23

ACT II SCENE I

THE FOREST OF ARDEN.

Enter Duke senior, Amiens, Lords, and Foresters.

Duke. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile,
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods
More free from peril than the envious court?
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
The seasons' difference; as, the icy fang,
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind;
Which when it bites and blows upon my body,
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say,-
This is no flattery: these are counsellors
That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Sweet are the uses of adversity;

Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,

Wears yet a precious jewel in his head:

And this our life, exempt from public haunt,

Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,

Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

Ami. I would not change it: Happy is your grace,
That can translate the stubbornness of fortune
Into so quiet and so sweet a style.

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Duke. Come, shall 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, swears you

do more usurp

Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. To-day my lord of Amiens, and myself,

Did steal behind him, as he lay along

Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood:
To the which place a poor sequester'd stag,
That from the hunters' aim had ta'en a hurt,
Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord,
The wretched animal heav'd forth such 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 the extremest verge of the swift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.

Duke. But what said Jaques?
Did he not moralize this spectacle?

1 Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similies. First, for his weeping in the needless stream; Poor deer, quoth he, thou mak'st a testament As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more

Published Sep 29,1791. by JJ. Boydell, at the Shakspeare Gallery Pall Mallo Cheepfile.