Imatges de pàgina
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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
That in this defart inacceffible,

Under the fhade of melancholy boughs,
Lofe and neglect the creeping hours of time;
If ever you have look'd on better days;
If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church;
If ever fate at any good man's feaft;
If ever from your eyelids wip'd a tear,
And known what 'tis to pity, and be pitied;
Let gentleness my ftrong enforcement be,
In the which hope I blush and hide my fword.

Duke Sen. True is it that we have feen better days,,
And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church,
And fate at good men's feafts, and wip'd our eyes
Of drops that facred pity hath engender'd :
And therefore fit you down in gentleness,
And take upon command what help we have,
That to your wanting may be miniftred.

Orla. Then but forbear your food a little while,
Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn,
And give it food. There is an old poor man,
Who after me hath many a weary step
Limp'd in pure love; 'till he be first fuffic'd,
Opprefs'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,
I will not touch a bit.

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 ;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts:
His acts being feven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms:
And then the whining school-boy with his fatchel,
And fhining morning-face, creeping like fnail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad
Made to his mistress' eye-brow. Then a foldier,
Full of ftrange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, fudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the Juftice.
In fair round belly, with good capon lin❜d,
With eyes fevere, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wife faws and modern inftances,
And fo he plays his part. The fixth age fhifts
Into the lean and flipper'd pantaloon,
With fpectacles on nofe, and pouch on fide
His youthful hofe, well fav'd, a world too wide
For his fhrunk thanks; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his found. Laft fcene of all,
That ends this ftrange eventful hiftory,

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;
Thy tooth is not fo keen,
Thou caufeft not that teen,

Altho thy breath be rude.

Heigh bo, fing beigh bo, unto the green bolly;
Moft friendship is feigning; most loving meer folly
Then beigh bo, the holly,

This life is moft jolly.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter fky,
Thou doft not bite fo nigh
As benefits forgot':

Tho' thou the waters warp,
Thy fting is not fo Sharp

As friend rememb'ring not.

Heigh bo, fing, &c,

Duke Sen. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's fon,
As you have whifper'd faithfully you were,
And as mine eye doth his effigies witness,
Moft truly limn'd, and living in your face,
Be truly welcome hither. I'm the Duke

That lov'd your father. The refidue 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.

Duke.

[Exeunt

ACT III. SCENE I.
The Palace. Enter Duke, Lords, and Oliver.

N

OT fee him fince? Sir, Sir, that cannot be :
But were I not the better part made mercy,
I fhould not feek an abfent argument
Of my revenge, thou préfent: but look to it,
Find out thy brother wherefoe'er he is,

Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living
Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more
To feek a living in our territory.

Thy lands and all things that thou doft call thine,
Worth feizure, do we feize into our hands,
"Till thou can't quit thee by thy brother's mouth

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:
Do this expediently, and turn him 'going.
SCENE II. The Foreft.
Enter Orlando.

[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

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