Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, Orl. O good old man; how well in thee appears Adam. Master, go on; and I will follow thee, 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: 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 1; 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, Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, Or if thou hast not broke from company, [Exit SILVIUS., 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. Ros. Jove! Jove! this shepherd's passion Touch. And mine; but it grows something stale with me. 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 Cor. Who calls? Touch. Your betters, sir. Cor. Else are they very wretched. Ros. Good even to you, friend. Peace, I say: Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. Cor. Fair sir, I pity her, And wish for her sake, more than for mine own My fortunes were more able to relieve her : And do not sheer the fleeces that I graze; My master is of churlish disposition, `And little recks to find the way to heaven Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed, Ros. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture? That little cares for buying any thing. Kos I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, 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: SCENE V.-The same. Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others. SONG. Ami. Under the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, [Exeunt Come hither, come hither, come hither; 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 them stanzas ? Ami. What you will, monsieur Jaques. Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names; tney 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 |