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Sil. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not gụess,
Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover
As ever sigh’d upon a midnight pillow : : : :
But if thy love were ever like to mine- v
As sure I think did never man love som
How many actions most ridiculous
Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy ?

Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.

Sil. O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily!
If thou remember'st not the slightest folly
That ever love did make thee run into,
Thou hast not loved :
Or if thou hast not sat as I do now,
Wearing thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
Thou hast not loved :
Or if thou hast not broke from company
Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,
Thou hast not loved.
O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe !

[Exit. Ros. Alas, poor shepherd ! searching of thy wound, 40 I have by hard adventure found mine own.

Touch. And I mine. I remember, when I was in love I broke my sword upon a stone and bid him take that for coming a-night to Jane Smile ; and I remember the kissing of her batlet and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopt hands had milked ; and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her, from whom I took two cods and, giving her them again, said with weeping tears 'Wear these for my sake.' We that are true lovers run into strange capers ; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly. 50

Ros. Thou speakest wiser than thou art ware of.

Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I break my shins against it. Ros. Jove, Jove ! this shepherd's passion

Is much upon my fashion. Touch. And mine ; but it grows something stale with me.

Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond nian
If he for gold will give us any food :
I faint almost to death.

Holla, you clown ! . Ros. Peace, fool : he's not thy kinsman. Cor.

· Who calls ? 60 Touch. Your betters, sir. Cor.

Else are they very wretched.
Ros. Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend.
Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.

Ros. I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold
Can in this desert place buy entertainment,
Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed :
Here's a young maid with travel much oppress’d
And faints for succour.

Fair sir, I pity her
And wish, for her sake more than for mine own,
My fortunes were more able to relieve her ;
But I am shepherd to another man
And do not shear the fleeces that I graze :
My master is of churlish disposition
And little recks to find the way to heaven
By doing deeds of hospitality :
Besides, his cote, his flocks and bounds of feed
Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now,
By reason of his absence, there is nothing
That you will feed on; but what is, come see,
And in my voice most welcome shall you be.

Ros. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture ?

Cor. That young swain that you saw here but erewhile, That little cares for buying any thing.

Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, Buy thou the cottage, pasture and the flock, And thou shalt have to pay for it of us.

Cel. And we will mend thy wages. I like this place, And willingly could waste my time in it.



Cor. Assuredly the thing is to be sold :
Go with me : if you like upon report
The soil, the profit and this kind of life,
I will your very faithful feeder be
And buy it with your gold right suddenly.



SCENE V. The forest.
Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others.

Under the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me,
And tune his merry note

Unto the sweet bird's throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither :

Here shall he see

No enemy

But winter and rough weather. Jaq. More, more, I prithee, more. Ami. It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques. 10

Jaq. I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more.

Ami. My voice is ragged : I know I cannot please you.

Jaq. I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to sing. Come, more ; another stanzo: call you 'em stanzos ? ve Ami. What you will, Monsieur Jaques. :? Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names ; they owe me nothing. Will you sing ?

Ami. More at your request than to please myself. 20 · Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you ; but that they call compliment is like the encounter of two dog-apes, and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks I have given him a penny and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues.

Ami. Well, I'll end the song. Sirs, cover the while ; the duke will drink under this tree. He hath been all this day to look you.

29 Jaq. And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is too disputable for my company : I think of as many matters as he, but I give heaven thanks and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come.

Who doth ambition shun [All together here.
And loves to live i’ the sun,
Seeking the food he eats

And pleased with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither :

Here shall he see
No enemy

40 But winter and rough weather. Jaq. I'll give you a verse to this note that I made yesterday in despite of my invention.

Ami. And I'll sing it.
Jaq. Thus it goes :-

If it do come to pass
That any man turn ass,
Leaving his wealth and ease,

A stubborn will to please,
Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame :

Here shall he see

Gross fools as he,

And if he will come to me. Ami. What's that 'ducdame'?

Jag. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circlė. I'll go sleep, if I can ; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the first-born of Egypt. Ami. And I'll go seek the duke : his banquet is prepared.

[Exeunt severally.

Scene VI. The forest.

Enter ORLANDO and AdaM. Adam. Dear master, I can go no further : 0, I die for food ! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master.

Orl. Why, how now, Adam ! no greater heart in thee? Live a little; comfort a little ; cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth forest yield any thing savage, I will either be food for it or bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. For my sake be comfortable ; hold death awhile at the arm's end : I will here be with thee presently ; and if I bring thee not something to eat, I will give thee leave to die : but if thou diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said ! thou lookest cheerly, and I'll be with thee quickly. Yet thou liest in the bleak air : come, I will bear thee to some shelter ; and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam !


SCENE VII. The forest.
A table set out. Enter Duke senior, AMIENS, and

Lords like outlaws.
Duke S. I think he be transform'd into a beast ;
For I can no where find him like a man.

First Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone hence :
Here was he merry, hearing of a song.

Duke S. If he, compact of jars, grow musical, We shall have shortly discord in the spheres. Go, seek him : tell him I would speak with him.


First Lord. He saves my labour by his own approach.

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