SCENE I. A Room in the Palace. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, and OLIVER. Duke Frederick. Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be: But were I not the better part made mercy, I should not seek an absent argument Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it: Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is; Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth Of what we think against thee. Oliver. O that your highness knew my heart in this! I never lov'd my brother in my life. Duke Frederick. More villain thou.-Well, push him out of doors; And let my officers of such a nature Make an extent upon his house and lands: SCENE II. The Forest. Enter ORLANDO, with a paper. [Exeunt. Orlando. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love; O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books, Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where. Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE. [Exit. 9 Corin. And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone? Touchstone. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now, in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. any philosophy in thee, shepherd? Hast 21 Corin. No more but that I know the more one sickens the worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money, means, and content is without three good friends; that the property of rain is to wet and fire to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep, and that a great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art may complain of good breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred. Touchstone. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court, shepherd? Corin. No, truly. Touchstone. Then thou art damned. Corin. Nay, I hope,— 31 Touchstone. Truly, thou art damned, like an ill-roasted egg all on one side. Corin. For not being at court? Your reason. Touchstone. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never saw'st good manners; if thou never saw'st good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd. 42 Corin. Not a whit, Touchstone: those that are good manners at the court are as ridiculous in the country as the behaviour of the country is most mockable at the court. You told me you salute not at the court, but you kiss your hands that courtesy would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds. Touchstone. Instance, briefly; come, instance. Corin. Why, we are still handling our ewes; and their fells, you know, are greasy. 50 Touchstone. Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? and is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow! A better instance, I say; come. Corin. Besides, our hands are hard. Touchstone. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again! A more sounder instance; come. Corin. And they are often tarred over with the surgery of our sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are perfumed with civet. Touchstone. Most shallow man! thou worms'-meat, in respect of a good piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and perpend: civet is of a baser birth than tar, the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd. Corin. You have too courtly a wit for me; I'll rest. low man! God make incision in thee! 63 God help thee, shalthou art raw. Corin. Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get that I wear arow owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness; glad of other men's good, content with my harm; and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck. 71 Touchstone. That is another simple sin in you, to bring the ewes and the rams together. If thou be'st not damned for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst scape. Corin. Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother. Enter ROSALIND, reading a paper. Rosalind. From the east to western Ind, No jewel is like Rosalind. Her worth, being mounted on the wind, Are but black to Rosalind. 85 Let no face be kept in mind But the fair of Rosalind. Touchstone. I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners and suppers and sleeping-hours excepted: it is the right butter-women's rank to market. Rosalind. Out, fool! If a hart do lack a hind, Winter garments must be lin'd, They that reap must sheaf and bind; Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, Such a nut is Rosalind. He that sweetest rose will find Must find love's prick and Rosalind. 90 100 This is the very false gallop of verses: why do you infect yourself with them? Rosalind. Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree. Touchstone. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. Rosalind. I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit i' the country; for you 'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that 's the right virtue of the medlar. Touchstone. You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest judge. Enter CELIA, with a writing. Rosalind. Peace! Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside. |