D. 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 the14Q0301 ^note penalty of Adam,
The seasons' difference; as, the icy 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 venomous,
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.

Ami.
I would not change it: Happy is your grace,
That can translate the stubbornness of fortune
Into so quiet and so sweet a stile.

D. s.
Come shall we go and kill us venison?
And yet it irks me, the poor dappl'd fools,—
Being native burghers of this desart city,—
Should, in their own confines, with forked heads
Have their round haunches gor'd.

1. L.
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 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 chace: and thus the hairy fool,
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
Stood on the extreamest verge of the swift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.

D. s.
But what said Jaques?
Did he not moralize this spectacle?

1. L.
O, yes, into a thousand similies.
First, for his weeping in the ^note needless stream;
Poor deer, quoth he, thou mak'st a testament
As worldlings do, giving thy sun of more
To that which had too much: Then, being alone, ^note
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 meer usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse,
To fright the animals, and kill them up,
In their assign'd and native dwelling-place.

D. s.
And did you leave him in this contemplation?

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

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

1. L.
I'll bring you to him straight. [Exeunt.

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