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 squandring 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 wouldst do.
Jaq. What, for a counter, would I do, but good? Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding
For thou thyself hast been a libertine, As sensual as the brutish sting itself;
And all the embossed sores, and headed evils, That thou with licence of free foot hast caught, Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world. 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 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.
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
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
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
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 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.
And we will nothing waste till you return.
Orl. I thank ye; and be bless'd for your good
Duke S. Thou seest, we are not all alone un
This wide and universal theatre
Presents more woeful pageants than the scene
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 modern1 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
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.
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: Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then, heigh, ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly..
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