Duke Sen.
Now my Co-mates, and Brothers 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 not the Penalty of Adam,
The Season's Difference, as the Icie 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 venemous,
Wears yet a precious Jewel in his Head:
And this our Life exempt from publick Haunt,
Finds Tongues in Trees, Books in the running Brooks,
Sermons in Stones, and Good in every thing.

Amien.
I would not change it; happy is your Grace
That can translate the Stubbornness 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 dapled Fools,
Being native Burghers of this desart City,
Should in their own Confines with forked Heads,
Have their round Haunches goar'd.

1 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 my self,
Did steal behind him as he lay along
Under an Oak, whose antick Root peeps out

Upon the Brook that brawls along this Wood,
To the which Place a poor sequestred Stag
That from the Hunters 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,
Much marked of the melancholly Jaques,
Stood on th' extreamest Verge of the swift Brook,
Augmenting it with Tears.

Duke Sen.
But what said Jaques?
Did he not moralize this Spectacle?

1 Lord.
O yes, into a thousand Similies.
First, for his Weeping into the needless Stream;
Poor Deer, quoth he, 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'd of his velvet Friends;
'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 greazy 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, City, Court,
Yea, and through this our Life, swearing that we
Are meer Usurpers, Tyrants; and what's worse,
To fright the Animals, and to kill them up
In their assign'd and native dwelling Place.

Duke Sen.
And did you leave him in this Contemplation?

2 Lord.
We did, my Lord, weeping and commenting
Upon the sobbing Deer.

Duke Sen.
Show me the Place,
I love to cope him in these sullen Fits,
For then he's full of Matter.

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

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