Duke Sen. Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy: This wide and universal Theatre Presents more woful Pageants than the Scene Jaq. All the World's a Stage, Sans Teeth, fans Eyes, sans Taste, sans every thing. Duke Sen. Welcome: Set down your venerable Burthen, and let him feed. Orla. I thank you most for him. Adam. So had you need, I scarce can speak to thank you for my felf. Duke Sen. Welcome, fall too: I will not trouble you, As yet to question you about your Fortunes. VOL. II. M SONG. SONG. Blow, blow, thou Winter Wind, Thou art not so unkind, as Man's Ingratitude; Altho thy Breath be rude. Heigh bo, fing heigh bo, unto the green Holly; Most Friend bip is feigning; most Loving meer Folly: Then heigh ho, the Holly, I his Life is most Folly, Frieze, Frieze, thou bitter Sky, that dost not bite so nigh As Benefits forgot: The thou the Waters warp, thy Sting is not so sharp, As Friend remembred not, Heigh ho, fing, &c. Duke Sen. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's Son, As you have whisper'd faithfully you were, Duke. N ACT III. SCEΝΕΙ. SCENE the Palace. [Exeunt. Enter Duke, Lords, and Oliver. I should not seek an absent Argument Of my Revenge, thou prefent: But look to it, nnot be: Seek him with Candle; bring him dead or living, Thy Thy Lands and all things that thou dost call thine, Oli. Oh that your Highness knew my Heart in this: Duke. More Villain thou. Well, push him out of Doors, And let my Officers of such a nature Do this expediently, and turn him going. SCENE II. The Forest. Enter Orlando. [Exeunt. [Exit. Orla. Hang there my Verse, in witness of my Love, And thou thrice Crowned Queen of Night survey, With thy chaft Eye, from thy pale Sphere above, Thy Huntress name, that my full Life doth sway. O Rosalind, these Trees shall be my Books, And in their Barks my Thoughts I'll Character, That every Eye, which in this Foreft looks, Shall fee thy Virtue witness'd every where. Run, run, Orlando, carve on every Tree, The fair, the chaft, and unexpressive she. Enter Coren and Clown. Cor. And how like you this Shepherd's Life, Mr.Touchstone? Clown.. Truly, Shepherd, in respect of it self, it is a good Life; but in respect that it is a Shepherd's Life, it is naught. In respect that it is folitary, I like it very well; but in respect 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 spare Life, look you, it fits my Humour weli; but as there is no moreplenty in it, it goes much against my Stomach. Has't any Philofophy in thee, Shepherd? Cor. No more, but that I know the more one fickens, the worse at ease he is: And that he that wants Mony, Means, and Content, is without three good Friends. That the Property of Rain is to wet, and Fire to burn: That good Pasture makes fat Sheep; and that a great cause of the Night, is the 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. Clown. Such a one is a natural Philofopher. Was't ever in Court, Shepherd? Cor. No truly. Clown. Then thou art Damn'd. Cor. Nay, I hope Clown. Truly thou art Damn'd, like an ill-roasted Egg, all on one fide. Cor. For not being at Court? Your reason. Clown. Why, if thou never wast at Court, thou never saw'st good Manners; if thou never faw'st good Manners, then thy Manners must be wicked; and Wickedness is Sin, and Sin is Damnation: Thou art in a parlous State, Shepherd. Cor. Not a whit, Touchstone: Those that have 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 Salute not at the Court, but you Kiss your Hands; that Courtesie would be uncleanly, if Courtiers were Shepherds. Clown. Instance, briefly; come, instance. Cor. Why, we are still handling our Ewes, and their Fels, you know, are greafie. Clown. Why, do not your Courtiers Hands sweat? And is not the Grease of Mutton as wholsome as the Sweat of a Man? Shallow, shallow, a better Instance, I say: Come. Cor. Besides, our Hands are hard. Clown. Your Lips will feel them the fooner. Shallow again: A more founder Instance, come. Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the furgery of our Sheep; and would you have us kiss Tar? The Courtiers Hands are perfumed with Civet, Clown. Most shallow, Man: Thou Worms-meat, in respect of a good piece of Flesh indeed; learn of the Wife ard Perpend; Civet is of a baser birth than Tar; the very uncleanly Flux of a Cat. Mend the Instance, Shepherd. Cor. You have too Courtly a Wit for me; I'll reft. Clown. Wilt thou rest Damn'd? God help thee, shallow Man; God make incifion in thee, thou art raw. Cor. Cor. Sir, I am a true Labourer, I earn that I eat; get that I wear; owe no Man Hate, envy no Man's Happiness; glad of other Mens good, content with my harm; and the greatest of my Pride, is to see my Ewes graze, and my Lambs fuck. Clown. That is another simple Sin in you, to bring the Ewes and the Rams together, and to offer to get your Living by the Copulation of Cattle, to be a Bawd to a Bellweather, and to betray a She-Lamb of a Twelve-month to a crooked Pated old Cuckoldly Ram, out of all reasonable Match. If thou be'st not Damn'd for this, the Devil himfelf will haveno Shepherds; I cannot see how thou should'st Icape. Cor. Here comes Mr. Ganimed, my new Mistress's Brother. Enter Rosalind with a Paper. Rof. From the East to Western Inde, All the Pictures fairest Lind, Are but black to Rosalind; Let no Face be kept in mind, But the most fair Rofalind. Clown. I'll Rhime you so, eight years together; dinners, and fuppers, and fleeping hours excepted: It is the right Butter-womens rank to Market. Rof. Out Fool. If a Hart doth lack a Hind, |