Ami.

What's that ducdame?

Jaq.

'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I'll go sleep if I can; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the first-born of Egypt.

Ami.

And I'll go seek the Duke: his banquet is prepar'd.

Enter Orlando and Adam.

Adam.

Dear Master, master, I can go no further; O, I die for food! here lye I down, and measure out my grave. Farewel, kind master.

Orla.

Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee? live a little; comfort a little; cheer thy self a little. If this uncouth Forest yield any thing 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 a while at the arm's end: I will be here 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 cheerly. And I'll be with thee quickly; yet thou liest in the bleak air. Come, I will bear thee to some shelter, and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this Desart. Cheerly, good Adam.

Duke Sen.
I think, he is transform'd into a beast,
For I can no where find him like a man.

1 Lord.
My Lord, he is but even now gone hence;
Here was he merry, hearing of a Song.

Duke Sen.
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.

1 Lord.
He saves my labour by his own approach.

Duke Sen.
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' th' forest,
A motley fool; a miserable world!

As I do live by food, I met a fool,
Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun,
And rail'd 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 poak,
And looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
Says, very wisely, it is ten a 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 'twill 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 Sen.
What fool is this?

Jaq.
O worthy fool! one that hath been a Courtier,
And says, if ladies be but young and fair,
They have the gift to know it: and in his brain,
Which is as dry as the remainder bisket
After a voyage, he hath strange places cram'd
With observation, the which he vents
In mangled forms. O that I were a fool!
I am ambitious for a motley coat.

Duke Sen.
Thou shalt have one.

Jaq.
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 gauled with my folly,
They most must laugh: and why, Sir, must they so?
The why is plain, as way to parish church;

(12) ^note
He, whom 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 anatomiz'd
Even by the squandring glances of a fool.
Invest me in my motley, give me leave
To speak my mind, and I will through and through
Cleanse the foul body of th' infected world,
If they will patiently receive my medicine.

Duke Sen.
Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do.

Jaq.
What, for a counter, would I do but good?

Duke Sen.
Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin:
For thou thy self hast been a libertine,
As sensual as the brutish sting it self;
And all th' embossed sores and headed evils,
That thou with licence of free foot hast caught,
Would'st 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 very 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 sutes
His folly to the metal of my speech?
There then; how then? what then? let me see wherein

My tongue hath wrong'd him; if it do him right,
Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free,
Why, then my taxing, like a wild goose flies
Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes here? Enter Orlando, with Sword drawn.

Orla.
Forbear, and eat no more.—

Jaq.
Why, I have eat none yet.

Orla.
Nor shalt not, 'till necessity be serv'd.

Jaq.
Of what kind should this Cock come of?

Duke Sen.
Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress?
Or else a rude despiser of good manners,
That in civility thou seem'st so empty?

Orla.
You touch'd my vein at first; the thorny point
Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the shew
Of smooth civility; yet am I in-land bred,
And know some nurture: but forbear, I say:
He dies, that touches any of this fruit,
'Till I and my affairs are answered.

Jaq.
If you will not
Be answered with reason, I must die.

Duke Sen.
What would you have? Your gentleness shall force,
More than your force move us to gentleness.

Orla.
I almost die for food, and let me have it.

Duke Sen.
Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.

Orla.
Speak you so gently? pardon me, I pray you;
I thought, that all things had been savage here;
And therefore put I on the countenance
Of stern commandment, But whate'er you are,
That in this desart inaccessible,
Under the shade of melancholy boughs,
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time;
If ever you have look'd on better days;
If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church;
If ever sate at any good man's feast;
If ever from your eyelids wip'd a tear,
And know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied;

Let gentleness my strong enforcement be,
In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.

Duke Sen.
True is it, that we have seen better days;
And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church;
And sate at good men's feasts, and wip'd our eyes
Of drops, that sacred pity hath engender'd:
And therefore sit you down in gentleness,
And take upon command what help we have,
That to your wanting may be ministred.

Orla.
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
Limp'd in pure love; 'till he be first suffic'd,
Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,
I will not touch a bit.

Duke Sen.
Go find him out,
And we will nothing waste 'till you return.

Orla.
I thank ye; and be bless'd for your good comfort! [Exit.

Duke Sen.
Thou seest, we are not all alone unhappy:
This wide and universal Theatre
Presents more woful pageants, than the scene
Wherein we play in.

Jaq.
All the world's a Stage,
And all the men and women meerly 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:
And 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 woful 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 lin'd,

With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise laws (13) ^noteand modern instances,
And so he Plays his part. The sixt hage shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide
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 meer oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing. Enter Orlando, with Adam.

Duke Sen.
Welcome: set down your venerable burthen,
And let him feed.

Orla.
I thank you most for him.

Adam.
So had you need,
I scarce can speak to thank you for my self.

Duke Sen.
Welcome, fall to: I will not trouble you,
As yet to question you about your fortunes.
Give us some musick; and, good cousin, sing.
SONG.
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,
  Altho' thy breath be rude.
Heigh ho! sing, heigh ho! unto the green holly;
Most friendship is feigning; most loving meer 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:
Tho' thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
  As friend remembred not.
Heigh ho! sing, &c.

Duke Sen.
If that you were the good Sir Rowland's Son,
As you have whisper'd faithfully you were,
And as mine eye doth his effigies witness,
Most truly limn'd, and living in your face,
Be truly welcome hither. I'm the Duke,
That lov'd 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.

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