self 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 must 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. (L. c.) That is the way to make her scorn you still.

Sylv. (R. C.) O 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 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?

Corin. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.
Sylv. O, thou didst then never love so heartily;
If thou remember'st not the slightest folly
That ever love did make thee run into,

Thou hast not loved:

Or if thou hast not talk'd as I do now,
Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,

Thou hast not loved:

Or if thou hast not broke from company,
Abruptly as my passion now makes me,

Thou hast not loved.-Oh, Phoebe, Phoebe, Phoebe !
[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, 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 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, 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. (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, If he for gold will give us any food;

I faint almost to death.

Touch. Holloa! you clown!

Ros Peace, fool! he's not thy kinsman.

Enter CORIN, R.

Corin. (R.) Who calls?

Touch. (L.) Your betters, sir.'

Corin. Else they are very wretched.

Ros. Peace, I say: Good even to you, friend.

Corin. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.

[TOUCHSTONE retires to CELIÀ, R. Ros. (c.) I pr'y thee, 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.

Corin. (R.) 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:

Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed.
Are now on sale, and at our sheep-cote 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 pas

ture?

Corin. That young swain, that you saw here 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.

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: O, 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 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 sake 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 diest 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; [lifting him up] and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam.

[Bearing him away, L., scene, changes,

SCENE VII.-Another part of the Forest.-A Table et out.

Enter DUKE, Senior, AMIENS, and LORDS, R.

Duke. (c.) I think he is transform'd into a beast; For I can no where find him like a man.

I 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.

1 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!rest,

A motley fool-a miserable world!

As I do live by food, I met a fool;

-I met a fool i' the fo

Who laid him down, and bask'd him in the sun,
And rail'd 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:
"Tis but an hour ago, since it was nine;
And after one hour more, 'twill be eleven;
And so, from hour to hour, we ripe, and ripe,
And then, from hour to hour, we rot, and rot,
And thereby hangs a tale." When I did hear
The motley fool thus moral on the time,
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,
That fools should be so deep contemplative;
And I did laugh, sans intermission,

An hour by his dial.-O noble fool!

A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear.

[All retire to the table.

Enter ORLANDO, with his sword drawn, L.

Orl. (L.) Forbear, and eat no more!
Jaques. Why, I have eat none yet.

Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be served.

Jaques. Of what kind should this cock come of? Duke. [Coming forward.] Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress;

Or else a rude despiser of good manners,
That in civility thou seem'st so empty?

Orl. You touch'd my vein at first; the thorny poin Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show

Of smooth civility; yet am I in-land bred,
And know some nurture: but forbear, I say,
He dies that touches any of this fruit,

Till I and my affairs are answered.

Duke. (R. C.) What would you have? Your gentleness shall force,

More than your force move us to gentleness.

Orl. (L. c.) I almost die for food, and let me have it.
Duke. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.
Orl. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, 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 desert inaccessible,

Under the shade of melancholy boughs,

Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time:
If ever you have look'd on better days;

If ever been where bells have knoll'd 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 enforcement be:
In the which hope, I blush, and hide my sword.
Duke. True is it, that we have seen better days,
And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church;
And sat at good men's feasts; and wiped our eyes
Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd:
And therefore sit you down in gentleness,
And take upon command what help we have,
That to your wanting may be minister'd.

Orl. 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
Limp'd in pure love; till he be first sufficed-
Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger-
I will not touch a bit.

Duke. Go find him out,

And we will nothing waste till your return.

Orl. I thank ye; and be bless'd for your good com

fort!

[Exit, L.