He dies that touches any of this fruit, Be anfwered with reafon, I must die. Duke fen. What would you have? Your gentleness fhall force, More than your force moves us to gentleness. Orla. I almoft die for food, and let me have it. Duke fen. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table. Orla. Speak you fo gently? pardon me, I pray you; Of ftern commandment But whate'er you are, Under the fhades of melancholy boughs, If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church; • If ever fat at any good man's feast; If ever from your eye-lids wip'd a tear, And know what 'tis to pity, and be pity'd;' Let gentleness my ftrong inforcement be, In the which hope I blush, and hide my fword. Duke fen. True is it that we have seen better days; And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church; And fat at good mens' feafts, and wip'd our eyes Of drops that facred pity had engender'd: And therefore fit you down in gentleness, And take upon command what help we have, That to your wanting may be ministred. 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 ftep Limp'd in pure love; till he be firft fuffice'd, Opprefs'd with two weak evils, age and hunger, I will not touch a bit. Duke fen. Go find him out, And we will nothing wafte till you return. Orla. Orla. I thank ye; and be blefs'd for your good [Exit. Duke fen. Thou feest, we are not all alone unhappy: This wide and universal theatre Prefents more woful pageants, than the scene Jaq. All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players; And then the whining fchool-boy, with his fatchel, Made to his miftrefs' eye-brow. Then a foldier, • Full of frange oaths, and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, fudden and quick in quarrel; < Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the canon's mouth. And then the justice, • 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 spectacles on nofe, and pouch on fide; His youthful hose well fav'd, a world toe wide For his fhrunk fhank; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childifh treble, pipes, And whistles in his found. Laft fcene of all, That ends this ftrange eventful history, Is fecond childifhnefs, and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, fans eyes, fans tafte, fans every thing. SCENE X. Enter Orlando, with Adam. Duke fen. Welcome: fet down your venerable burAnd let him feed. Orla. I thank you moft for him. [den, I fcarce I fcarce can fpeak to thank you for myself. Duke fen. Welcome, fall to: I will not trouble you, As yet to question you about your fortunes. Give us fome mufic: 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, heigh bo! unto the green holly; This life is moft jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter fky, As benefits forgot: Tho' thou the waters warp, Thy fting is not fo fharp As friend remember'd not. Heigh ho! fing, &c. Duke fen. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's fon, As you have whifper'd faithfully you were, your fortune [Exeunt Enter Duke, Lords, and Oliver. OT fee him fince? Sir, Sir, that cannot be : I fhould Duke. N I fhould not feek an absent argument Of my revenge, thou prefent: but look to it; Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living,, Thy lands and all things that thou doft call thine, Oli. Oh that your Highness 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 : SCENE II. Changes to the foreft. Enter Orlando. 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 huntress' name that my full life doth fway, Rofalind! these trees shall be my books, And in their barks my thoughts I'll character; That every eye which in this foreft looks, Shall fee thy virtue witnefs'd every where. Run, run, Orlando, carve, on every tree, The fair, the chafte, and unexpreffive fhe. [Exit. SCENE III. Enter Corin and Clown. Gor. And how like you this fhepherd's life, Mr. Touchstone? Clo. "Trnly, fhepherd, in refpect of itfelf, it is a good life; but in refpect it is a fhepherd's life, "it is naught. In respect 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, 26 it "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? 66 : Cor. "No more, but that I know, the more one fic"kens, 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 caufe of the night, is lack of the "fun; and that he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art, may complain of grofs breeding, or comes "of a very dull kindred. 66 Clo. Such a one is a natural philofopher, Waft ever in court, fhepherd? Gor. 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 reason. Clo. Why, if thou never waft at court, thou never faw'ft good manners; if thou never faw'ft good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wickednefs is fin, and fin is damnation: thou art in a parlous ftate, fhepherd. Cor. Not a whit, Touchftone: 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 courtesy would be uncleanly if courtiers were shepherds. Clo. Inftance, briefly; come, inftance. Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes; and their fels, you know, are greafy. Clo. Why, do not your courtiers hands fweat? and is not the greafe of a mutton as wholefome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, fhallow;- a better inftance, I fay: come. Cor. Befides, our hands are hard. Clo. Your lips will feel them the fooner. Shallow again: a more founder inftance, come. Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the furgery VOL. II. of |