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 neighbour?
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.

Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of? 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 diès, that touches any of this fruit,
Till I and my affairs are answer'd.

Jaq. An you will not be answer'd 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 eye-lids 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 feast; 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 minister'd.

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!

[Exit. 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.

Jaq.

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits, and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school: And then, the lover;
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eye-brow: Then, a soldier;
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth: And then, the justice;
In fair round belly, with good capon lin❜d,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances,

And so he plays his part: The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon;

With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound: Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness, and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.

Re-enter Orlando, with Adam.

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 musick; and, good cousin, sing.

Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly :
Then, heigh, ho, the holly!

This life is most jolly.

II.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp

As friend remember'd not.

Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! &c.

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
Most truly limn'd, and living in your face,--
Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke,

That lov'd your father: The residue of

tune,

your for

Go to my cave and tell me.--Good old man,
Thou art right welcome as thy master is:
Support him by the arm.-Give me your hand,
And let me all your fortunes understand.

[Exeunt.