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My tongue hath wrong'd him; if it do him right,
Then he hath wrong'd himself, if he be free,
Why, then my taxing, like a wild goofe flies
Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes here?

Enter Orlando, with Sword drawn.

Orla. Forbear, and eat no more,
Jaq. Why, I have eat none yet.
Orla. Nor fhalt not, 'till neceffity be ferv'd.
Jaq. Of what kind fhould this Cock come of?
Duke Sen. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy dif

Or else a rude defpifer of good manners,
That in civility thou feem'ft fo empty?

Orla. You touch'd my vein at first, the thorny point
Of bare diftrefs hath ta'en from me the fhew
Of smooth civility; yet am I in-land bred,
And know fome nurture: but forbear, I say:
He dies, that touches any of this fruit,
'Till I and my affairs are answered.

Jaq. If you will not

Be answered with reason, I must die.

Duke Sen. What would you have? Your gentleness fhall force,

More than your force move us to gentleness.

Orla. I almoft die for food, and let me have it. Duke Sen. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our


Orla. Speak you fo gently? pardon me, I pray you;
I thought, that all things had been favage here;
And therefore put I on the countenance

Of ftern commandment. But whate'er you are,
That in this defart inacceffible,

Under the shade of melancholy boughs,

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Lofe 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 sate at any good man's feast;
If ever from your eyelids wip'd a tear,
And know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied;


Let gentleness my ftrong enforcement be,
In the which hope I blufh, and hide my fword.

Duke Sen. True is it, that we have feen better days;
And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church;
And fate at good men's feafts, and wip'd our eyes
Of drops, that facred pity hath engender'd:
And therefore fit you down in gentleness,
And take upon command what help we have,
That to your wanting may be miniftred.

Orla. 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 firft fuffic'd,
Opprefs'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,
I will not touch a bit.

Duke Sen. Go find him out,

And we will nothing wafte 'till you return.

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

Duke Sen. Thou seeft, we are not all alone unhappy: This wide and univerfal Theatre

Prefents more woful pageants, than the scene
Wherein we play in.

Jaq. 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:
His acts being seven ages. At firft the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms:
And then, the whining school-boy with his fatchel,
And fhining morning-face, creeping like fnail
Unwillingly to school. And then, the lover;
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad
Made to his mistress' eye-brow. Then, a foldier;
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, fudden and quick in quarrel;
Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then, the juftice
In fair round belly, with good capon lin❜d,


With eyes fevere, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wife faws (13) and modern inftances,
And fo he Plays his part. The fixt hage flifts
Into the lean and flipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nofe, and pouch on fide;
His youthful hofe well fav'd, a world too wide
For his fhrunk fhank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes,
And whiftles in his found. Laft Scene of all,
That ends this ftrange eventful History,
Is fecond childishness, and meer oblivion,
Sans teeth, fans eyes, fans tafte, fans every thing.

Enter Orlando, with Adam.

Duke Sen. Welcome: fet down your venerable burthen,

And let him feed.

Orla. I thank you most for him.
Adam. So had you need,

I fcarce can speak to thank you for my felf.

Duke Sen. Welcome, fall to: I will not trouble you, As yet to question you about your fortunes. Give us fome mufick; and, good coufin, fing.



Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not fo unkind
As man's ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not feen,

Altho' thy breath be rude.

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Heigh bo! fing, beigh bo! unto the green bolly;
Moft friendship is feigning; moft loving meer folly:
Then heigh ho, the holly!

This life is moft jolly.


and modern Inftances,] It is very obfervable that Shakespeare ufes modern exactly in the manner the Greeks used novos; which fignifies fometimes in their Writings novus, recens; and fometimes abfurdus. Mr. Warburton.


Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That doft not bite fo nigh
As benefits forgot:
Tho' thou the waters warp
Thy fting is not fo farp
As friend remembred not.
Heigh hol fing, &c.

Duke Sen. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's


you have whisper'd faithfully you were, And as mine eye doth his effigies witness, Moft truly limn'd, and living in your face, Be truly welcome hither. I'm the Duke, That lov'd your Father. The refidue 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 fortunes understand.





Enter Duke, Lords, and Oliver.



OT fee him fince? Sir, Sir, that cannot be: But were I not the better part made mercy, I should not seek an abfent argument Of my revenge, thou prefent: but look to it; Find out thy brother, wherefoe'er he is; Seek him with candle: bring him dead or living, Within this twelvemonth; or turn thou no more To feek a living in our territory.


Thy lands and all things that thou doft call thine,
Worth feizure, do we feize into our hands;
"Till thou canft quit thee by thy brother's mouth,
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.

Duke. More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors;

And let my officers of fuch a nature
Make an Extent upon his house and lands:
Do this expediently, and turn him going.



SCENE changes to the FOREST.
Enter Orlando.

Ang there, my verse, in witness of my love;
And thou thrice-crowned Queen of Night


With thy chafte eye, from thy pale sphere above,
Thy huntress' name that my full life doth fway.
O Rofalind! these trees fhall be my books,

And in their barks my thoughts I'll character; That every eye, which in this Forest looks,

Shall fee thy virtue witness'd every where. Run, run, Orlando, carve, on every tree, The fair, the chafte, and unexpreffive She.


Enter Corin and Clown.

Cor. And how like you this fhepherd's life, Mr. Touchftone?

Clo. Truly, fhepherd, in respect of it felf, it is a good life; but in respect that it is a fhepherd's life, it is naught. In refpect that it is folitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now in refpect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in refpect it is not in the Court, it is tedious. As it is a fpare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much againft my ftomach. Haft any philofophy in thee, fhepherd ?


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