First Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone hence : Here was he merry, hearing of a song.

Duke S. 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.

First Lord. He saves my labour by his own approach. Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur ! what a life is this, That your poor friends must woo your company?

What, you look merrily!

Jaq. A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' the forest, A motley fool; a miserable world!

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

Who laid him down and basked him in the sun,
And railed 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 we may 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.

Enter ORLANDO, with his sword drawn.

Orl.

Forbear, and eat no more.

Faq.

Why, I have eat none yet.

Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be served.

Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of?

Duke S. Art thou thus boldened, man, by thy distress; Or else a rude despiser of good manners,

That in civility thou seem'st so empty?

Orl. You touched my vein at first: the thorny point

Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show

Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred
And know some nurture. But forbear, I say:

He dies that touches any of this fruit

Till I and my affairs are answered.

Faq. An you will not be answered with reason, I must die.

Duke S. What would you have? Your gentleness shall

force

More than your force move us to gentleness.

Orl. I almost die for food; and let me have it.

Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table. Orl. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I 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 looked on better days,

If ever been where bells have knolled 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 S. True is it that we have seen better days, And have with holy bell been knolled to church,

And sat at good men's feasts, and wiped our eyes
Of drops that sacred pity hath engendered:
And therefore sit you down in gentleness
And take, upon command, what help we have
That to your wanting may be ministered.

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
Limped in pure love : till he be first sufficed,
Oppressed with two weak evils, age and hunger,
I will not touch a bit.

Duke S.

Go find him out,

And we will nothing waste till you return.

Orl. I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort!

[Exit. Duke S. Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy : This wide and universal theatre

Presents more woeful pageants than the scene
Wherein we play in.

Faq.

All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden 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 lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,

Full of wise saws and modern instances;

And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,

With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

Re-enter ORLANDO, with ADAM.

Duke S. Welcome. Set down your venerable burthen, And let him feed.

Orl. I thank you most for him.
Adam.

So had you need:
I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.
Duke S. Welcome; fall to: I will not trouble you
As yet, to question you about your fortunes.

Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing.

W. Shakespeare.

Oli.

CLVII.

AS YOU LIKE IT.

ACT IV. SCENE III.-The Forest.

ROSALIND, dressed like a boy. CELIA.

Enter OLIVER.

OOD morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you know,
Where in the purlieus of this forest stands

A sheep-cote fenced about with olive trees? Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom:

The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream

Left on your right hand brings you to the place.

But at this hour the house doth keep itself;

There's none within.

Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
Then should I know you by description;
Such garments and such years: 'The boy is fair,
Of female favour, and bestows himself

Like a ripe sister: the woman low

And browner than her brother.'

Are not you
The owner of the house I did inquire for?

Cel. It is no boast, being asked, to say we are.
Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both,
And to that youth he calls his Rosalind
He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he?

Ros. I am what must we understand by this?
Oli. Some of my shame; if you will know of me
What man I am, and how, and why, and where
This handkercher was stained.

Cel.

I pray you, tell it.

Oli. When last the young Orlando parted from you He left a promise to return again

Within an hour, and pacing through the forest,

Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy,

Lo, what befel! he threw his eye aside,

And mark what object did present itself :

Under an oak, whose boughs were mossed with age
And high top bald with dry antiquity,

A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,
Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck

A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself,

Who with her head, nimble in threats, approached
The opening of his mouth; but suddenly,
Seeing Orlando, it unlinked itself,
And with indented glides did slip away
Into a bush: under which bush's shade

A lioness, with udders all drawn dry,

Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch,
When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis
The royal disposition of that beast.

To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead :