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Duke. Send to his brother: fetch that gallant hither;
Exit 2d Gent., L. I'll make him find him—do this suddenly ; And let not search and inquisition quail, To bring again these foolish runaways. (Exeunt, R.
Scene IV.-The Forest. Enter JAQUES, AMIENS, and three other LORDS, L. Jaques. (c.) More, more; I prythee, more. Amiens. (L.) It will make you melancholy, Jaques. Jaques. I thank it; I do love it better than laughing.
Amiens. Those that are in the extremity of either, are abominable fellows, and betray themselves to every modern censure, worse than drunkards.
Jaques. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; nor the soldier's, which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politic; nor the lady's, which is nice; nor the lover's, which is all these ; but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects; and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my travels, in which my after rumination wraps me is a most humorous sadness.—Sing, I prythee, sing
Amiens. My voice is rugged: I know I cannot please you.
Jaques. I do not desire you to please me, I desire you to sing. I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weaBel can suck eggs. Come, warble, warble.
Unto the sweet bird's throat,
Here shall ye see
And pleased with what he gets,
Here shall he see
Bnt winter and rough weather. Jaques. I'll go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the first-born of Egypt.
[E.cit, L. Amiens. And we'll go seek the Duke; his banquet is prepared.
[Ereunt, R. Scene V.- The Forest of Arden. Enter ROSALIND, in Boy's Clothes, for Ganymede, Ce
LIA, dressed like a Shepherdess, and Touchstone, L.
Ros. (r. c.) Oh, Jupiter! how weary are my spirits !
Touch. (c.) 1 care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary
Pos. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel, and cry like a woman : but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hosc ought to show itself courageous to petticoat; therefore, courage, good Aliena.
Cel. (L.) I pray you, bear with me; I can go no further.
Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you, than bear you; yet I should bear no cross, if I did bear you ; for I think you have no money in your purse.
Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden.
Touch. Ay, now I am in Arden: the more fool I; when I was at home, I was in a better place; but travellers maust be content.
Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone.-Look you, who comes here: a young man and an old, in solemn talk.
[All three retire up the L. side of the Stage.
Enter Corin and Sylvius, R. Corin. (1. c.) That is the way to make her scorn you still.
Syl. (R. c.) Oh, Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her.
Corin. I partly guess; for I have loved ere now.
Sylv. No, Corin, being old, thou can’st not guess ;
But if thy life were ever like to mine,
Corin. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.
[Exeunt Corin and Sylvius, R. Ros. (L.) Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found mine own.
(All three advance. Touch. (c.) And I mine : I remember, when I was in love, 1 broke my sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming o’nights to Jane Smile; and I remember the kissing of her batlet, and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopped hands had milked; and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her, from whom I took two cods, and giving them her again, sail 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. Ros. (L. c.) Thou speak’st wiser than thou art 'ware
of. Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be aware of mine own wit, 'till I break my shins against it.
Cel. (R. C.) I pray you, one of you question yon man,
Touch. Holloa ! you clown !
Enter CORIN, R.
Corin. Else they are very wretched.
[Touchstone retires to Celia, R.
Corin. (R.) Fair sir, I pity her,
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 ? Corin. That young swain, that you saw here but ere
while, That little cares for buying anything.
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.
Corin. 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. (Exeunt, R.
SCENE VI.-Another part of the Forest.
Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, L. Adam, (L.) Dear master, I can go no further : oh, 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 anything 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 be here with thee presently ; and if I bring thee not something to eat, I'll give thee leave to die : but if thou diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said ! thou look'st cheerily; and I'll be with thee quickly. Yet thou liest in the bleak air : come, I will bear thee to some sbelter; (Lifting him up.] and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live anything in this desert. Cheerily, good Adam! Bearing him away, L., scene changes. Scene VII.- Another part of the Forest.-A Table set
1st Lord. (R.) My lord, he is but even now gone hence; Here was he merry hearing of a song.
Duke. 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.
Enter JAQUES, L. 1st Lord. He saves my labour by his own approach.
Duke. Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this, That your poor
friends must woo your company ? What, you look merrily !
Jaques. (L.) A fool, a fool!-I met a fool i' the forest, A motley fool-a miserable world !-As I do live by food, I met a fool : Who laid him down, and basked him in the sun, And railed 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 Heaven 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 :