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Sil. O Corin, that thou knew'ít how I do love
Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.
Sil. O, thou didit then ne'er love fo heartily:
[Exit Sil. Rof. Alas, poor shepherd! searching 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 sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming a-nights to Jane Smile; and I remember the killmg of her batlet, and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopped hands had milked; and I remember the wooing of a peasecod instead of her, from whom I took two cods, and giving her them again, faid with weeping tears, wear these for my fake. 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. Rof. Thou sjeaket wiser than thou art ware of.
upon my fashion.
Clo. Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of my own wit, 'till I break my thins against it.
Rof: Jove! Jove! this thepherd's paffion is much
Clo. And mine, but it grows something Itale withi me.
Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man,
Rof. I pr’ythee, shepherd, if that love or gold
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 sheer the fleeces that I
graze; My master is of churlith difpofition, And little wreaks to find the way to heaven By doing deeds of hospitality : Besides, his coate, his flocks, and bounds of feed Are now on sale, and at our sheep-coate now, By reafon of his absence, there is nothing That you will feed on; but what is, come see; And in my voice most welcome shall
be. Rof. What is he that shall buy his flock and
saw here but ere while, That little cares for buying any thing.
Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty,
Cel. And we will mend thy wages.
Cor. Assuredly the thing is to be fold;
SCENE changes to a desart part of the Forest.
Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others.
Under the green-wood tree
Here shall he fee
But winter and rough weather.
Ami. It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.
Jaq. I thank it; more, I pr’ythee, more; I can fuck melancholy out of a song, as a weazle fucks eggs More, I prythee, more.
Ami. My voice is rugged; I know I cannot please you.
Jaq. I do not desire you to please me, I do de. fire you to fing. Come, come, 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 compliments, is like, the encounter of two dog-apes. And when a man thanks me heartily, methinks I have given him a penny, and lie renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, fing; and you that will not, hold your tongues.
Ami. Well, I'll end the song: Sirs, cover the while; the Duke will dine 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.
Here shall he fee
But winter and rough weather. Jaq. I'll give you a verse to this note, that I made yesterday in despight of my invention.
Ami. And I'll fing it.
If it do come to pass,
Here shall he fee
Gross fools as he,
And if he will come to me. Ami. What's that ducdame?
Jaq. ?Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I'll go sleep if I can; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the first-born of Egypt.
Ami. And I'll go seek the Duke; his banquet is prepared.
[Exeunt severally. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM. Adam. Dear master, I can go no further; 0, I die for fond ! here ly I down, and measure out my grave. Farewel, kind master.
Orla. Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee? live a little ; comfort a little; cheer thyfelf a little. If this uncouth forest yield any thing favage, I will either be food for it, or bring it for food to thee: thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. For my fake be comfortable, hold death a while at the arın'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 dieit before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well faid, thou lookeit cheerly. And I'll be with thee quickly; yet thou liest in the bleak air. Come, I will bear thee to some shelter, and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this defart. Cheerly, good Adam. [Exeunt.
Enter Duke Sen. and Lords. A Table set out. Duke Sen. I think he is transformed into a beast,