SCENE II. Changes to the palace again. Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords. Duke. Can it be poffible, that no man saw them? It cannot be; fome villains of my court Are of confent and fufferance in this. 1 Lord. I cannot hear of any that did fee her. Your daughter and her coufin much commend Duke. Send to his brother, fetch that gallant hither: [Exeunt. SCENE III. Changes to Oliver's house. Orla. Who's there? Adam. What! my young mafter? oh, my gentle mafter, Oh, my fweet mafter, O you memory Of old Sir Rowland! why, what make you here? No No more do your's; your virtues, gentle Mafter, Oh, what a world is this, when what is comely Orla. Why, what's the matter? Come not within thefe doors; within this roof Your brother- (no; no brother; yet the son,— Hath heard your praises, and this night he means This is no place, this houfe is but a butchery; Orla. Why, whither, Adam, wouldft thou have me go? Adam. No matter whither, fo you come not here. Orla. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce [food? A thievifh living on the common road? This I must do, or know not what to do: I rather will fubject me to the malice Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother. Adam. But do not fo; I have five hundred crowns, The thrifty hire I fav'd under your father, • Which I did ftore to be my foster-nurse • When service should in my old limbs lie lame, 6 Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood; • Therefore 'Therefore my age is as a lufty winter, Frofty, but kindly; let me go with you ;' I'll do the fervice of a younger man In all your business and neceffities. Orla. Oh! good old man, how well in thee appears Yet Fortune cannot recompence me better Rof. O Jupiter! how weary are my spirits ? Clo. I care not for my fpirits, if my legs were not weary. Rof. I could find in my heart to difgrace my man's apparel, and cry like a woman; but I must comfort the weaker veffel, as doublet and hose ought to fhow itself courageous to petticoat: therefore, courage, good Aliena. Gel. I pray you, bear with me, I can go no further. Clo. For my part, I had rather bear with you, than bear bear you; yet I fhould bear no crofs, if I did bear you; for I think you have no money in your purse. Rof. Well, this is the forest of Arden. Clo. Ay; now I am in Arden, the more fool I ; when I was at home, I was in a better place; but travellers must be content. Rof. Ay, be fo, good Touchstone. Look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in folemn talk. Enter Corin and Sylvius. Cor. That is the way to make her fcorn you still. Syl. O Corin, that thou knew'ft how I do love her! Cor. I partly guefs; for I have lov'd ere now. Syl. No, Corin, being old, thou can'ft not guefs, Though in thy youth thou waft as true a lover, As ever figh'd upon a midnight-pillow; But if thy love were ever like to mine, (As fure, I think, did never man love so), How many actions most ridiculous Haft thou been drawn to by thy fantafy? Gor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten. • That ever love did make thee run into; • Or if thou haft not fat as I do now, Wearying the hearer in thy mistrefs' praife, • Or if thou haft not broke from company O Phebe! Phebe ! Phebe ! [Exit. Syl. Rof. Alas, poor fhepherd! fearching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found my own. Clo. "And I mine. I remember, when I was in "love, I broke my fword upon a stone, and bid him "take that for coming a-nights to Jane Smile; and I "remember the kiffing of her batlet, and the cow's "dugs that her pretty chopt hands had milk'd ; and "I remember the wooing of a peafcod inftead of her, "from whom I took two cods, and giving her them again, faid with weeping tears, Wear thefe for my "fake. "fake. We that are true lovers, run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, fo is all na "ture in love mortal in folly." Ref. Thou speak'st wiser, than thou art ware of. Cl. Nay, I fhall ne'er be ware of mine own wit, till I break my shins against it. Rof. Jove! Jove! this fhepherd's paffion is much upon my fashion. Clo. And mine; but it grows fomething stale with me. Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man, If he for gold will give us any food; I faint almost to death. Clo. Hola; you, clown! Rof. Peace, fool; he's not thy kinfman. Clo. Your betters, Sir. Cor. Elfe they are very wretched. Rof. Peace, I fay; Good even to you, friend. Cor. Fair Sir, I pity her, And wish for her fake, more than for mine own, And little wreaks to find the way to heav'n Befides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed Rof. What is he that fhall buy his flock and pa fture? Cor. That young fwain that you faw here but ere while, That little cares for buying any thing. Rof. |