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AS YOU LIKE IT.
not die for lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam.
Enter Duke Sen. and Lords.
Duke Sen. I think, he is transform'd into a beaft; 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 Sen. If he, compact of jars, grow mufical,
We shall have shortly discord in the spheres:
Go, seek him; tell him, I would speak with him.
I Lord. He faves my labour by his own approach.
Duke Sen. Why, how now, monfieur! 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' th' forest,
A motley fool, a miserable varlet,
As I do live by food, I met a fool,
Who lay'd him down, and bask'd him in the fun,
And rail'd on lady fortune in good terms,
In good fet terms, and yet a motley fool.
Good morrow, fool, quoth I: no, fir, quoth he,
Call me not fool, till heaven hath fent me fortune ::
And then he drew a dial from his poke,
And looking on it with lack-luftre eye,
Says, very wifely, it is ten o'clock:
Thus may we fee, quoth he, how the world wags:
'Tis but an hour ago fince it was nine,
And after one hour more 'twill be eleven ;
And fo, 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
Jaq. O worthy fool! one that hath been a courtier;
And fays, if ladies be but young, and fair,
They have the gift to know it: and in his brain,
Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit
After a voyage, he hath ftrange places cram'd
With obfervation, the which he vents
In mangled forms. O that I were a fool!
I am ambitious for a motley coat.
Duke Sen. Thou fhalt have one.
Jaq. It is my only fuit;
your better judgments
Of all opinion that grows rank in them,
That I am wife. I must have liberty
Withal, as large a charter as the wind,
To blow on whom I please; for so fools have:
And they that are moft gauled with my folly,
They most must laugh: and why, fir, muft they fo?
The why is plain, as way to parish church;
He, whom a fool doth very wifely hit,
Doth very foolishly, although he smart,
Not to feem fenfeless of the bob: if not,
The wife man's folly is anatomiz'd
Even by the fquand'ring glances of a fool.
In veft me in my motley; give me leave
To fpeak my mind, and I will through and through
Cleanfe the foul body of the infected world,
If they will patiently receive my medicine.
Duke Sen. Fie on thee! I can tell what thou would't do.
Jaq. What, for a counter, would I do, but good?
Duke Sen. Moft mischievous foul fin, in chiding fin:
For thou thyself haft been a libertine,
As fenfual as the brutish fting itself;
And all the emboffed fores, and headed evils,
That thou with license of free foot haft caught,
Would'ft thou difgorge into the general world.
Jaq. Why, who cries out on pride,
That can therein tax any private party?
Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,
Till that the very very means do ebb?
What woman in the city do I name,
When that I fay the city-woman bears
The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders?
Who can come in, and say, that I mean her,
When fuch a one as fhe, fuch is her neighbour?
Or what is he of bafeft function,
That says, his bravery is not on my coft,
Thinking that I mean him, but therein fuits
His folly to the mettle of my fpeech
There then; how then? let me then fee wherein
My tongue hath wrong'd him; if it do him right,
Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free,
Why then, my taxing like a wild goofe flies
Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes here?
Enter Orlando, with his fword drawn.
Orla. Forbear, and eat no more.
Jaq. Why, I have eat none yet.
Orla. Nor fhalt not, till neceffity be ferv'd.
Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come?
Duke Sen. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress?
Or else a rude despiser of good manners,
That in civility thou feem'ft fo empty?
Orla. You touch'd my vein at firft; the thorny point
Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show
Of smooth civility; yet am I inland bred,
And know fome nurture: but forbear, I say:
He dies that touches any of this fruit,
Till I and my affairs are answered.
Jaq. If you will not
Be answered with reason, I must die.
Duke Sen. What would you have? your gentleness shall force,
More than your force move us to gentleness.
Orlu. I almoft die for food, and let me have it.
Duke Sen. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.
Oria. Speak you fo gently? pardon me, I pray you;
I thought that all things had been favage here,
And therefore put I on the countenance
Of ftern commandment. But whate'er you are
That in this defert inacceffible,
Under the shade of melancholy boughs,
Lofe 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 fat at any good man's feaft;
If ever from your eyelids wip'd a tear,
And known what 'tis to pity, and be pitied;
Let gentleness my ftrong enforcement be,
In the which hope, I blush, and hide my fword.
Duke Sen. True is it that we have seen better days,
And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church,
And fat at good men's feafts, and wip'd our eyes
Of drops that facred pity hath engender'd:
And therefore fit you down in gentleness,
And take upon command what help we have,
That to your wanting may be minifter'd.
Orla. 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 firft fuffic'd,
Opprefs'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,
I will not touch a bit.
Duke Sen. Go, find him out,
And we will nothing wafte till you return.
Orla. I thank ye; and be blefs'd for your good comfort!
Duke Sen. Thou seeft, we are not all alone unhappy : This wide and univerfal theatre
Presents more woful pageants than the scene
Wherein we play.
Jaq. All the world is 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 schoolboy, with his fatchel,
And shining morning-face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then, the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then, a foldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, fudden 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 fevere, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wife faws and modern instances,
And fo he plays his part. The fixth
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