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Wears yet a precious jewel in his head:
And this our life, exempt from publick haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in ftones, and good in every thing,

Ami. I would not change it; happy is your grace
That can tranflate the ftubbornness of fortune
Into fo quiet and so sweet a style.

Duke Sen. Come, fhall we go and kill us venison ?
And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools,
Being native burghers of this desert city,

Should, in their own confines, with forked heads
Have their round haunches gor'd,

1 Lord. Indeed, my lord,}

The melancholy Jaques grieves at that,
And, in that kind, fwears you do more ufurp
Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you:
To-day my lord of Amiens, and myself,
Did fteal behind him, as he lay along
Under an oak, whofe antique root peeps out
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood;
To the which place a poor fequefter'd ftag,
That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt,
Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord,
The wretched animal heav'd forth fuch groans,
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat
Almost to bursting; and the big round tears
Cours'd one another down his innocent nose
In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool,
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
Stood on th' extremeft verge of the swift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.

Duke Sen. But what faid Jaques ?
Did he not moralize this fpectacle?

I Lord. O, yes, into a thoufand fimilies. First, for his weeping in the needless stream; Poor deer, quoth he, thou mak'st a testament

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As worldlings do, giving thy fum of more
To that which had too much. Then, being alone,
Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends;
'Tis right, quoth he; thus mifery doth part
The flux of company: anon, a carelefs herd,
Full of the pafture, jumps along by him, g
And never stays to greet him: ay, quoth Jaques,
Sweep on, you fat and greafy citizens,
'Tis juft the fashion; wherefore do look
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there
Thus moft invectively he pierced through
The body of the country, city, court,
Yea, and of this our life; fwearing, that we
Are mere ufurpers, tyrants, and what's worse,
To fright the animals, and to kill them up


In their affign'd and native dwelling place.

Duke Sen. And did you leave him in this contemplation? 2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting Upon the fobbing deer.

Duke Sen. Show me the place;

I love to cope him in thefe fullen fits,

For then he's full of matter.

2 Lord. I'll bring you to him straight.



The Palace again.

Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords.

Duke. C

AN it be poffible, that no man faw them? It cannot be; fome villains of my court Are of confent and fufferance in this.

1 Lord. I cannot hear of any that did fee her.
The ladies, her attendants of her chamber,
Saw her a-bed; and, in the morning early,
They found the bed untreafur'd of their mistress.

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2 Lord. My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft
Your grace was wont to laugh, is also miffing:
Hifperia, the princess' gentlewoman,
Confeffes that the fecretly o'er-heard
Your daughter and her coufin much commend
The parts and graces of the wrestler
That did but lately foil the finewy Charles
And she believes, wherever they are gone,
That youth is furely in their company.

Duke. Send to his brother, fetch that gallant hither;
If he be absent, bring his brother to me,
I'll make him find him: do this fuddenly;
And let not fearch and inquifition quail
To bring again these foolish runaways.


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Oliver's house.

Enter Orlando, and Adam.


Ho's there?



Adam. What! my young master? o my gentle
O my fweet mafter, o you memory
Of old fir Rowland! why, what make you here?
Why are you virtuous? why do people love you ?
And wherefore are you gentle, ftrong, and valiant ?
Why would you be fo fond to overcome
The bonny priser of the humorous duke?
Your praife is come too swiftly home before you.
Know you not, mafter, to fome kind of men
Their graces ferve them but as enemies ?

No more do yours; your virtues, gentle mafter,
Are fanctified and holy traitors to you.


O, what a world is this, when what is comely
Envenoms him that bears it!


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Orla. Why, what's the matter?
Adam. O unhappy youth,

Come not within thefe doors; within this roof
The enemy of all your graces lives:

Your brother-(no; no brother, yet the fon,
Yet not the fon, I will not call him fon

Of him I was about to call his father)
Hath heard your praises; and this night he means.
To burn the lodging where you use to lie,

And you within it: if he fail of that,

He will have other means to cut you off:
I over-heard him and his practises.

This is no place, this house is but a butchery;

Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.

Orla. Why, whither, Adam, would'st thou have me go?
Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here.

Orla. What, would'ft thou have me go and beg my food,,
Or with a base and boisterous fword enforce

A thievish living on the common road?
This I must do, or know not what to do:
Yet this I will not do, do how I can;

I rather will subject me to the malice
Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother.

Adam. But do not fo; I have five hundred crowns,
The thrifty hire I fav'd under your father,
Which I did store to be my fofter-nurse
When service should in my old limbs be lame,
And unregarded age in corners thrown ;
Take that; and he that doth the ravens feed,
Yea, providently caters for the fparrow,
Be comfort to my age! here is the gold,
All this I give you; let me be your fervant;
Though I look old, yet I am ftrong and lufty;
For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood,
Nor did I with unbafhful forehead woo



The means of weakness and debility;
Therefore, my age is as a lufty winter,
Frosty, but kindly; let me go with you,
I'll do the fervice of a younger man
In all your bufinefs and neceffities.

Orla. O good old man, how well in thee appears
The conftant fervice of the antique world;
When fervice fweat for duty, not for meed!
Thou art not for the fashion of these times,
Where none will sweat but for promotion;
And, having that, do choke their service up
Even with the having; it is not fo with thee:
But, poor old man, thou prun'ft a rotten tree,
That cannot fo much as a bloffom yield,
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry:
But come thy ways, we'll go along together;
And ere we have thy youthful wages fpent,
We'll light upon fome fettled low content.

Adam. Mafter, go on, and I will follow thee,
To the last gafp, with truth and loyalty.
From seventeen years till now almost fourscore
Here lived I, but now live here no more.
At feventeen years many their fortunes seek,
But at fourfcore, it is too late a week;
Yet fortune cannot recompence me better
Than to die well, and not my master's debtor.

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The Foreft.

Enter Rofalind in boy's cloths for Ganimed, Celia dress'd like a
Shepherdefs for Aliena, and Clown.


Jupiter! how weary are my spirits!

Clo. I care not for my fpirits, if my legs were not weary.


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