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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.

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 feven Ages. At first the Infant,
Newling and puking in the Nurfe's Arms:
Then, the whining School-boy with his Satchel,
And fhining Morning-face, creeping like Snail
Unwillingly to School. And then the Lover,
Sighing like Furnace, with a woful Ballad
Made to his Mistress's Eye-brow. Then a Soldier,
Full of ftrange Oaths, and bearded like the Pard,
Jealous in Honour, fudden and quick in Quarrel,
Seeking the Bubble Reputation,

Even in the Canon'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 Saws, and modern Inftances,
And fo he plays his patt. 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 Shank, and his big manly Voice
Turning again toward childish trebble Pipes,
And whistles in his found. Laft Scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful History,
Is fecond Childishness, and meer Oblivion,
Sans Teeth, fans Eyes, fans Tafte, fans every thing.
Enter Orlando with Adam.

Duke Sen. Welcome: Set down your venerable Burthen, and let him feed.

Orla. I thank you moft for him.

Adam. So had you need,

I fcarce 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.

Give us fome Mufick, and good Coufin, fing.

VOL. II.

M

SONG.

SONG.

Blow, blow, thou Winter Wind,

Thou art not so unkind, as Man's Ingratitude;
Thy Tooth is not fo keen, because thou art not seen,
Altho' thy Breath be rude.

Heigh ho, fing heigh ho, unto the green Holly;
Moft Friend flip is feigning; moft Loving meer Folly:
Then heigh ho, the Holly,

This Life is moft Folly,

Frieze, Frieze, thou bitter Sky, that doft not bite fo'nigh
As Benefits forgot:

Tho' thou the Waters warp, thy Sting is not so sharp,
As Friend remembred not,

Heigh ho, fing, &c.

4

Duke Sen. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's Son,
As 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 am 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 Mafter is;
Support him by the Arm; give me your Hand,
And let me all your Fortunes understand.

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[Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

SCENE the Palace.

Enter Duke, Lords, and Oliver.

Duke. N But

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OT fee him fince? Sir, Sir, that cannot be:
But were not the better part made Mercy,

I fhould not feek 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 Twelve-month, or turn thou no more
To feck a Living in our Territo y.

Thy

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 Highnefs knew my Heart in this: I never lov'd my Brother in my Life.

Duke. More Villainthou. Well, pufh him out of Doors, And let my Officers of fuch a naturé

Make an Extent upon his House and Lands:
Do this expediently, and turn him going.

SCENE II. The Foreft.

Enter Orlando.

[Exeunt.

Orla. Hang there my Verfe, in witnefs of my Love,
And thou thrice Crowned Queen of Night furvey,
With thy chaft Eye, from thy pale Sphere above,
Thy Huntress name, that my full Life doth fway.
O Rofalind, thefe Trees fhall be my Books,
And in their Barks my Thoughts l'il Character,
That every Eye, which in this Forest Icoks,
Shall fee thy Virtue witness'd every where.
Run, run, Orlando, carve on every Tree,
The fair, the chaft, and unexpreffive the.

[Exit.

Enter Coren and Clown. Cor. And how like you this Shepherd's Life, Mr.Touchstone? Clown.. Truly, Shepherd, in refpect of it felf, 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 refpect that it is private, it is a very vile Life. Now in refpe&t it is in the Fields, it pleafeth 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 weli; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my Stomach. Fas't any Philofophy in thee, Shepherd?

Cor. No more, but that I know the more one fickens, the worse at cafe 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 Pafture makes fat Sheep; and that a great cause of the Night, is the lack of the Sun: That he that hath learned no Wit

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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-roafted Egg, all

on one fide.

Cor. For not being at Court? Your reason.

Clown. 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 Sin, and Sin is Damnation: Thou art in a parlous State, Shep

herd.

Cor. Not a whit, Touchstone: Thofe that have good Manners at the Court, are as ridiculous in the Country, as the Behaviour of the Country is moft mockable at the Court. You told me, you Salute not at the Court, but you Kils your Hands; that Courtefie would be uncleanly, if Courtiers were Shepherds.

Clown. Inftance, briefly; come, inftance.

Cor. Why, we are still handling our Ewes, and their Fels, you know, are greafie.

Clown. Why, do not your Courtiers Hands fweat? And is not the Greafe of Mutton as wholfome as the Sweat of a Man? Shallow, fhallow, a better Inftance, I fay: Come. Cor. Befides, our Hands are hard.

Clown. Your Lips will feel them the fooner. Shallow again: A more founder Inftance, come.

Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the furgery of our Sheep; and would you have us kifs Tar? The Courtiers Hands are perfumed with Civet,

Clown. Moft fhallow, Man: Thou Worms-meat, în refpect of a good piece of Flesh indeed; learn of the Wife ard Perpend; Civet is of a bafer birth than Tar; the very uncleanly Flux of a Cat. Mend the Inftance, Shep

herd.

Cor. You have too Courtly a Wit for me; I'll reft. Clown. Wilt thou reft Damn'd? God help thee, fhallow

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 fee my Ewes graze, and my Lambs fuck.

Clown. That is another fimple 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 have no Shepherds; I cannot fee how thou should'st 'fcape.

Cor. Here comes Mr. Ganimed, my new Mistress's Brother.

Enter Rofalind with a Paper.

Rof. From the East to Western Inde,
No Jewel is like Rofalind,

Her Worth being mounted on the Wind,
Through all the World bears Rofalind.
All the Pictures fairest Lind,

Are but black to Rofalind;

Let no Face be kept in mind,

But the most fair Rofalind.

Clown. I'll Rhime you fo, eight years together; dinners, and fuppers, and fleeping hours excepted: It is the right Butter-womens rank to Market.

Rof. Out Fool.

Clown. For a taste.

If a Hart doth lack a Hind,
Let him feek out Rofalind,
If the Cat will after Kind,
So be fure will Rofalind.
Winter Garments must be lin'd,
So muft fender Rofalind.
They that Reap must sheaf and bind,

Then to Cart with Rofalind.
Sweetest Meat hath fowreft Rind,
Such a Nut is Rofalind.

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