Rof. 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 hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat; therefore, courage, good Aliena.

Cel. I pray you, bear with me; I can go no further.
Clo. 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.

Rof. Well, this is the forest of Arden.

Cio. Ay, now am I in Arden, the more fool I; when I was at home, I was in a better place; but travellers must be content.

Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone ; look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in solemn talk.

Enter Corin, and Sylvius.
Cor. That is the way to make her scorn

you

still.
Syl. O Corin, that thou knew’st how I do love her!
Cor. I partly guess; for I have lov’d ere now.

Syl. No, Corin, being old thou can'st not guess;
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,
(As, sure, I think, did never man love so)
How many actions most ridiculous
Haft thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?

Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.

Syl. 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 lov’d.
Or if thou hast not fat as I do now,
Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
Thou hast not lov’d.
Or if thou hast not broke from company,
Abruptly as my passion now makes me,
Thou hast not lov’d.

O Phebe,

O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe !

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

Clo. And I mine; I remember, when I was in love, I 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 chop'd hands had milk’d; 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

fake. We that are true lovers run into strange capers ; but all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly:

Rof. Thou speak’st wiser than thou art ware of.

Clo. Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit, till I break my shins against it.

Rof. Jove! Jove! this shepherd's passion is much upon my fashion.

Clo. And mine ; but it grows something stale with me.

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

Clo. Holla; you, clown !
Rof. Peace, fool ; he's not thy kinsman.
Cor. Who calls ?
Clo. Your betters.
Cor. Else they're very

wretched.
Ros. Peace, fool, I say. Good even to you, friend.

. Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you

all.
Roj. I pr’ythee, 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.

Cor. Fair sir, I pity her,
And wish, for her fake more than for mine own,
My fortunes were more able to relieve her ;

But

you

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 heav'n
By doing deeds of hospitality:
Besides, his cot, his flocks, and bounds of feed
Are now on sale, and at our sheepcot now,
By reason of his absence, there is nothing
That will feed on; but what is, come see,
And in my voice most welcome shall you be.

Rof. 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.

Rof: I pray thee, if it stand with honesty,
Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the fock,
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 fold;

,
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.

SCENE V.
Enter Amiens, Jaques, and others.

Song.
Under the greenwood tree,
Who loves to lie with me,
And tune bis merry note,
Unto the sweet birds throat;

Bb

Vol. II.

Come

Come hither, come hither, come hither;

Here fall he fee

No enemy,

to

G

But winter and rough weather. Jaq. More, more, I pr’ythee, more.

Ami. It will make you melancholy, monsieur Jaques. Jaq. I thank it; more, I pr’ythee, more: I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weafel sucks eggs : more, I pr’ythee, more.

Ami. My voice is rugged, I know, I cannot please you.

Jaq. I do not desire you to please me, I do defire you sing; come, come, another stanzo: call you ’em stanzo's ?

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.

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 dine under this tree: he hath been all this day to look you.

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 heav'n thanks, and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come.

Song.
Who doth ambition sun,
And loves to lie i th” sun,
Seeking the food be eats,
And pleas’d with what he gets ;
Come hither, come hither, come hither;

Here shall be. See
But winter and rough weather.

No enemy,

Faq. 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,
Duc ad me, duc ad me, duc ad me;

Here mall he see

Gross fools as he,

An if he will come to me.
Ami. What's that duc ad me?

Jaq. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I'll
go fleep 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 prepar’d.

(Exeunt. SCENE VI.

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. Farewel, kind master.

Orla. 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 fake, be comfortable ; hold death a while 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 dieft before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said ! thou look'st 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

B b 2

not