned, 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 whit, 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 tarred 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. Touch. Wilt thou rest damned? 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 my 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 crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou be'st not damned 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, Are but black to Rosalind. Let no face be kept in mind, But the fair of Rosalind. Touch. I'll rhyme you so, eight years together, din 1 Delineated ners, and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted: it is the right butter-women's rank' to market. Ros. Out, fool! Touch. For a taste: "If a hart do lack a hind, They that reap must sheaf and bind, He that sweetest rose will find, Must find love's prick, and Rosalind." This is the very false gallop of verses: why do you infect yourself with them? Ros. Peace! you dull fool: I found them on a tree. Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. Ros. I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit i' the country for you 'll be rotten e'er you be half ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medlar. Touch. You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest judge. Enter CELIA, reading a paper. Ros. Peace! Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside. 'Twixt the souls of friend and friend : But upon the fairest boughs, Or at every sentence' end, Will I Rosalinda write; 1 Following in jog-trot, one after another. 2 Wintred in f. e. 3 Pope inserted, "a." |