For his fhrunk fhanks; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his found. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is fecond childishness, and mere oblivion;

Sans teeth, fans eyes, fans tafte, fans every thing.

SCENE X.

Enter Orlando, with Adam.

Duke Sen. Welcome: set down your venerable burden,
And let him feed.

Orla. I thank you most for him.

Adam. So had you need,

I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.

Duke Sen. Welcome, fall to: I will not trouble you,

As yet to question you about your fortunes.
Give us fome musick, and, good coufin, fing.

Though thou the waters warp,
Thy fting is not fo fharp
As friend rememb’ring not.
Heigh ho, fing, &c.

Duke Sen. If that you were the good fir Rowland's fon,
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'm the duke
That lov'd your father: the refidue of your
Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man,
Thou art right welcome, as thy master is;
Support him by the arm: give me your hand,
And let me all your fortunes understand.

fortune

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Enter Duke, Lords, and Oliver.

The Palace.

DUKE.

No

OT fee him fince? fir, fir, that cannot be :
But were I not the better part made mercy,
I should not feek an absent 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 twelvemonth, or turn thou no more
To seek a living in our territory.

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

[Exeunt.

Of what we think against thee.

Oli. O, that your highness knew my heart in this!

I never lov'd my brother in my life.

Duke. More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors ;

And let my officers of fuch a nature
Make an extent upon his house, and lands:
Do this expediently, and turn him going.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The Foreft.

Enter Orlando.

Orla HA

ANG there, my verse, in witness of my love;
And, thou, thrice crowned queen of night, furvey
With thy chafte 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 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 chafte, and unexpreffive fhe.

[Exit.

SCENE

III.

Enter Corin, and Clown.

Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life, Mr. Touchstone? Clo. Truly, fhepherd, in refpect of itself, it is a good life; but in respect that it is a fhepherd'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 refpect 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 fpare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there

Cc 2

is

is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my ftomach. Haft any philosophy in thee, fhepherd?

Cor. No more, but that I know the more one fickens, the worse at ease he is: and that he that wants money, 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 lack of the fun: that he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art, may complain of bad breeding, and comes of a very dull kindred.

Clo. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Waft ever in court, fhepherd ?

Cor. No, truly.

Clo. Then thou art damn'd.

Cor. Nay, I hope

Clo. Truly, thou art damn'd, like an ill-roafted egg, all on one fide.

Cor. For not being at court? your reason.

Clo. Why, if thou never waft at court, thou never saw'ft good manners; if thou never faw'ft good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is fin, and fin is damnation : thou art in a parlous state, shepherd.

Cor. Not a whit, Touchstone: those that are 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 falute not at the court, but you kiss your hands; that courtesy would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds.

Clo. Inftance, briefly; come, instance.

Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes; and their fells, you know, are greasy.

Clo. Why, do not your courtiers hands fweat? and is not the grease of mutton as wholsome as the sweat of a man? shallow, fhallow; a better inftance, I say: come.

Cor. Befides, our hands are hard.

Clo. Your lips will feel them the fooner. Shallow again: a founder inftance; come.

Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the furgery of our

fheep;

fheep; and would you have us kiss tar? the courtier's hands are
perfumed with civet.

Clo. Moft fhallow man! thou worms-meat, in refpect of a
good piece of flesh indeed! learn of the wife, and perpend: civet
is of a bafer 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.

Clo. Wilt thou reft damn'd? god help thee, fhallow man! god make incifion in thee! thou art raw.

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 men's good, content with my harm; and the greatest of my pride is, to fee my ewes graze, and my lambs fuck.

Clo. That is another fimple fin 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 bell-weather, and to betray a fhe-lamb of a twelvemonth old to a crooked-pated old cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou be’st not damn'd for this, the devil himself will have no fhepherds; I cannot fee else how thou should'ft 'scape.

Cor. Here comes young Mr. Ganimed, my new mistress's brother.

SCENE IV.

Enter Rofalind with a paper.

Rof. From the east to the western Inde,
No jewel is like Rofalind.

Her worth, being mounted on the wind,
Through all the world bears Rofalind.
All the pictures faireft lin'd,

Are but black to Rofalind.
Let no face be kept in mind,
But the face of Rosalind.

Clo.