Duke Sen. What would you have? Your gentleness shall force More than your force move us to gentleness. Orla. I almoft die for food, and let me have it, Duke Sen. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table. Orla. Speak you fo gently? pardon me, I pray you ; I thought that all things had been favage here, And therefore put I on the countenance Of ftern commandment. But whate'er you are Under the fhade of melancholy boughs, Duke Sen. True is it that we have feen better days,, Orla. Then but forbear your food a little while, Duke Sen. Go find him out, And we will nothing wafte 'till your return. Orla. I thank ye; and be blefs'd for your good comfort! SCENE IX. [Exit. Duke Sen. Thou feeft we are not all alone unhappy: This wide and univerfal theatre Prefents more woful pageants than the fcene Wherein we play, Jag Jag. All the world is a stage, And all the men and women meerly players ; Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the Juftice. Is fecond childishnefs, and meer oblivion, Sans teeth, fans eyes, fans tafte, fans every thing. SCENE X. Enter Orlando with Adam. Duke Sen. Welcome: fet down your venerable burthen, And let him feed. Orla. I thank you most for him. Adam. So had you need, I fcarce can speak to thank you for my felf. Duke Sen. Welcome, fall to: I will not trouble you, As yet to question you about your fortunes. Give us fome mufick, and, good coufin, fing. SONG. Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not fo unkind As man's ingratitude; Altho thy breath be rude. Heigh bo, fing beigh bo, unto the green bolly; This life is moft jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter fky, Tho' thou the waters warp, As friend rememb'ring not. Heigh bo, fing, &c, Duke Sen. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's fon, That lov'd your father. The refidue of your fortune Duke. [Exeunt ACT III. SCENE I. N OT fee him fince? Sir, Sir, that cannot be : Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living Thy lands and all things that thou doft call thine, of Of what we think against thee. Oli. O that your Highnefs knew my heart in this : I never lov'd my brother in my life. Duke. More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors, And let my officers of fuch a nature Make an extent upon his houfe and lands: [Exeunt. Orla. Hang there, my verfe, in witnefs of my love; And thou, thrice crowned Queen of night, furvey With thy chafte eye, from thy pale fphere above, Thy huntrefs' name that my full life doth fway. O Rofalind, thefe trees fhall be my books, And in their barks my thoughts I'll character, That every eye, which in this foreft looks, Shall fee thy virtue witness' d'every where. Run, run, Orlando, carve on every tree [Exit. The fair, the chafte, and unexpreffive fhe. SCENE III. Enter Corin and Clown. Cor. And how like you this fhepherd's life, Mr. Touchflone? Clo. Truly, thepherd, in refpect of it felf, it is a good life; but in refpect that it is a fhepherd's life, it is naught. In refpect that it is folitary, I like it very well; but in refpect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now in refpect it is in the fields, it pleafeth me well; but in refpect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my ftomach. Haft any philofophy in thee, fhepherd ? Cor. No more, but that I know the more one fickens, the worfe at eafe he is: and that he that wants mony, means, and content, is without three good friends. That the property of rain is to wet, and fire to burn: that good pafture makes fat sheep; and that a great cause of the night, is lack of the fun that he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art, may complain of bad breeding, and comes of a very dull kindred. Clo. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Waft ever in court, shepherd? Cor Cor. No truly. Clo. Then thou art damn'd. Cor. Nay, I hope Clo. Truly thou art damn'd, like an ill-roafted egg, all on one fide. Cor. For not being at court ? your reafon. Clo. Why, if thou never waft at court, thou never faw' good manners; if thou never faw'ft good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is fin, and fin is damnation: thou art in a parlous ftate, fhepherd. Cor. Not a whit, Touchstone: thofe that are good manners at the court, are as ridiculous in the country, as the behaviour of the country is most mockable at the court. You told me, you falute not at the court, but you kiss your hands; that courtefie would be uncleanly, if courtiers were Thepherds. Clo. Inftance, briefly; come, inftance. Cer. Why, we are ftill handling our ewes ; and their fels, you know, are greafie. Clo. Why, do not your courtiers hands-fweat? and is not the grease of mutton as wholfome as the sweat of a man? fhallow, fhallow; a better inftance, I say: come. : Cor. Befides, our hands are hard. Clo. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again: a founder inftance, come. Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the furgery of our fheep; and would you have us kifs tar? the courtier's hands are perfumed with civet. Clo. Moft fhallow man: thou worms-meat, in refpect of a good piece of flesh indeed; learn of the wife and perpend; civet is of a bafer birth than tar; the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the inftance, fhepherd. Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me; I'll reft. Clo. Wilt thou reft damn'd? God help thee, fhallow man; God make incifion in thee, thou art raw. Cor. Sir, I am a true labourer; I earn that I eat, get that I wear; owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness; glad of other men's good, content with my harm; and the greateft of my pride is, to fee my ewes graze, and my lambs fuck, Cla |