Heaven thanks and make no boast of them.
Come, warble, come.
Song. All together here
Who doth ambition shun
And loves to live i’th’sun36,
Seeking the food he eats
And pleased with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither:
Here shall he see etc.40
JAQUES I’ll give you a verse to this note
Hands Amiens a paper
That I made yesterday in despite of my invention42.
AMIENS And I’ll sing it. Thus it goes:
Sings
If it do come to pass
That any man turn ass,
Leaving his wealth and ease,
A stubborn will to please,
Ducdame48, ducdame, ducdame:
Other lords gather around him in a circle, examining the paper
Here shall he see gross49 fools as he,
An if50 he will come to me.
What’s that ‘ducdame’?
JAQUES ’Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle52. I’ll
go sleep, if I can. If I cannot, I’ll rail against all the first-born53
of Egypt.
AMIENS And I’ll go seek the duke. His banquet55 is prepared.
Exeunt [separately]
Act 2 Scene 6
running scene 7 continues
Enter Orlando and Adam
ADAM Dear master, I can go no further.
Lies down
O, I die for food! Here lie I down,
And measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master.
ORLANDO Why, how now, Adam? No greater heart in thee?
Live a little, comfort5 a little, cheer thyself a little. If this
uncouth6 forest yield anything savage, I will either be food for
it or bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit7 is nearer death than
thy powers. For my sake be comfortable8, hold death awhile at
the arm’s end. I will here be with thee presently9, 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 look’st cheerly12, 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
anything in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam!
Exeunt
Act 2 Scene 7
running scene 7 continues
Enter Duke Senior and Lord[s], like outlaws
DUKE SENIOR I think he be transformed into a beast,
For I can nowhere 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 SENIOR If he, compact of jars5, grow musical,
We shall have shortly discord in the spheres6.
Go, seek him: tell him I would speak with him.
Enter Jaques
FIRST LORD He saves my labour by his own approach.
DUKE SENIOR Why, how now, monsieur! What a life is this,
That your poor friends must woo your company?
What, you look merrily.
JAQUES A fool, a fool! I met a fool i’th’forest,
A motley13 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 terms17, and yet a motley fool.
‘Good morrow, fool’, quoth I. ‘No, sir,’ quoth he,
‘Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune19.’
And then he drew a dial from his poke20,
And looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
Says very wisely, ‘It is ten o’clock,
Thus we may see’, quoth he, ‘how the world wags23.
’Tis but an hour ago since it was nine24,
And after one hour more ’twill be eleven,
And so, from hour to hour, we ripe26 and ripe,
And then, from hour to hour, we rot27 and rot,
And thereby hangs a tale28.’ When I did hear
The motley fool thus moral29 on the time,
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer30,
That fools should be so deep contemplative31,
And I did laugh sans32 intermission
An hour by his dial. O noble fool!
A worthy fool! Motley’s the only wear34.
DUKE SENIOR What fool is this?
JAQUES O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier,
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 remainder39 biscuit
After a voyage, he hath strange places40 crammed
With observation, the which he vents41
In mangled forms. O, that I were a fool!
I am ambitious for a motley coat.
DUKE SENIOR Thou shalt have one.
JAQUES It is my only suit45,
Provided that you weed46 your better judgements
Of all opinion that grows rank47 in them
That I am wise. I must have liberty
Withal, as large a charter49 as the wind,
To blow on whom I please, for so fools have.
And they that are most gallèd51 with my folly,
They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so?
The ‘why’ is plain as way to parish church53:
He that a fool doth very wisely hit54
Doth very foolishly, although he smart55,
Seem senseless of the bob56. If not,
The wise man’s folly is anatomized57
Even by the squandering glances58 of the fool.
Invest59 me in my motley, give me leave
To speak my mind, and I will through and through
Cleanse61 the foul body of th’infected world,
If they will patiently receive my medicine.
DUKE SENIOR Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do.
JAQUES What, for a counter64, would I do but good?
DUKE SENIOR Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin.
For thou thyself hast been a libertine66,
As sensual as the brutish sting67 itself;
And all th’embossèd sores and headed evils68
That thou with licence of free foot hast caught
Wouldst thou disgorge70 into the general world.
JAQUES Why, who cries out on pride71,
That can therein tax any private party72?
Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,
Till that the weary very means do ebb74?
What woman in the city do I name,
When that I say the city woman bears
The cost of princes77 on unworthy shoulders?
Who can come in78 and say that I mean her,
When such a one as she, such is her neighbour?
Or what is he of basest function80
That says his bravery is not on my cost81,
Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits82
His folly to the mettle83 of my speech?
There then, how then, what then? Let me see wherein
My tongue hath wronged him: if it do him right85,
Then he hath wronged himself. If he be free86,
Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies,
Unclaimed of any man. But who comes here?
Enter Orlando
Draws his sword
ORLANDO Forbear89, and eat no more.
JAQUES Why, I have eat none yet.
ORLANDO
Nor shalt not, till necessity be served.
JAQUES Of what kind should this cock come of?92
DUKE SENIOR Art thou thus boldened, man, by thy distress,
Or else a rude94 despiser of good manners,
That in civility thou seem’st so empty?
ORLANDO You touched my vein at first96. The thorny point
Of bare distress hath ta’en from me the show
Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred98
And know some nurture99. But forbear, I say:
He dies that touches any of this fruit
Till I and my affairs are answerèd101.
JAQUES An you will not be answered with reason102, I must die.
DUKE SENIOR What would you have? Your gentleness103 shall force
More than your force move us to gentleness.
ORLANDO I almost die for food, and let me have it.
DUKE SENIOR Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.
ORLANDO Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you.
I thought that all things had been savage here,
And therefore put I on the countenance109
Of stern commandment. But whate’er you are
That in this desert inaccessible,
Under the shade of melancholy112 boughs,
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time,
If ever you have looked on better days,
If ever been where bells have knolled115 to church,
If ever sat at any good man’s feast,
If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear
And know what ’tis to pity and be pitied,
Let gentleness my strong enforcement119 be:
In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.
Sheathes his sword
DUKE SENIOR True is it that we have seen better days,
And have with holy bell been knolled to church,
And sat at good men’s feasts, and wiped our eyes
Of drops that sacred pity hath engendered:
And therefore sit you down in gentleness,
And take upon command126 what help we have
That to your wanting127 may be ministered.
ORLANDO 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 step
Limped in pure love: till he be first sufficed,
Oppressed with two weak133 evils, age and hunger,
I will not touch a bit.
DUKE SENIOR Go find him out.
And we will nothing waste136 till you return.
ORLANDO I thank ye, and be blest for your good comfort!
[Exit]
DUKE SENIOR Thou see’st we are not all alone unhappy138:
This wide and universal theatre
Presents more woeful pageants than the scene
Wherein we play in.
JAQUES All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts146 being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling147 and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard153,
Jealous in154 honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon157 lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances159.
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon161,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose163, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank164, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his166 sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history167,
Is second childishness and mere168 oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes169, sans taste, sans everything.
Enter Orlando, with Adam
DUKE SENIOR Welcome. Set down your venerable burden,
And let him feed.
Sets down Adam
ORLANDO I thank you most for him.
ADAM So had you need.
I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.
DUKE SENIOR Welcome, fall to175. I will not trouble you
As yet, to question you about your fortunes.—
Give us some music, and, good cousin, sing.
Song
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind179
As man’s ingratitude.
Thy tooth is not so keen181,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude183.
Heigh-ho, sing heigh-ho, unto the green holly.
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
The hey-ho, the holly.
This life is most jolly.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky
That dost not bite so nigh189
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp191,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remembered not.
Hey-ho, sing, etc.
To Orlando
DUKE SENIOR If that you were the good Sir Rowland’s son,
As you have whispered faithfully196 you were,
And as mine eye doth his effigies197 witness
Most truly limned198 and living in your face,
Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke
That loved your father. The residue of your fortune,
Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man,
Thou art right welcome as thy master is.
Support him by the arm. Give me your hand,
And let me all your fortunes204 understand.
Exeunt
Act 3 Scene 1
running scene 8
Enter Duke [Frederick], Lords and Oliver
DUKE FREDERICK Not see him1 since? Sir, sir, that cannot be:
But were I not the better part made2 mercy,
I should not seek an absent argument3
Of my revenge, thou present4. But look to it:
Find out thy brother, wheresoe’er he is.
Seek him with candle. Bring him dead or living
Within this twelvemonth, or turn7 thou no more
To seek a living in our territory.
Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine
Worth seizure10 do we seize into our hands,
Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother’s mouth11
Of what we think against thee.
OLIVER O, that your highness knew my heart in this!
I never loved my brother in my life.
DUKE FREDERICK More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors,
And let my officers of such a nature16
Make an extent upon17 his house and lands.
Do this expediently and turn him going18.
Exeunt
Act 3 Scene 2
running scene 9
Enter Orlando
With a paper
ORLANDO Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love:
; And thou, thrice-crownèd queen of night2, survey
With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above,
Thy huntress’ name that my full life doth sway4.
O Rosalind! These trees shall be my books,
And in their barks my thoughts I’ll character6,
That every eye which in this forest looks
Shall see thy virtue witnessed everywhere.
Run, run, Orlando, carve on every tree
The fair, the chaste and unexpressive10 she.
Exit
Enter Corin and Clown [Touchstone]
CORIN And how like you this shepherd’s life, Master
Touchstone?
TOUCHSTONE Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life;
but in respect that it is a shepherd’s life, it is naught. In
respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that
it is private16, it is a very vile life. Now in respect it is in the
fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not in the court,
it is tedious. As it is a spare life, look you, it fits my humour18
well; but as there is no more plenty19 in it, it goes much against
my stomach20. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd?
CORIN No more but that I know the more one sickens the
worse at ease he is: and that he that wants22 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 cause of the night is lack of the sun:
that he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art26 may
complain of27 good breeding or comes of a very dull kindred.
TOUCHSTONE Such a one is a natural28 philosopher. Wast ever in
court, shepherd?
CORIN No, truly.
TOUCHSTONE Then thou art damned.
CORIN Nay, I hope32.
TOUCHSTONE Truly thou art damned, like an ill-roasted egg: all33
on one side.
CORIN For not being at court? Your reason.
TOUCHSTONE Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never
saw’st good manners37. If thou never saw’st good manners,
then thy manners must be wicked, and wickedness is sin,
and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous39 state, shepherd.
CORIN Not a whit, Touchstone. Those that are good
As You Like It Page 6