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He dies that touches any of this Fruit, 'Till I and my Affairs are answered.

Jag. And you will not be answered with Reason,
I muit die.

Duke Sen. What would you have ?
Your Gentleness shall force, more than your Force
Move us to Gentleness.

Orla. I almost die for Food, and let me have it.
Duke Sen. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our Tables

Orla. Speak you fo gently? Pardon me, I pray you,
I thought that all things had been Savage here,
And therefore put I on the Countenance
Of stern commandment. But whate'er you are
That in this Desart inacceslible,
Under the shade of melancholy Boughs,
Lose and negle&t the creeping Hours of Time;
If ever you have look'd on better Days;
If ever been where Bells have knollid to Church;
If ever sate at any good Man's Feast;
If ever from your Eye-lids wip'd a Tear,
And know what 'tis to pity, and be piticd ;
Let Gentleness my strong enforcement be,
In the which hope I blush and hide my Sword.

Duke Sen. True is it that we have seen better Days,
And have with holy Bell been knolld to Church,

And fate at good Mens Feafts, and wip'd our Eyes • Of drops, that facred Pity hath engendred:

And therefore sit you down in gentleness,
And take upon command what help we have,
That to your wanting may be ministred.

Orla. Then bur 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 weary step
Limp'd in pure Love; 'till he be first suffic'd,
Oppress’d with two weak Evils, Age and Hunger,
I will not touch a bit.

Duke Sen, Go find him out,
And we will nothing waste 'till you return.
Orla. I thank ye, and be bless'd for your good Comfore.

(Exit.

Faqo

Duke Sen. Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy:
This wide and universal Theatre
Presents more woful Pageants chan the Scene
Wherein we play.

Fag. All the World's a Stage,
# And all the Men and Women meerly Players;

They have their Exits and their Entrances,

And one Man in his time plays many parts;
1 His A&s being seven Ages. At first the Infant,
Mewling and puking in the Nurse's Arms :
Then, the whining School-boy with his Satchel,
And shining Morning-face, creeping like Snail
Unwillingly to School. And then the Lover,
Sighing like Furnace, with a woful Ballad
Made to his Mistress's Eye-brow. Then a Soldier,
Full of strange Oaths, and bearded like the Pard,
Jealous in Honour, sudden 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 severe, and Beard of formal cut,
Full of wise Saws, and modern Instances,
And so he plays his part. The fixth Age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd Pantaloon,
With Spectacles on Noses and Pouch on fide;
His youthful Hose well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk Shank, and his big manly Voice -
Turning again toward childish trebble Pipes,
And whistles in his found. Last Scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful History,
Is second Childishness, and meer Oblivion,
Sans Teeth, fans Eyes, fans Taste, fans every thing.

Enter Orlando with Adam.
Duke Sen. Welcome: Set down your venerable Burthen,
and let him feed.
Orla. Í thank you most for him.

Adam. So had you need,
I scarce can speak to thank you for my self. .

Duke Sen. Welcome, fall too: I will not trouble you,
As yet to question you about your Fortunes.
Give us some Musick, and good Cousin, fing,
VOL. II.

SONG

M

SON G.
Blow, blow, thon Winter Wind,
Thou art not so unkind, as Man's Ingratitude ;
Thy Tooth is not so keen, because thou art not seen,

Althothy Breath be rude.
Heigh ho, song heigh ho, unto the green Holly;
Most Friendship is feigning; most Loving meer Folly :

Then heigh bo, the Holly,

This Life is most Jolly,
Frieze, Frieze, thou bitter Sky, that dost not bite so nigh

As Benefits forgot :
Thoothon the Waters warp, iby Sring is not so Sharp,

As Friend remembred not,
Heigh ho, fing, &c.

Duke Sen. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's Son, i As you have whisper'd faithfully you were, And as mine Eye doth his Effigies witness, Most truly limn'd, and living in your Face, Be truly welcome hither. I am the Duke That lov'd 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 mo your Hand, And let me all your Fortunes understand. [Exeunt.

A CT III. SCENE I.

SCENE the Palace.

Enter. Duke, Lords, and Oliver.
Duke. TOT see him since? Sir, Sir, that cannot be:

TV But were I not the better part made Mercy,
I should not seek an absent Argument
Of my Revenge, thou present: But look to it,
Find out thy Brother wherefoe'er he is,
Seek him with Candle; bring him dead or living,
Within this Twelve-month, or turn thou no more
To seek a Living in our Territory.

Thy

Thy Lands and all things that thou dost call thine,

Worth seizure, do we seize into our hands, ac;, 'Till thou canst quit thee by thy Brother's Mouth, 500 feet of what we think against thee,

· Oli. Oh that your Highness knew my Heart in this: "; .. I never lov'd my Brother in my Life. er Fai Duke. More Villain thou. Well, push him out of Doors,

And let my Officers of such a nature

Make an Extent upon his House and Lands: . hilo los Do this expediently, and turn him going. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. The Forest.

Enter Orlando.
Orla. Hang there my Verse, in witness of my Love,
erlands

And thou thrice Crowned Queen of Night survey,
With thy chaft Eye, from thy pale Sphere above,
Thy Huntress name, that my full Life doch sway.
O Rosalind, these Trees shall be my Books,
And in their Barks my Thoughts I'll Character,

That every Eye, which in this Forest looks,
Fortune

Shall see thy Virtue witness'd every where.
Run, run, Orlando, carve on every Tree,
The fair, the chast, and unexpressive she.

[Exit.
Enter Coren and Clown.
Cor. And how like you this Shepherd's Life, Mr. Touchstones

Clown. Truly, Shepherd, in refpe& of it self, it is a good Life; but in respect that it is a Shepherd's Life, it is naught. In respect that it is folitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, 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 Humour well; but as there is no more plen. mot be: ey in it, it goes much against my Stomach. Has't any Phi -Lercy lofophy in thee, Shepherd ?

Cor. No more, but that I know the more one fickens, the worse at ease he is: And that he that wants Mony, 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 the lack of the Sun : That he that hath learned no Wit

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by Nature, nor Art, may complain of good Breeding, or comes of a very Jull Kindred.

Clown. Such a one is a Datural Philosopher.
Was't ever in Court, Shepherd?

Cor. No truly.
Clown. Then thou art Damn'd.
Cor. Nay, I hope

Clown. Truly thou art Damn'd, like an ill-roasted Egg, all on one side.

Cor. For not being at Court? Your reason.

Clown. Why, if thou never wast at Court, thou never saw'st good Manners; 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 parlous State, Shepherd.

Cor. Not a whit, Touchstone : Those that have 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 Salute not at the Court, but you Kiss your Hands; that Courtesie would be uncleanly, if Courtiers were Shepherds.

Clown. Instance, briefly; come, instance.

Cor. Why, we are still handling our Ewes, and their Fels, you know, are greafie.

Clown, Why, do not your Courtiers Hands sweat? And is not the Grease of Mutton as wholsome as the Sweat of a Man? Shallow, shallow, a better Instance, I say: Come.

Cor. Besides, our Hands are hard.

Clown. Your Lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again:. A more founder Instance, come.

Cor. And they are often tarr’d over with the surgery of our Sheep; and would you have us kiss Tar? The Courtiers Hands are perfumed with Civet.

Clown. Most shallow, Man: Thou Worms-meat, in re. spect of a good piece of Flesh indeed; learn of the Wife and Perpend; Civet is of a baser birth than Tar; the very uncleanly Flux of a Cat. Mend the Instance, Shep herd.

Cor. You have too Courtly a Wit for me; I'll rest.

Clown. Wilt thou rest Damn'd? God help thee, shallow Man; God make incision in thee, thou art raw.

Cor.

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