In the which hope I blush, and hide my fword.

Duke Sen. True is it, that we have seen better days;
And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church;
And fate at good mens 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 your return.

Orla. I thank ye; and be blefs'd for your good comfort!

[Exit. Duke Sen. Thou feeft, 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 fchool. 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 justice
In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd,
With eyes fevere, and beard of formal cut,

Full

Full of wife faws and modern instances,
And fo he plays his part. The fixth age fhifts.
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 bur then,

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.

SONG.

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,

Thou art not fo unkind

As man's ingratitude

Thy tooth is not so keen,

Becaufe thou art not feen,

Altho' thy breath be rude.

Heigh bo: fing, beigh bo! unto the green holly
Moft friendship is feigning; most loving meer følly 2-
Then beigh ha, the holly!

This life is moft jolly.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,

That doft not bite fo nigh

As benefits forgot:

Tho' thou the waters warp,

Thy fting is not fo fharp

As friend remembred not.

Heigh bo! fing, &c.

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

As you have whifper'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.

[Exeunt.

ACT III. !

SCENE, the PALACE,
Enter Duke, Lords and Oliver.

N

DUKE.

OT fee him fince? Sir, Sir, that cannot be:
But were I not the better part made mercy,
I should not feek an absent 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

dours;

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

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to the FOREST.

Enter Orlando.

Orla. HAng there, my verfe, in witness of my love;

And thou thrice crowned Queen of Night

furvey,

With thy chafte eye, from thy pale sphere above,
Thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway.
O Rofalind! thefe 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.

[Exit.

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

Clo. Truly, fhepherd, in refpect of itself, it is a good life; but in refpect that it is a fhepherd's life, it is naught. In refpect that it is folitary, I like it very well; but in refpect 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 fpare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my ftomach. Haft any philosophy in thee, fhepherd ?

Cor. No more, but that I know, the more one fickens, the worfe at ease he is and that he, that wants mony, means, and content, is without three

good

good friends. That the property of rain is to wet, and fire to burn that good pafture makes fat fheep; and that a great cause of the night, is lack of the Sun : that he, that hath learned no wit by nature nor art, may complain of good breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred.

Clo. Such a one is a natural philofopher. Waft ever in Court, fhepherd ?

Cor. No, truly.

Clo. Then thou art damn'd.

Cor. Nay, I hope

Clo. Truly, thou art damn'd, like an ill-roafted egg, all on one fide.

Cor. For not being at Court? your reafon.

Clo. Why, if thou never waft at Court, thou never faw'ft good manners; if thou never faw'ft good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is fin, and fin is damnation : thou art in a parlous ftate, fhepherd.

Cor. Not a whit, Touchstone: thofe, that are 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 falute not at the Court, but you kifs your hands; that courtefie would be uncleanly, if Courtiers were fhepherds.

Clo. Inftance, briefly; come, inftance.

Cor. Why, we are ftill handling our ewes ; and their fels, you know, are greafie.

Clo. Why, do not your Courtiers hands fweat? and is not the grease of a mutton as wholfome as the sweat of a man? shallow, fhallow; a better inftance, I

fay: come.

Cor. Befides, our hands are hard. Clo. Your lips will feel them the sooner. again : a môre founder instance, come.

Shallow

Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the furgery of our sheep; and would you have us kifs tarr ? the Courtier's hands are perfumed with civet.

Clo. Moft fhallow man! thou worms-meat in refpect of a good piece of flesh, indeed! learn of the