Ros.

Ay, be so, good Touchstone; 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 lov'd e'er now.

Sil.
No Corin, being old, thou can'st not guess,
Tho' in thy Youth thou wast as true a Lover,
As ever 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 Fantasie?

Cor.
Into a thousand that I have forgotten.

Sil.
Oh thou didst then ne'er love so heartily;
If thou remembrest not the slighted Folly
That ever Love did make thee run into,
Thou hast not lov'd;
Or if thou hast not sate as I do now,
Wearying thy Hearer in thy Mistress Praise,
Thou hast not lov'd.
Or if thou hast not broke from Company,
Abruptly as my Passion now makes me,
Thou hast not lov'd.
O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe. [Exit Sil.

Ros.
Alas poor Shepherd! searching of thy Wound,
I have by hard Adventure found mine own.

Clo.

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 Nights to Jane Smile; and I remember the Kissing of her Batlet, and the Cow's Dugs that her pretty chopt Hands had milk'd; and I remember the wooing of a Peascod instead of her, from whom I took two Cods, and giving her them again, said with weeping Tears, wear these for my sake; we that are true Lovers run into strange Capers; but all is Mortal in Nature, so is all Nature in Love, mortal to Folly.

Ros.

Thou speak'st wiser than thou art ware of.

Clo.

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

Ros.
Jove! Jove! this Shepherd's Passion
Is much upon my Fashion.

Clo.
And mine, but it grows something stale with me.

Cel.
I pray you, one of you question yond Man,
If he for Gold will give us any Food,
I faint almost to Death.

Clo.
Holla; you Clown.

Ros.
Peace Fool, he's not thy Kinsman.

Cor.
Who calls?

Clo.
Your Betters, Sir.

Cor.
Else they are wretched.

Ros.
Peace I say; good Even to you, Friend.

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

Ros.
I prethee, Shepherd, if that Love or Gold
Can in this desert Place buy Entertainment;
Bring us where we may rest our selves, and feed;
Here's a young Maid with Travel much oppressed,
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 a Shepherd to another Man,
And do not sheer the Fleeces that I graze;
My Master is of churlish Disposition,
And little wreaks to find the way to Heav'n
By doing Deeds of Hospitality:
Besides, his Coat, his Flocks, and Bounds of feed
Are now on Sale, and at our Sheep-coat 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 e'er while,
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.

Cel.
And we will mend thy Wages;
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 be,
And buy it with your Gold right suddenly. [Exeunt. SCENE V. Enter Amiens, Jaques, and others.
SONG.
Under the greenhood Tree,
  Who loves to lye with me,
And turn his merry Note,
  Unto the sweet Bird's Throat;
Come hither, come hither, come hither,
  Here shall he see no Enemy,
But Winter and rough Weather.

Jaq.
More, more, I pretheee, more.

Ami.
It will make you melancholy, Mounsieur Jaques.

Jaq.
I thank it; more, I prethee, more,
I can suck Melancholy out of a Song,
As a Weazel sucks Eggs: More, I prethee, more.

Ami.
My Voice is rugged, I know I cannot please you.

Jaq.
I do not desire you to please me,
I do desire you to sing;
Come, come, another Stanzo: Call you 'em Stanzo's?

Ami.
What you will, Mounsieur Jaques.

Jaq.

Nay, I care not for their Names, they owe me nothing. Will you sing?

Ami.

More at your request, than to please my self.

Jaq.

Well then, if ever I thank any Man, I'll thank you; but that they call Complement is like th' 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 Dine 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
Heav'n thanks, and make no Boast of them.
Come, warble, come.
SONG.
Who doth Ambition shun,
  And loves to lye i'th' Sun,
Seeking the Food he eats,
  And pleas'd with what he gets;
Come hither, come hither, come hither;
  Here shall you see, no Enemy,
But Winter and rough Weather.

Jaq.
I'll give you a Verse to this Note,
That I made yesterday in despight of my Invention.

Ami.
And I'll sing it.

Jaq.
Thus it goes.

  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,
  And if he will come to me.

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. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. Enter Orlando and Adam.

Adam.
Dear Master, I can go no further:
O I die for Food! Here lye I down,

And measure out my Grave. Farewel, kind Master.

Orl.
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 will 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. [Exeunt. SCENE VII. Enter Duke Sen. and Lords. [A Table set out.

Duke Sen.
I think he be 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 Heav'n 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 we may 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 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.

Jac.
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;
He that a Fool doth very wisely hit,
Doth very foolishly, altho' he smart,
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 the 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' imbossed Sores, and headed Evils,
That thou with license 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 weary 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 mettle 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.

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?

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?

Orl.
You touch'd my Vein at first, the thorny Point
Of bare Distress, that hath ta'en from me the shew
Of smooth Civility; yet am I Inland 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.
And 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 Eye-lids 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 Mens Feasts, and wip'd our Eyes
Of drops, that sacred Pity hath engendred:
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 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.

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:
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's 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 Canon'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 Saws, and modern Instances,
And so he plays his part. The sixth Age 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 trebble 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 too: 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,
Frieze, Frieze, 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 am 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.

Previous section

Next section