Orl. Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee? Live a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little: If this uncouth forest yield any thing savage, I will either be food for it, or bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. For my sake be comfortable; hold death a while at the arin'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 diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said! thou look'st 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 desert. Cheerly, good Adam. [Exeunt.

SCENE VII.

Another Part of the Forest.

A Table set out.

Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and LORDS.

Duke. I think he is transform'd into a beast: For I can no where find him like a man.

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

Duke. 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.

1 Lord. He saves my labour, by his own approach. Duke. Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this,

That your poor friends must woo your company?

What, you look merrily.

Jaques. A fool, a fool !

-I met a fool i'the forest,

A motley fool-a miserable world!

As I do live by food, Í met a fool;

Who laid him down, and bask'd him in the sun,
And rail'd 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 for-
tune:"

And then he drew a dial from his poke;
And looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
Says, very wisely, "It is ten a'clock:

66 Thus may we 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.

Jaques. Why, I have eat none yet.

Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv❜d.

Jaques. Of what kind should this cock come of?

Duke. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress;

E

Or else a rude despiser of good manners,
That in civility thou seem'st so empty?

Orl. You touch'd my vein at first; the thorny point
Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show
Of smooth civility; yet am I in-land bred,
And know some nurture: But forbear, I say;
He dies, that touches any of this fruit,

Till I and my affairs are answered.

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

Duke. 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. 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 look'd on better days;

If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church;
If ever sat at any good man's feast;

If ever from your eye-lids wip'd 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. True is it, that we have seen better days,
And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church;
And sat at good men's feasts? and wip'd our eyes
Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd:
And therefore sit you down in gentleness,
And take upon command what help we have,
That to your wanting may be ministred.

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
Limp'd in pure love; till he be first suffic'd-

Oppress'd with two weak evils, age, and hunger—— I will not touch a bit.

Duke. Go find him out,

And we will nothing waste till you return.

Orl. I thank ye; and be bless'd for your good com

fort!

[Exit. Duke. Thou see'st, we are not all alone unhappy : This wide and universal theatre

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

Jaques. 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' eye-brow: 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 lin'd,
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 slipper'd pantaloon;
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
His youthful hose well sav'd, 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 every thing.

Enter ORLANDO and ADAM.

Duke. Welcome: Set down your venerable burden, 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. Welcome, fall to: I will not trouble you
As yet, to question you about your fortunes:-
Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing,

SONG. AMIENS.

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind

As man's ingratitude;

Thy tooth is not so keen,

Because thou art not seen,

Although thy breath be rude.

Freeze, freeze thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp

As friend remember'd not.

Duke. 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,
Most truly limn'd, and living in your face-
Be truly welcome hither; I am the duke,

That lov'd your father: The residue of your fortune,