Duke S.
Now, my co-mates and brothers ^note in exile,
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 ^note the penalty of Adam,

The seasons' difference; as ^note the icy fang
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.
I would not change it.

Ami.
Happy ^note is your Grace,
That can translate the stubbornness of fortune
Into so quiet and so sweet a style.

Duke S.
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 haunches gored.

First Lord.
Indeed, my lord,
The melancholy Jaques grieves at that,
And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp
Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you.
To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself
Did steal behind him as he lay along
Under an oak whose antique root ^note peeps out
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood:
To the which place a poor sequester'd stag,
That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt,
Did come to languish, and indeed, my lord,
The wretched animal heaved forth such groans,
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat
Almost to bursting, and the big round tears

Coursed one another down his innocent nose
In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool,
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
Stood on the extremest ^note verge of the swift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.

Duke S.
But what said Jaques?
Did he not moralize this spectacle?

First Lord.
O, yes, into ^note a thousand similes.
First, for his weeping into the needless stream;
‘Poor deer,’ quoth he, ‘thou makest a testament
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
To that which had ^note too much ^note:’ then, being there ^note alone,
Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends ^note;
‘'Tis right,’ quoth he; ‘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,’ quoth Jaques,
‘Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;
'Tis just the fashion: wherefore do you look
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?’
Thus most invectively he pierceth through
The body of the country ^note, city, court,
Yea, and of this our life; swearing that we
Are mere usurpers, tyrants and what's worse,
To fright the animals and to kill ^note them up ^note
In their assign'd and native dwelling-place.

Duke S.
And did you leave him in this contemplation?

Sec. Lord.
We did, my lord, weeping and commenting
Upon the sobbing deer.

Duke S.
Show me the place:
I love to cope him in these sullen fits,
For then he's full of matter.

First Lord.
I'll bring you to him straight. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. A room in the palace. Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords.

Duke F.
Can it be possible that no man saw them?
It cannot be: some villains of my court
Are of consent and sufferance in this.

First Lord.
I cannot hear of any that did see her.
The ladies, her attendants of her chamber,
Saw her a-bed, and in the morning early
They found the bed untreasured of their mistress.

Sec. Lord.
My lord, the roynish ^note clown, at whom so oft
Your Grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.
Hisperia ^note, the princess' gentlewoman,
Confesses that she secretly o'erheard
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 F.
Send to his brother ^note; fetch that gallant hither;
If he be absent, bring his brother to me;
I'll make him find him: do this suddenly,
And let not search and inquisition quail ^note
To bring again these foolish runaways. [Exeunt. Scene III. Before Oliver's house ^note. Enter Orlando and Adam, meeting ^note.

Orl.
Who's there?

Adam.
What, my young master? O my gentle master!
O my sweet master! O 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 bonny ^note priser of the humorous Duke?
Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.
Know you not, master, to some ^note 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.
O, what a world is this, when what is comely
Envenoms him that bears ^note it!

Orl. ^note
Why, what's the matter?

Adam.
O unhappy youth!
Come not within these doors; within ^note this ^note roof
The enemy of all your graces lives:
Your brother—no, no brother; yet the son—
Yet not the son, I will not call him son,
Of him I was about to call his father,—
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.

Orl. ^note
Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go?

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

Orl.
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 ^note and bloody brother.

Adam.
But do not so. I have five hundred crowns,
The thrifty hire I saved under your ^note father,
Which I did store to be my foster-nurse
When service should in my old limbs lie ^note 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:
Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty;
For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in ^note my blood,
Nor did not ^note 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.

Orl.
O good old man, how well in thee appears
The constant service ^note of the antique world,
When service ^note sweat for duty, not for meed!
Thou art not for the fashion of these times,
Where none will sweat but for promotion,
And having that do choke their service up
Even with the having: it is not so with thee.
But, poor old man, thou prunest 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.
From seventeen ^note 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 ^note:
Yet fortune cannot recompense me better
Than to die well and not my master's debtor. [Exeunt. Scene IV. The Forest of Arden. Enter ^note Rosalind for Ganymede, Celia for Aliena, and Touchstone.

Ros.

O Jupiter, how weary ^note 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 to cry like a woman; but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat: therefore, courage, good Aliena.

Cel.

I pray you, bear with me; I cannot ^note go no further.

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 ^note; 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. Enter Corin and Silvius. ^note Look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in solemn talk.

Cor.
That is the way to make her scorn you still.

Sil.
O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her!

Cor.
I partly guess; for I have loved ere now.

Sil.
No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess,
Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover
As ever ^note sigh'd upon a midnight pillow:
But if thy love were ever like to mine,—
As sure I think did never man love so,—
How many actions most ridiculous
Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?

Cor.
Into a thousand that I have forgotten.

Sil.
O, thou didst then ne'er ^note love so heartily!
If thou remember'st not the slightest folly
That ever love did make thee run into,
Thou hast not loved:
Or if thou hast not sat ^note as I do now,
Wearing ^note thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
Thou hast not loved:
Or if thou hast not broke from company
Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,
Thou hast not loved.
O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe! [Exit. ^note

Ros.
Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound ^note,
I have by hard adventure found mine own.

Touch.

And I mine. I remember, when I was in love I broke my sword upon a stone and bid him take that for coming a-night ^note to Jane Smile: and I remember the kissing of her batlet ^note and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopt hands had milked: and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her; from whom I took two cods ^note and, giving her them again, said with weeping tears ‘Wear these for my sake.’ We that are true lovers run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.

Ros.

Thou speakest wiser than thou art ware of.

Touch.

Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I break my shins against it.

Ros.
Jove, Jove ^note! this shepherd's passion
  Is much upon ^note my fashion. ^note

Touch.
And mine; but it grows something stale with me.

Cel.
I pray you, one of you question yond ^note man
If he for gold will give us any food:
I faint almost to death.

Touch.
Holla, you clown!

Ros.
Peace, fool: he's not thy kinsman.

Cor.
Who calls?

Touch.
Your betters, sir.

Cor.
Else are they very ^note wretched.

Ros.
Peace, I say. Good even to you, ^note friend.

Cor.
And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.

Ros.
I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold
Can in this desert place buy entertainment,
Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed:
Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd
And faints for succour.

Cor.
Fair sir, I pity her
And wish, for her sake more than for mine own,
My fortunes were more able to relieve her;
But I am shepherd ^note to another man
And do not shear the fleeces that I graze:
My master is of churlish disposition
And little recks ^note to find the way to heaven
By doing deeds of hospitality:
Besides, his cote ^note, his flocks and bounds of feed
Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now,

By reason of his absence, there is nothing
That you will feed on; but what is, come see,
And in my voice most welcome shall you be.

Ros.
What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture?

Cor.
That young swain that you saw here but erewhile,
That little cares for buying any thing.

Ros.
I pray thee, if it stand with honesty,
Buy thou the cottage, pasture and the flock,
And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. ^note

Cel.
And we will mend thy wages ^note. I like this place,
And willingly could waste my time in it.

Cor.
Assuredly the thing is to be sold:
Go with me: if you like upon report
The soil, the profit and this kind of life,
I will your very faithful feeder ^note be
And buy it with your gold right suddenly. [Exeunt. Scene V. The forest. Enter Amiens, Jaques, and others.

Song. Ami. ^note
  Under the greenwood ^note tree
  Who loves to lie with me,
  And turn ^note his merry note
  Unto the sweet bird's throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither:
    Here ^note shall he ^note see
    No enemy
But winter and rough weather.

Jaq.

More, more, I prithee, more.

Ami.

It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.

Jaq.

I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more. ^note

Ami.

My voice is ragged ^note: I know I cannot please you.

Jaq.

I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to sing. Come, more ^note; another stanzo: call you 'em stanzos ^note?

Ami.

What you will, Monsieur Jaques.

Jaq.

Nay, I care not for their names; they owe ^note me nothing. Will you sing?

Ami.

More at your request than to please myself.

Jaq.

Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you; but that they call compliment ^note is like the encounter of two dog-apes, and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks I have given him a penny and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues.

Ami.

Well, I'll end the song. Sirs, cover the while; the Duke will drink ^note under this tree. He hath been all this day to look you.

Jaq.

And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is too disputable for my company: I think of as many matters as he; but I give heaven thanks, and make no boast of them ^note. Come, warble, come.

Song.
  Who doth ambition shun, [All together ^note here.
  And loves to live ^note i' the sun,
  Seeking the food he eats,
  And pleased with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither:
    Here ^note shall he ^note see
    No enemy
But winter and rough weather ^note.

Jaq.

I'll give you a verse to this note, that I made yesterday in despite of my invention.

Ami.

And I'll sing it.

Jaq.

Thus it goes ^note:—

  If it do come to pass
  That any man turn ass,
  Leaving his wealth and ease
  A stubborn will to please,
Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame:
    Here shall he see
    Gross fools as he,
An if he will come to me ^note.

Ami.

What's that ‘ducdame ^note’?

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 prepared.