Duke.
I think he is transform'd into a Beast,
For I can no where find him like a Man.

Amiens.
My Lord, he is but even now gone hence.

Duke.
Pray seek him, tell him I wou'd speak with him.

Amiens.
He saves my Labour, by his own Approach. [Enter Jaques.

Duke.
Why how now, Monsieur, What a Life is this?
That your poor Friends must woo your Company?
What, you look merrily!

Jaques.
A Fool, a Fool, I met a Fool i'the Forest,
A motly Fool, a miserable World!

As I do live by Food; I met a 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 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, Oh Noble Fool!
A worthy Fool; Motley's your only wear.

Duke.
What Fool is this?

Jaques.
A worthy Fool! One that has 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 Biscuit
After a Voyage, he hath strange Places cram'd
With Observation, the which he vents
In mangled Forms. Oh that I were a Fool!
I am ambitious of a Motley Coat.

Duke.
Thou shalt have one.

Jaques.
—It is my only Suit. Enter Orlando, his Sword drawn.

Orl.
Forbear to eat no more.

Jaques.
Why, I have eat none yet.

Orl.
Nor shall not till Necessity be serv'd.

Jaques.
Of what Kind shou'd this Cock come?

Duke.
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 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 answer'd.

Jaques.

And you will not be answer'd with Reason, I must die.

Duke.

—What wou'd you have?

Orl.

I almost die for Food, and let me have it.

Duke.
Sit down and feed, and welcome to our Table.

Orl.
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 melancholly Boughs,
Lose, and neglect the creeping Hours of Time,
If ever you have look'd on better Days;
If ever been where Bells have knowl'd to Church;
If ever sat at any Good Man's Feast;
If ever from your Eyelids wiped a Tear;
And know what 'tis to pity, and be pity'd,
Let Gentleness my strong Enforcement be,
In the which Hope, I blush, and hide my Sword.

Duke.
True it is, that we have seen better Days,
And have with holy Bell been knowl'd to Church,
And sat 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.

Orl.
Then but forbear your Food a little Time,
Whiles, like a Doe, I go to find my Fawn,
And give it Food. There is an Old poor Man
That after me hath many a weary Step
Limp'd in pure Love; till he be first sufficed,

Oppress'd with two weak Evils, Age and Hunger,
I will not touch a Bit.

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

Orl.
I thank you, and be bless'd for your good Comfort. [Exit Orlando.

Duke.
Thou see'st we are not all alone unhappy,
This wide and universal Theatre
Presents more woeful Pageants, than the Scene
Wherein we play.

Amiens.
Some Citizens from Liege, some of the many
Fled hither, Sir, for your Protection, beg by me
They may have Leave to entertain your Grace.

Duke.
How is it they propose to entertain?

Amiens.
A Play it shou'd be, Sir, what 'twill appear, I know not,
They have rehears'd it in the Wood this Morning.

Duke.

And what the Subject?

Amiens.

They call it, A tedious brief Scene of young Pyramus and his Love Thisby; very tragical Mirth.

Duke.
Merry and Tragical, tedious and brief,
How shall we find the Concord of this Discord?—
Well, let them be ready before our Cave in the
Evening; there they shall represent it; this Theatrical
Performance will stir thy Gall, Jaques.

Jaques.
—Not at all;
He that can reflect wants not these Mirrours:
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 Life 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 woeful Ballad
Made to his Mistress's Eyebrow: 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 lined,
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 treble Pipes,
And whistles in his Sound: Last Scene of all
That ends this strange eventful History,
Appears in Nerves unbrac'd, Reflection lost,
A second Childishness, and meer Oblivion. Enter Orlando, leading Adam

Duke.
Welcome, here rest your venerable Burthen,
And let him feed—

Orl.
I thank you most for him.

Adam.
—So had you Need,
I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.

Duke.
Welcome, fall too, I will not trouble you
As yet, to question you about your Fortunes.
Give us some Musick—

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.
  Freeze, Freeze, thou bitter Sky, that does not bite so nigh
    As Benefits forgot:
  Tho' thou the Waters warp, thy Sting is not so sharp,
    As Friend remember'd not.

Duke.
If that you are the good Sir Rowland's Son,
As you have whisper'd faithfully you are,
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. The End of the second ACT.

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