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.

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