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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 show itself courageous to petticoat: there. fore, courage, good Aliena.

Cel. I pray you, bear with me; I can 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, 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:

O, if thou hast not sat as I do now,
Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
Thou hast 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 !

Ros. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound,

I have oy hard adventure found mine own.

[Exit SILVIUS.

Touch. And I mine: We, that are true lovers, run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love morta 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 wreak

my shins against it.

Ros. Jove! Jove! this shepherd's passion

Is much upon thy fashion.

Touch. And mine; but it grows something stale with me.

Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man,

f he for gold will give us any food;

faint almost to death.

Touch. Holla: you, clown!
Ros.

Cor. Who calls?

Peace, fool; he's not thy kinsman.

Touch. Your betters, sir.

Cor. Else are they very wretched.
Ros.

tod even to you, friend.

Peace, I say:

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 succor.

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
My master is of churlish disposition,
And little recks to find the way to heaven
By doing deeds of hospitality:

graze;

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 faith. ul feeder be,
And buy it with your old right suddenly.

[Exeuni

SCENE V.-Another part of the Forest. A Table set ou

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.

1st Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone hence; Here was he merry, hearing of a song.

Duke S. If he, 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.

1st Lord. He saves my labor 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,
Says, very wisely, It is ten o'clock:

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,
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,
That fools should be so deep contemplative;
And 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?

Jaq. O worthy fool!-One that hath been a courtier;

And say, 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 biscuit

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;
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 squandering 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. Fye 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.

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?
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 neighbor ?
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.

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?

Orl. You touch'd my vein at first; the thorny point

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 eyelids 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 upon 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 comfort! 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.

All the world's a stage.

Jaq.
And all the men and women merely players :
They have their exits, and their entrances;

[Exu

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