SCENE IV.

The Forest of Arden.

Enter ROSALIND for Ganymede, CELIA for Aliena, and Clown, alias TOUCHSTONE'.

Ros. O Jupiter! how weary are my spirits! Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary.

Ros. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel, and to 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 farther'. 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 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 SILVIUS.

Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still.

7 and Clown, alias Touchstone.] The whole of this is precisely the old stage-direction; and as it is perfectly intelligible, it is to be preferred.

$ ( Jupiter! how WEARY are my spirits!] In the old copies it stands, “how merry are my spirits!" an easy misprint: and that it was so, seems shown by the answer of Touchstone, "I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary." It has been suggested, that Rosalind was assuming good spirits, as well as male attire, and would therefore say, "how merry are my spirits ;" but why should she assume good spirits here to Celia, when in the very next sentence she utters she says, that her spirits are so bad that she could almost cry?

9 I CAN go no farther.] The copy of 1623 reads, "I cannot go no farther;" but the second folio corrects the error.

VOL. III.

D

Sil. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her! Cor. I partly guess, for I have lov'd ere now. Sil. No, Corin; being old, thou canst 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

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 lov'd:

Or if thou hast not sat, 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, Phebe, Phebe'!

[Exit SILVIUS

Ros. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound', 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 batler3, and the cow's dugs that her pretty chapped hands had milked and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her; from whom I

10 WEARYING thy hearer] The first folio reads wearing, and the second folio, wearying.

10 Phebe, Phebe, Phebe !] In the old folios this is made a separate line, and properly; for it is very clear that Shakespeare meant to adopt a species of blank-verse lyrical measure in this speech, each staff ending with "Thou hast not lov'd."

2 - searching of THY WOUND,] The folio of 1623 reads, they would; and the second folio only half corrects the error by substituting their wound. Our text is, no doubt, the true reading.

3 kissing of her BATLER,] The folio of 1632 reads, batlet: a bat used for washing linen.

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. 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' man,

If he for gold will give us any food:

I faint almost to death.

Touch. Holla, you clown!

Ros.

Cor. Who calls?

Peace, fool: he's not thy kinsman.

Touch. Your betters, sir.

Cor. Else are they very wretched.

Ros.

Good even to you, friend'.

Peace, I say.

Cor. And to you, gentle sir; and to you all.
Ros. 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 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.

4

to You, friend.] First folio, your: second folio, "you." 5 And little RECKS-] i. e. little cares.

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.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Another part of the Forest.

Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and Others.

SONG.

Ami. Under the greenwood tree,

Who loves to lie with me,

And turn 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.

6 And TURN his merry note] Malone and some other modern editors vary from the old copies, by reading tune instead of " turn," which was the language of the period. Pope first made the alteration.

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 weasel sucks eggs. More! I pr'ythee, 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 stanza. Call you 'em stanzas?

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 drink 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 heaven thanks, and make no boast of them. Come, warble; come.

SONG.

Who doth ambition shun, [All together here.
And loves to live the sun,

Seeking the food he eats,

And pleas'd with what he gets,

Come hither, come hither, come hither:

Here shall he see, &c.

Jaq. I'll give you a verse to this note, that I made yesterday in despite of my invention.