Ami.

It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.

Jaq.

I thank it; more, I pr'ythee, more; I can suck melancholy out of a Song, as a weazel sucks eggs: more, I pr'ythee, more.

Ami.

My voice is rugged; I know, I cannot please you.

&wlquo;Jaq.

&wlquo;I do not desire you to please me, I do desire you to sing;&wrquo; come, come, another stanzo; call you 'em stanzo's?

Ami.

What you will, Monsieur Jaques.

Jaq.

Nay, I care not for their names, they owe 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 Compliments, 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 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 he 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,
(a) ^noteDuc ad me, duc ad me, duc ad me;
  Here shall he see
  Gross fools as he,
An if he will come to me.

Ami.

What's that's duc ad me?

Jaq.

'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I'll go to 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