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Your Praife is come too fwiftly home before you.
Know you not, mafter, to fome kind of men
Their graces ferve them but as enemies?

No more do yours; your virtues, gentle master,
Are fanctified and holy traitors to you.

Oh, what a world is this, when what is comely
Envenoms him that bears it!

Orla. Why, what's the matter?
Adam. O unhappy youth,
Come not within thefe doors; within this roof
The enemy of all your graces lives:

Your brother (no; no brother; yet the fon,
Yet not the fon; I will not call him fon
Of him I was about to call his father,)
Hath heard your praises, and this night he means.
To burn the lodging where you use to lie,
And you within it; if he fail of that,
He will have other means to cut you off;
I overheard him, and his practices:
This is no place, this houfe is but a butchery;
Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.

Orla. Why, whither, Adam, wouldft thou have me go?
Adam. No matter whither, fo you come not here.
Orla. What, wouldft thou have me go and beg my


Or with a base, and boisterous sword enforce
A thievifh living on the common road?
This I must do, or know not what to do!
Yet this I will not do, do how I can;
I rather will subject me to the malice
Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother.

Adam. But do not fo; I have five hundred crowns,
The thrifty hire I fav'd under your father,
Which I did ftore, to be my fofter nurse
When service fhould in my old limbs lie lame,
And unregarded age in corners thrown;
Take That; and he that doth the ravens feed,
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,
Be comfort to my age; here is the gold,
All this I give you, let me be your fervants



Tho' I look old, yet I am strong and lufty;
For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood;
Nor did I with unbashful forehead woo
The means of weakness and debility:
Therefore my age is as a lufty winter,
Frofty, but kindly; let me go with you;
I'll do the fervice of a younger man
In all your business and neceffities.

Orla. Oh! good old man, how well in thee appears
The conftant fervice of the antique world;
When service sweat for duty, not for meed!
Thou art not for the fashion of these times,
Where none will fweat, but for promotion;
And, having That, do choak their fervice up
Even with the Having it is not fo with thee;
But, poor old man, thou prun'ft a rotten tree,
That cannot fo much as a bloffom yield,
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry;
But come thy ways, we'll go along together;
And ere we have thy youthful wages fpent,
We'll light upon fome fettled low Content.

Adam. Mafter, go on; and I will follow thee
To the last gasp with truth and loyalty.
From seventeen years 'till now almoft fourfcore
Here lived I, but now live here no more.
At feventeen years Many their fortunes feek,
But at fourscore, it is too late a week i
Yet fortune cannot recompence me better
Than to die well, and not my master's debtor.



SCENE changes to the FOREST of Arden.

Enter Rofalind in Boys cloaths for Ganymed, Celia dreft like a Shepherdess for Aliena, and Clown. Jupiter! how weary are my spirits? (11) my

I care not

my legs


were not weary.

Rof. I could find in my heart to difgrace my man's apparel, and cry like a woman; but I muft comfort the weaker veffel, as doublet and hofe ought to fhow it felf courageous to petticoat, therefore, courage, good Aliena.

Cel. I pray you, bear with me, I cannot go no further.

Clo. For my part, I had rather bear with you, than bear you; yet I should bear no Crofs, if I did bear you; for, I think, you have no mony in your purse.


Rof. Well, this is the forest of Arden.

Clo. 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.

Rof. Ay, be fo, good Touchstone: look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in folemn talk. Enter Corin and Silvius.

Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you ftill. Sil. O Corin, that thou knew'ft how I do love her! Cor. I partly guess; for I have lov'd ere now. Sil. No, Corin, being old, thou can'ft not guess, Tho' in thy youth thou waft as true a lover, As ever figh'd upon a midnight pillow; But if thy love were ever like to mine,

(11) O Jupiter! how merry are my Spirits?] And yet, within the Space of one intervening Line, She fays, She could find in her Heart to difgrace her Man's Apparel, and cry like a Woman. Sure, this is but a very bad Symptom of the Briskness of Spirits: rather, a direct Proof of the contrary Difpolition. Mr. Warburton and I, both, concurr'd in conjecturing it fhould be, as I have reform'd it in the Text;weary are my Spirits ?


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(As, fure, I think, did never man love fo)
How many actions moft ridiculous
Haft thou been drawn to by thy fantasie?

Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.
Sil. O, thou didst then ne'er love fo heartily;
If thou remember'ft not the flightest folly,
That ever love did make thee run into ;
Thou haft not lov'd. -

Or if thou haft not fate as I do now,
Wearying the hearer in thy mistress praise,
Thou haft not lov'd. -

Or if thou haft not broke from company,
Abruptly, as my paffion now makes me;
Thou haft not lov'd.

O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe!

[Exit Sil.

Rof. Alas, poor Shepherd! fearching 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 fword upon a ftone, and bid him take that for coming a-nights to Jane Smile; and I remember the kiffing of her batlet, and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopt hands had milk'd; and I remember the wooing of a peafcod inftead of her, from whom I took two cods, and giving her them again, faid with weeping tears, wear thefe for my fake. We, that are true lovers, run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, fo is all nature in love mortal in folly. Rof. Thou speak'ft wifer, than thou art ware of. Clo. Nay, I hall ne'er be ware of mine own wit, 'till I break my fhins against it.

Rof. Jove! Fove upon my fashion.

this Shepherd's paffion is much

Clo. And mine, but it grows fomething ftale with


Cel. I pray you, one of you queftion yond man, If he for gold will give us any food;

I faint almoft to death.

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Clo. Holla; you, Clown!

Rof. Peace, fool; he's not thy kinfman.
Cor. Who calls?


Clo. Your Betters, Sir.

Cor. Elfe they are very wretched.
Rof. Peace, I fay; good Even to you, friend.
Cor. And to you, gentle Sir, and to you all.
Rof. I pr'ythee, fhepherd, if that love or gold
Can in this defart place buy entertainment,
Bring us where we may reft our felves, and feed;
Here's a young maid with travel much opprefs'd,
And faints for fuccour.

Cor. Fair Sir, I pity her,

And with, for her fake more than for mine own,
My fortunes were more able to relieve her;
But I am Shepherd to another man,
And do not fheer the fleeces that I graze;
My mafter is of churlish difpofition,


And little wreaks to find the way to heav'n
By doing deeds of hofpitality:
Befides, his Coate, his flocks, and bounds of feed
Are now on fale, and at our fheep-coate now,
By reafon of his abfence, there is nothing
That you will feed on; but what is, come fee;
And in my voice moft welcome fhall you be.

Rof. What is he, that fhall buy his flock and paf



Cor. That young fwain, that you faw here but ere while,

That little cares for buying any thing.

Rof. I pray thee, if it ftand with honefty,
Buy thou the cottage, pafture, and the flock,
And thou fhalt 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. Affuredly the thing is to be fold;
Go with me; if you like, upon report,
The foil, the profit, and this kind of life,
I will your very faithful feeder be;
And buy it with your gold right fuddenly.

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