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.

Adam. Master, go on; and I will follow thee, To the last gasp, with truth and and loyalty.From seventeen years till now almost fourscore Here livéd I, but now live here no more. At seventeen years many their fortunes seek; But at fourscore it is too late a week: Yet fortune cannot recompense me better, Than to die well, and not my master's debtor.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-The Forest of Arden.

Enter ROSALIND, in boy's clothes; CELIA, dressed 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 shew itself courageous to petticoat: therefore, courage, good Aliena.

Cel. I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go

Sil. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her!

Cor. I partly guess; for I have loved ere now. Sil. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess; Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover As ever sighed 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 loved:

Or, if thou hast not sat as I do now,
Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
Thou hast not loved:

Or, if thou hast not broke from company
Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,
Thou hast not loved. O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe!
[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 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,

"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 is much upon my fashion.

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. Holloa; you clown!

Ros. Peace, fool; he's not thy kinsman.
Cor. Who calls?

Touch. Your betters, sir.

Cor. Else are they very wretched.
Ros. Peace, I say.-

Good even to you, friend.

Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.

Ros. I pr'y thee, shepherd, if that love or gold Can in this desert place buy entertainment,

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

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,

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 faithful feeder be,

And buy it with your gold right suddenly.

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; 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 think of as many matters as he; but I give heaven thanks, and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come.

All sing together here.
Who doth ambition shun,
And loves to live i'the sun,
Seeking the food he eats,

And pleased with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither;
Here shall he see

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 anything 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 be with thee presently; and if I bring thee not something to eat, I'll give thee leave to die: but if thou diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said! thou look'st cheerily : and I'll be with thee quickly.-Yet thou liest in the bleak air: come, I will bear thee to some shelter; and thou shall not die for lack of a dinner, if there live anything in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam! [Exeunt.

SCENE VII.-The same. A table set out. Enter DUKE Senior, AMIENS, Lords, and others. Duke S. I think he be transformed into a beast; For I can nowhere 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 labour 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 basked him in the sun,
And railed 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 one hour more 't will 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 ;

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 galléd 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 anatomised
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. Fie 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

sin:

For thou thyself hast been a libertine,
As sensual as the brutish sting itself;
And all the embosséd sores, and headed evils,
That thou with license 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 weary 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 then? what then? Let me see wherein

My tongue hath wronged him: if it do him right, Then he hath wronged himself; if he be free, Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies, Unclaimed 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 served. Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of? Duke S. Art thou thus boldened, man, by thy

distress;

Or else a rude despiser of good manners,
That in civility thou seem'st so empty?

Orl. You touched my vein at first; the thorny

point

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 knolled to church;
And sat at good men's feasts; and wiped our eyes
Of drops that sacred pity hath engendered:
And therefore sit you down in gentleness,
And take upon command what help we have,
That to your wanting may be ministered.

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
Limped in pure love; till he be first sufficed,
Oppressed with two weak evils, age and hunger,
I will not touch a bit.

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:
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 lined,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part: the sixth age
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide

shifts

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 everything.

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 music; and, good cousin, sing.

AMIENS sings.

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.

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 remembered not.
Heigh ho! sing heigh ho! &c.

Duke S. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's

son,

As you have whispered faithfully you were;
And as mine eye doth his effigies witness
Most truly limned and living in your face,—
Be truly welcome hither: I am the Duke,

That loved your father. The residue of your

fortune,

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.