DUKE.
Well, my Co-mates, and Partners in Exile,
Hath not old Custom made this Life more sweet
Than that of painted Pomp? Are not these Woods,
These Plains enrich'd by bounteous Nature's Hand,
More free from Trouble, than the envious Court?
In Nature's Palace fearlessly we feel
The Seasons Difference; and when the icy Phang,
And churlish Chiding of the Winter's Wind
Blows on my Body, e'en till I shake with Cold,
I smile, and say this is no Flattery:
These, these are Friends indeed, that tell me true,
And kindly teach me how to know myself.
Believe me, Sirs, Adversity is not
That Monster, that our Fears wou'd represent her,
And tho' her Tree be bitter, yet her Fruit
Is passing sweet: Weigh but the Advantages

Against its Ills, and you shall see the Scale
Of Profit sink beneath th' unequal Burthen.

ANTONIO.
I wou'd not change my Life again; and sure
Your Grace is happy, that can so easily suit
Your Disposition to your wayward Fortune.

DUKE.
Come, Sirs, what say you, shall we kill some Venison?
And yet it irks me, the poor dappled Fools,
Being native Burghers of this desart City,
Shou'd here, in their own Confines, be destroy'd.

1st LORD.
My Lord Marcellus grieves at that, and swears
We are worse Tyrants than your Brother Ferdinand.

DUKE.

Who saw him of late?

1st LORD.

This Morning, Lord Antonio, and myself crept close behind him, as he lay supine beneath a rev'rend Oak, whose leafy Honours bow o'er the Brook that borders on Wood; thither a poor sequester'd Stag, that from the Hunter's Dart had ta'en a Hurt, and from the Toils escap'd, retir'd to languish; and, believe me, the wretched Animal heav'd forth such Groans, that their Discharge did stretch his leathern Coat almost to bursting; and the big round Tears chas'd one another down his trembling Cheeks in such Abundance, it wou'd have mov'd a Man less human than Marcellus.

DUKE.
Food for his Melancholy. What said he?
Did he not moralize upon the Spectacle?

ANTONIO.

Oh much, my Lord, into a thousand Similies. First, when he saw his falling Tears augment the swelling

Stream, just so, quoth he, do Worldlings make their Testaments, bequeathing more to those who had too much already.

1st LORD.

Then because he was alone; right, quoth he, 'tis easy known that thou art miserable, because alone; for Misery makes Solitude.

ANTONIO.

Anon, a careless Herd, eager on Pasture, bounds swiftly by, and never stops to greet him: Sweep on, cry'd he, 'tis just the Fashion; yon Train of Stags are favourite Courtiers, and like them, neglect their Brother in Disgrace.

DUKE.

Heard you his Sermon out, or did you leave him in his Contemplation?

1st LORD.

'Twas much about your Highness's Dressing-time, we therefore left him still commenting on the unhappy Deer.

DUKE.

Wou'd I had been there!

ANTONIO.

'Twou'd much have pleas'd your Highness.

DUKE.

Belike so; I have not seen him lately. Know any of you where to meet with him?

ANTONIO.

You know, my Lord, he does not quickly leave a Place he has once taken to; 'tis Odds we find him there.

DUKE.

I pray you bring me to him; I love to cope him in these sullen Fits; for then he's full of Matter. Along.

ANTONIO.

This Way, my Lord.

Next section