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Touch. And I mine: I remember, when I was in love, I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming anight to Jane Smile: and I remember the kissing of her batlet, and the cow's dugs that her pretty chop'd hands had milk’d: and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her; from whom I took two cods, and, giving her them again, said with weeping tears, Wear these for my sake. We, that are true lovers, run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.s
Ros. Thou speak'st wiser, than thou art 'ware of.
Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own wit, till I break my shins against it. Ros. Jove! Jove! this shepherd's passion
Is much upon my fashion. Touch. And mine; but it grows something stale
Touch. Holla; you, clown!
anight-] Thus the old copy. Anight, is in the night. The word is used by Chaucer, in The Legende of good Women. Our modern editors read, o'nights, or o'night.
batlet,] The instrument with which washers beat their coarse clothes. Johnson.
so is all nature in lore mortal in folly.] This expression I do not well understand. In the middle counties, mortal, from mort, a great quantity, is used as a particle of amplification; as mortal tall, mortal little. Of this sense I believe Shakspeare takes advantage to produce one of his darling equivocations. Thus the meaning will be, so is all nuture in love abounding in folly.
Good even to you, friend.
Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.
Ros. I pr’ythee, shepherd, if that love, or gold, Can in this desert place buy entertainment, Bring us where we may rest ourselves, and feed: Here's a young maid with travel much oppressid, And faints for succour. Cor.
Fair sir, I pity her, And wish for her sake, more than for mine own, My fortunes were more able to relieve her: But I am shepherd to another man, And do not sheer the fleeces that I graze; My master is of churlish disposition, And little recks' to find the way to heaven By doing deeds of hospitality: Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed, Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now, By reason of his absence, there is nothing That you
will feed on; but what is, come see, And in my voice' most welcome shall you be. Ros. What is he that shall buy his flock and
pasture? Cor. That young swain that you saw here but
erewhile, That little cares for buying any thing:
Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. Cel. And we will mend thy wages: I like this
place, And willingly could waste my time in it.
Cor. Assuredly, the thing is to be sold: Go with me; if you like, upon report, The soil, the profit, and this kind of life,
9 And little recks-] i. e, heeds, cares for. And in
my voice-) as far as I have a voice or vote.
I will your very faithful feeder be,
Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and Others.
Ami. Under the greenwood tree,
Who loves to lie with me,
Unto the sweet bird's throat,
Here shall he see
But winter and rough weather.
Jaq. More, more, I pr’ythee, more.
Ami. It will make you melancholy, monsieur Jaques.
Jag. I thank it. More, I pr’ythee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weazel sucks eggs: More, I pr’ythee, more.
Ami. My voice is ragged;: I know, I cannot
Jag. I do not desire you to please me, I do desire you to sing: Come, more; another stanza; Call you them stanzas?
Ami. What you will, monsieur Jaques.
Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing: Will you sing?
ragged;] Our modern editors (Mr. Malone excepted) read rugged; but ragged had anciently the same meaning. VOL. III.
Ami. More at your request, than to please myself.
Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you: but that they call compliment, is like the encounter of two dog-apes; and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks, I have given him a penny, and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues.
Ami. Well, I'll end the song.-Sirs, cover the while; the duke will drink under this tree:-he hath been all this day to look you.
Jaq. And I have been all this day to avoid him, He is too dispútable for my company: I think of as many matters as he; but I give heaven thanks, and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come.
And pleas'd with what he gets,
Here shall he sce
No enemy, But winter and rough weather. Jaq. I'll give you a verse to this note, that I made yesterday in despite of my
If it do come to pass,
any man turn ass,
- dispútable-) Foi disputatious.
Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame;'
Here shall he see,
Gross fools as he,
Ami. What's that ducdanie?
Jaq. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I'll go sleep if I can; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the first-born of Egypt.
Ami. And I'll go seek the duke; his banquet is prepar'd.
Enter ORLANDO and ADAM.
Adam. Dear master, I can go no further: 0, I die for food! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master.
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 awhile at the arm's end: I will here be 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 cheerily: 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
- ducdame ;] For ducdùme, Sir Thomas Hanmer, very acutely and judiciously, reads duc ad me, that is, bring him to me. Dr. Farmer thinks it is evidently a word coined for the nonce.