Here feel we not the penalty of Adam,
The seasons' difference: as the icy fang
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind,—
Which, when it bites and blows upon my body,
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say,
This is no flattery :-these are counsellors,
That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Sweet are the uses of adversity,

Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running
brooks,

Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.
AMI. I would not change it. Happy is your

grace,

That can translate the stubbornness of fortune

Into so quiet and so sweet a style.

DUKE S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison?

And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools,
Being native burghers of this desert city,
Should, in their own confines, with forked heads
Have their round haunches gor'd.

1 LORD.

Indeed, my lord, The melancholy Jaques grieves at that ; And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. To-day my lord of Amiens and myself, Did steal behind him, as he lay along Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out Upon the brook that brawls along this wood: To the which place a poor sequester'd stag, That from the hunters' aim had ta'en a hurt, Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord, The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans, That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat Almost to bursting; and the big round tears Cours'd one another down his innocent nose In piteous chase: and thus the hairy fool, Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, Augmenting it with tears.

DUKE S.

But what said Jaques? Did he not moralize this spectacle? 1 LORD. O, yes, into a thousand similes.

First, for his weeping in the needless stream;
Poor deer, quoth he, thou mak'st a testament
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more

To that which had too much :* then, being there

alone,

Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends; +
'Tis right, quoth he, thus misery doth part
The flux of company: anon, a careless herd,
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him,
And never stays to greet him; Ay, quoth Jaques,
Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;
'Tis just the fashion; wherefore do you look
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?
Thus most invectively he pierceth through
The body of the country, city, court,
Yea, and of this our life; swearing that we
Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse,
To fright the animals, and to kill them up,
In their assign'd and native dwelling place.

DUKE S. And did you leave him in this con-
templation?

2 LORD. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting Upon the sobbing deer.

DUKE S.

Show me the place; I love to cope him in these sullen fits, For then he's full of matter.

2 LORD. I'll bring you to him straight.

a

Here feel we not the penalty of Adam,
The seasons' difference:]

The usual reading, suggested by Theobald, is "Here feel we but," &c. Neither is satisfactory, nor do we think not the only corruption in the speech,-the word as is equally open to suspicion. The passage, it is presumable, may have run thus in the original manuscript:

"Here feel we yet the penalty of Adam,

The seasons' difference: At the icy fang,
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind,-
Which, when it bites and blows upon my body,
Even till I shrink with cold-I smile, and say,
This is no flattery."

The Duke is contrasting the dangers and sophistications of a

(*) First folio, must.

(+) Old text, friend. (1) First folio omits, the.

court life with the safety and primitive simplicity of their sylvan state; and glories in the privilege of undergoing Adam's penalty-the seasons' difference.

b I would not change it.] Upton is perhaps right in suggesting that these words belong to the Duke, rather than to Amiens, who, as a courtier, would naturally agree with his master, and begin, &c. "Happy is your grace,'

In the needless stream;] The old copy has into. As Malone remarks, that word was probably caught by the compositor's eye

from the line above.

The roynish clown-] From the French rogneux, scurty, mangy. It may, however, be no more than a misprint of roguish.

Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.
Hesperia, the princess' gentlewoman,
Confesses, that she secretly o'erheard

Your daughter and her cousin much commend
The parts and graces of the wrestler
That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles;
And she believes, wherever they are gone,
That youth is surely in their company.

DUKE F. Send to his brother; fetch that gallant hither:

If he be absent, bring his brother to me,
I'll make him find him: do this suddenly;
And let not search and inquisition quail
To bring again these foolish runaways. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.-Before Oliver's House.

Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting. ORL. Who's there?

ADAM. What! my young master?—O, my gentle master!

O, my sweet master! O you memory

Of old sir Roland! why, what make you here?
Why are you virtuous? Why do people love you?
And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant?
Why would you be so fond to overcome
The bony* priser of the humorous duke?
Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.
Know you not, master, to some kind of men
Their graces serve them but as enemies?

No more do yours; your virtues, gentle master,
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.

O, what a world is this, when what is comely
Envenoms him that bears it!

ORL. Why, what's the matter? b
ADAM.

O unhappy youth,
Come not within these doors! within this roof
The enemy of all your graces
lives:
Your brother-(no, no brother; yet the son―
Yet not the son ;-I will not call him son—
Of him I was about to call his father,)—
Hath heard your praises; and this night he means
To burn the lodging where you use to lie,
And you within it: if he fail of that,
He will have other means to cut you off;
I overheard him and his practices.

This is no place; this house is but a butchery; Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.

ORL. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go?

ADAM. No matter whither, so you come not here.

ORL. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg

my food?

Or, with a base and boisterous sword, enforce
A thievish living on the common road?
This I must do, or know not what to do:
Yet this I will not do, do how I can ;

I rather will subject me to the malice

Of a diverted blood and bloody brother.

ADAM. But do not so: I have five hundred crowns,

The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father,
Which I did store, to be foster-nurse,
my
When service should in my old limbs lie lame,
And unregarded age in corners thrown;
Take that; and He that doth the ravens feed,
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,
Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold;
All this I give you. Let me be your servant;
Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty:
For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood,
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo
The means of weakness and debility;
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty, but kindly let me go with you;
I'll do the service of a younger man
In all your business and necessities.

ORL. O good old man, how well in thee

appears

The constant service of the antique world,
When service sweat for duty, not for meed!
Thou art not for the fashion of these times,
Where none will sweat but for promotion;
And having that, do choke their service up
Even with the having: it is not so with thee.
But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree,
That cannot so much as a blossom yield,
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry:
But come thy ways, we'll go along together;
And ere we have thy youthful wages spent,
We'll light upon some settled low content.

Tогсн. 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.

TorсH. 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:

Or if thou hast not sat as I do now,
Wearing 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 !
[Exit SILVIUS.

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

I have by hard adventure found mine own.

C

TогсH. And I mine: I remember, when I was in love, I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming a-night to Jane Smile : and I remember the kissing of her batlet, and the cow's dugs that her pretty chapped hands had milked 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,

a I should bear no cross.-] This quibble on cross was a stereotype jest of which the writers, readers, and play-goers of Shakespeare's time seem never to have had enough. See note (c), p. 56, Vol. I.

Searching of thy wound,- The second folio, 1632, reads, "their wound," only partially correcting the error of the first edition, 1623, which has, "searching of they would"

* Batlet,-] The bat used to beat linen in washing. In the first folio, batler.

d From whom-] "From his mistress," Mr. Knight says, and other editors have fallen into the same error. Touchstone surely

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 speakest 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.

Ros. Jove! Jove! this shepherd's passion
Is much upon my fashion.

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

CEL. I pray you, one of you question yond

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 anything.

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,

(*) First folio, your.

means that he both took the cods from and returned them to the peascod, the representative of his mistress. In like manner he tells us, just before, he broke his sword upon a stone, and bid him, his imagined rival, "take that."

e But as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.] As the commentators appear not to suspect corruption here, the passage probably contains a meaning we have failed to discover.

Here shall he see

No enemy,

But winter and rough weather.

JAQ. More, more, I pr'ythee, more.

AMI. It will make you melancholy, monsieur Jaques.

JAQ. I thank it. More, I pr'ythee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weazel sucks eggs; more, I pr'ythee, more.

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; come, more; another stanza; call you 'em stanzas?

AMI. What you will, monsieur Jaques. JAQ. Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing. Will you sing?

AMI. More at your request than to please myself.

JAQ. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you but that they call compliment, is like the encounter of two dog-apes; and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks I have given him a penny, and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues.

AMI. Well, I'll end the song. Sirs, cover the while; the duke will drink under this tree: he hath been all this day to look you.

JAQ. And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is too disputable for my company: I

a And turn his merry note-] In many modern editions we have "tune his merry note;" but turn was the poet's phrase:"Whiles threadbare Martiall turns his merry note." HALL'S Satires, Bk. VI. Sat. 1, quoted by Mr. Singer.

b Ragged:] That is, rough, rugged.

c Dog-apes;] "Some be called cenophe; and be lyke to an hounde in the face, and in the body lyke to an ape."-BARTHOLOMEUS, De propr. rerum, xviii. 96, quoted by Douce.

d Sirs, cover the while;] That is, prepare the table; equiva

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

lent to our "lay the cloth;"-"bid them cover the table, serve in the meat, and we will come in to dinner."-Merchant of Venice, Act. III. Sc. 5.

e Ducdame;] After all that has been written in elucidation of "ducdame," we are disposed to believe the "invocation," like the Clown's

"Fond done, done fond;"

in "All's Well That Ends Well," is mere unmeaning babble coined for the occasion.