Jaq. An you will not be answered with reason, I must die.

Duke S. What would you have? Your gentle-
ness shall force,

More than your force move us to gentleness.
Orl. I almost die for food, and let me have it.
Duke S. Sit down and feed, welcome to our
table.

Orl. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you: I thought that all things had been savage here; And therefore put I on the countenance

Of stern commandment: But whate'er you are,
That in this desert inaccessible,

Under the shade of melancholy boughs,
Lose 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 sat at any good man's feast;
If ever from your eye-lids wip'd a tear,
And know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied;
Let gentleness my strong enforcement be:
In the which hope, I blush, and hide my sword.
Duke S. True is it that we have seen better days;
And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church;
And sat at good men's feasts; and wip'd our eyes
Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd :
And therefore sit you down in gentleness,
And take upon command what help we have,
That to your wanting may be ministred.

Orl. 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 suffic'd,-
Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,-
I will not touch a bit.

Duke S. Go find him out, And we will nothing waste till you return. Orl. I thank ye; and be bless'd for your good

comfort!

[Exit.

Duke S. Thou seest, we are not all alonè un

happy:

This wide and universal theatre

Presents more woful pageants than the scene
Wherein we play in.

Jaq.
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits, and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school: And then, the lover;
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad

Made to his mistress' eye-brow: Then, a soldier;
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden1 and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth: And then, the justice;
In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern2 instances,
And so he plays his part: The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon;
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound: Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness, and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.
Re-enter Orlando, with Adam.

Duke S. Welcome: set down your venerable
burden,

And let him feed.

(1) Violent.

(2) Trite, common.

Orl.

I thank you most for him.

Adam. So had you need; I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. Duke S. Welcome, fall to: I will not trouble you As yat, to question you about your fortunes:Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing.

Amien's sings.

SONG.

I.

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind'

As man's ingratitude;

Thy tooth is not so keen,

Because thou art not seen,

Although thy breath be rude.

Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! unto the green holly: Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:

Then, heigh, ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.

II.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh,
As benefits forgot:

Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp

As friend remember'd2 not.

Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! &c.

Duke S. If that you were the good sir Row-
land's son,

As you have whisper'd faithfully, you were;
And as mine eye doth his effigies witness
Most truly limn'd, and living in your face,-
Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke,
That lov'd your father: The residue of your fortune,
(2) Remembering.

(1) Unnatural.

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.

[Exe.

ACT III.

SCENE I-A room in the palace. Enter Duke Frederick, Oliver, Lords, and attendants.

Duke F. Not see him since? Sir, sir, that can-
not be :

But were I not the better part made mercy,
I should not seek an absent argument
Of my revenge, thou present: But look to it;
Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is;

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

Thy lands, and all things that thou dost call thine,
Worth seizure, do we seize into our hands:
Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth,
Of what we think against thee.

Oli. O, that your highness knew my heart in this! I never lov'd my brother in my life.

Duke F. More villain thou.-Well, push him
out of doors;

And let my officers of such a nature
Make an extent upon his house and lands:
Do this expediently,2 and turn him going.

[Exe.

SCENE II.—The Forest. Enter Orlando, with a paper.

Orl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love And, thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, Thy huntress' name, that my full life doth sway.

(1) Seize by legal process.

1

(2) Expeditiously

O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books,
And in their barks my thoughts I'll character;
That every eye, which in this forest looks,

Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where.
Run, run, Orlando; carve, on every tree,
The fair, the chaste, and unexpressivel she. [Exit.
Enter Corin and Touchstone.

Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life, master Touchstone?

Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect 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 stomach. Hast thou any philosophy in thee, shepherd?

Cor. No more, but that I know, the more one sickens, the worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money, means, and content, is without three good friends:That the property of rain is to wet, and fire to burn: That good pasture makes fat sheep; and that a great cause of the night, is lack of the sun: That he, that hath learned no wit by nature nor art, may complain of good breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred.

Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher.Wast ever in court, shepherd?

Cor. No, truly.

Touch. Then thou art damn'd.

Cor. Nay, I hope,———

Touch. Truly, thou art damn'd; like an ill roasted egg, all on one side.

Cor. For not being at court? Your reason. Touch. Why, if thou never wast at court, the

(1) Inexpressible,