DUKE. Now, my co-mates, and brothers 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 the penalty of Adam,
The season's difference; as the icy fang,
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 public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,,
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.
-Come, shall we go, and kill us venison?
And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools,
Being native burghers of this desert city,
Should, in their own confines, with forked heads, -
Have their round haunches gor'u.
LORD. Indeed, my lord,.
The melancholy Jaques grieves much 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 peeps out
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood;
To the which place a poor sequestered stag,
That from the hunter's 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 chase; and thus the hairy fool,
Much marked of the melancholy Jacques,
Stood on th' extremest verge of the swift brook,
Augmenting it with fears.
DUKE. But what said Jacques?
Did he not moralize this spectacle?
LORD. O yes, into a thousand similes.
First, for his weeping in the needless stream;
Poor deer, quoth he, thou mak'st a testament
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
To that which had too much. Then being alone,
Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends;
'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: Ah, 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 pierce h through
The body of the country, city, court,
Yea, and of this oer life, swearing that we
Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse,
To fright the animals, and to kill them up
In their assign'd and native dwelling-place.
DUKE. And did you leave him in this contemplation? LORD. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting Upon the sobbing deer.
DUKE. Show me the place;
I love to cope him in these sullen fits,
For then he's full of matter.
LORD. I'll bring you to him straight.
DUKE. Why, how now, Monsieur, what a life is this, That your poor friends must woo your company! What! you look merrily.
JAQ. A fool, a fool;I met a fool i' th' forest, A motley fool; a miserable varlet!
As I do live by food, I met a fool,
Who laid him down, and bask'd him in the sun,
And rail'd on lady Fortune in good terms,
In good set terms, and yet a motley fool.
Good-morrow, fool, quoth I; No, Sir, quoth he,
Call me, not fool, till Heav'n hath sent me fortune;
And then he drew a dial from his poke,
And looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
Says very wisely, It is ten o'clock::
Thus may we see, quoth he, how the world wags:
'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine,
And after one hour more 'twill be eleven;
And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe,
And then from hour to hour we rot and rot,
And thereby hangs a tale. When I did hear
The motley fool thus moral on the time,
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,
That fools should be so deep contemplative:
And I did laugh, sans intermission,
An hour by his dial. O noble fool,
A worthy fool! motley's the only wear.
DUKE. What fool is this?
JAQ. O worthy fool! one that hath been a courtiers
And says, if ladies be but young and fair,
They have the gift to know it: and in his brain,
Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit
After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd
With observations, the which he vents
In mangled forms. O that I were a fool!
I am ambitious for a motley coat.
DUKE. Thou shalt have one.
Provided that you weed your better judgments.
Of all opinion, that grows rank in them,
That I am wise. I must have liberty
Withal; as large a charter as the wind,
To blow on whom I please; for so fools have:
And they that are most galled with my folly
They most must laugh. And why, Sir, must they so?
The why is plaiu, as way to parish-church
He whom a fool does very wisely hit,
Doth very foolishly, although he smart,
Not to seem senseless of the bob. If not,
The wise man's folly is anatomiz❜d,
Even by the squand'ring glances of a fool.
Invest me in my motley, give me leave
Ta speak my mind, and I will through and through
Cleanse the foul body of th' infected world,
If they will patiently receive my medicine.
DUKE. Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do.
JAQ. What, for a counter, would I do but good?
DUKE. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin;
For thou thyself hast been a libertine,
As sensual as the brutish sting itself:
And all-th' embossed sores and beaded evils,
That thou with license of free foot hast caught,
Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.
JAQ. Why, who cries out on pride,
That can therein tax any private party?
Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,
Till that the very means do ebb?
What woman in the city do I name,
When that I say, the city-woman bears
The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders?
Who can come in, and say, that I mean her;
When such a one as she, such is her neighbour?
Or what is he of basest function,
That says, his bravery is not on my cost;
Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits
His folly to the mettle of my speech?
There then; how then? what then? let me see wherein My tongue has wrong'd him; if it do him right,
Then he hath wrong'd himself: if he be free,
Why, then my taxing, like a wild-goose, flies
Unclaim'd of any man.
HENRY AND LORD CHIEF JUSTICE.
CH. JUST. I am assur'd, if I be measur'd rightly, Your majesty hath no just cause to hate me.
P. HENRY. No! might a prince of my great hopes > forget
So great indignities you laid upon me?
What! rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison
Th' immediate heir of England! was this easy?
May this be wash'd in Lethe and forgotten?
CH. JUST. I then did use the person of your father;
The image of his power lay then in me :
And in th' administration of his law,
While I was busy for the commonwealth,
Your highness pleas'd to forget my place,
The majesty and pow'r of law and justice,
The image of the King whom I presented;
And struck me in my very seat of judgment::
Whereon, as an offender to your father,
gave bold way to my authority,.
And did commit you. If the deed were i!l,
Be
you contented, wearing now the garland,
To have a son set your decrees at nought:
To pluck down justice from your awful bench,
To trip the course of law, and blunt the sword
That guards the peace and safety of your person:
Nay more, to spurn at your most royal image,
And mock your working in a second body.
Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours;
Be now the father, and propose a son;
Hear your own dignity so much profan'd;
See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted; 5
Behold yourself so by a sou disdain'd;
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