Duke Senior.
Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile,† ^note
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet,
Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods
More free from peril, than the envious court?
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
The season's difference; as the icy phang,
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind;
Which when it bites, and blows upon my body,

Even 'till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say,
This is no flattery: these are counsellors
That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head:
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

Ami.
I would not change it—Happy is your grace,
That can traslate the stubborness of fortune,
Into so quiet, and so sweet a style.

Duke Sen.
Come, shall we go and kill us venison?
And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools,
Being native burghers of this desert city,
Should in their own confines, with forked heads,
Have their round hanches goar'd.

Jaques.* ^note
Indeed, my lord, I've often griev'd at that,
And in that kind, swear you do more usurp,
Than doth your brother, that hath banish'd you.
To day, my lord of Amiens and myself,
Did steal behind an oak,
Whose antique root peeps out
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood,
To the which place, a poor sequestered stag,
That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt,
Did come to languish; and indeed, my lord,
The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans,
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat,
Almost to bursting, and the big round tears
Cours'd one another down his innocent nose,
In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool,
Stood on th' extemest verge of the swift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.

Duke Sen.
But what said you?
Did you not moralize this spectacle?

Jaques.
O yes, into a thousand similies.

First, for his weeping in the needless stream;
Poor dear, said I, thou mak'st a testament,
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
To that which had too much. Then, being alone,
Left, and abandon'n of his velvet friends;
'Tis right, quoth I, thus misery doth part
The flux of company. Anon, a careless herd,
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him,
And never stays to greet him. Ay, said I,
Sweep on, ye fat and greasy citizens,
'Tis just the fashion; wherefore do you look
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there.
Thus, most invectively did I pierce through
The body of the country, city, court,
Yea, and of this our life, swearing that we
Are mere usurpers, tyrants, murderers,
To fright the animals, and kill them up
In their assign'd and native dwelling-place.

Duke Sen.
Show me the place;
I love to cope you in these sullen sits,
For then you're full of matter.

Jaques.
I'll bring you to it straight. [Exeunt. Scene The Palace. Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords.

Duke.
Can it be possible that no man saw them?

Lord.
My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft
Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.
Hisperia, the princess' gentlewoman,
Confesses that she secretly o'er-heard
Your daughter and her cousin much commend
The parts and graces of the wrestler,
That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles;
And she believes, wherever they are gone,
That youth is surely in their company.

Duke.
Send to his brother; fetch that gallant hither;

And let not search and inquisition quail,
To bring again these foolish runaways. [Exeunt. Scene SCENE, Oliver's House. Enter Orlando and Adam.* ^note

Orla.
Who's there?

Adam.
What, my young master? Oh, my gentle master,
Oh, my sweet master, Oh, you memory
Of old Sir Rowland! Why, what make you here?
Why are you virtuous? Why do people love you?
And wherefore are you gentle, strong and valiant?
Why would you be so fond to overcome
The boney priser of the humouros duke?
Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.
Know you not, master, to some kind of men,
Their graces serve them but as enemies?
No more do yours; your virtues, gentle master,
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.
Oh, what a world is this, when what is comely,
Envenoms him that bears it!

Orla.
Why, what's the matter?

Adam.
Oh, unhappy youth,
Come not within these doors; within this roof,
The enemy of all your graces lives:
Your brother hath heard your praises,
And this night he means
To burn the lodging where you use to lie,
And you within it; if he fail of that,
He will have other means to cut you off.
I overheard him, and his practices.
This is no place, this house is but a butchery;
Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.

Orla.
Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go?

Adam.
No matter whither, so you come not here.

Orla.
What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food,
Or with a base and boisterous sword, enforce
A thievish living on the common road?
This I must do, or know not what to do:
Yet this I will not do, do how I can;
I rather will subject me to the malice
Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother.

Adam.
But do not so; I have five hundred crowns,
The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father,
Which I did store, to be my foster-nurse,
When service should in my old limbs lie lame,
And unregarded age in corners thrown;
Take that, and he that doth the ravens feed,
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,
Be comfort to my age. Here is the gold,
All this I give you. Let me be your servant;
Tho' I look old, yet I am strong and lusty,
For in my youth, I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood,
Nor did I with unbashful forehead woo
The means of weakness and debility:
Therefore, my age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty, but kindly. Let me go with you,
I'll do the service of a younger man,
In all your business and necessities.* ^note

Orla.
Oh, good old man, how well in thee appears
The constant service of the antique world;
When service sweat for duty, not for meed!† ^note
Thou art not for the fashion of these times,
Where none will sweat, but for promotion,
And having that, do choak their service up,
Even with the hazing. 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 loyalty.* ^note
From seventeen years, till now almost fourscore,
Here lived 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 recompence me better,
Than to die well, and not my master's debtor. [Exeunt. Scene SCENE, the Forest of Arden. Enter Rosalind in Boy's Clothes for Ganimed, Celia drest like a Shepherdess for Aliena, 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 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 can go no farther.

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 I. 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.