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 overheard him, and his practices.

This is no place, this house is but a butchery;/
Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.

Orl. Why, whither, Adam, would'st thou have me go?

Adam. (L. c.) No matter whither, so you come not

here.

Orl. What, would'st thou have me go and beg my

food?

Or, with a base and boisterous sword, 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.

[Goes R. [Returns to c.

Adam. But do not so; I have five hundred crowns, The thrifty hire I saved under your father,

Which I did store, to be my foster-nurse

When service should in my old limbs lie lame,
And unregarded age in corners thrown;
Take that; and He, that doth the ravens feed,
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,
Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold:
All this I give you. Let me be your servant:
Though I look old, yet, I am strong and lusty;
For, in my youth, I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood;
Nor did not, with unbashful forehead, woo
The means of weakness and debility;
Therefore, my age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty, but kindly ;-let me go with you;
I'll do the service of a younger man,
In all your business and necessities.

Orl. Oh, good old man! how well in thee appears
The constant service of the antique world,
When service sweat 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 cloke their service up
Even with the having: it is not so with thee.
nt, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree,"

That cannot so much as a blossom yield,
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry:

But, come thy ways, we'll go along together; [Going w.
And, ere we have thy youthful wages spent,
We'll light upon some settled low content.

[Exit, R.

Adam. Master, go on; and I will follow thee, To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty.

[Slowly following. From seventeen years till now, almost fourscore, Here lived I, but now live here no more.

At seventeen years, many their fortunes seek ;
But at fourscore it is too late a week:

Yet fortune cannot recompense me better,

Than to die well, and not my master's debtor. [Exit, R.

SCENE II.The Forest of Arden.

Enter DUKE, Senior, AMIENS, JAQUES, and Two or Three LORDS, like Foresters, L.

Duke. (c.) 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.
I would not change it.

Amiens. (R.) Happy is your grace,

That can translate the stubbornness of fortune
Into so quiet, and so sweet a style.

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 gored.

Jaques. (L.) Indeed, my lord,

I have often grieved at that;

And, in that kind think you do more usurp,
Than doth your brother, that hath banish'd you.
To-day, my Lord of Amiens, and myself,

Did steal

Behind 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 hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt,
Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord,
The wretched animal heaved forth such groans,
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat
Almost to bursting; and the big round tears
Coursed one another down his innocent nose
In piteous chase; and thus, the hairy fool
Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.

Duke. But what said you?

Did you not moralize this spectacle?

Jaques. O, yes, into a thousand similies.
First, for his weeping in the needless stream;
Poor deer, quoth I, thou makest a testament
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more

To that, which had too much:-Then, being alone,
Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends ;-
'Tis right, quoth I; thus, misery doth part
The flux of company :-Auon, a careless herd,
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him,
And never stays to greet him ;-Ay, quoth I,
Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;
"Tis just the fashion: wherefore do you look
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?
Thus pierced I through

The body of the country, city, court,
Yea, and of this our life; for we, my lord,
Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse,
To fright the animals, and to kill them up,
In their assign'd and native dwelling place.
Duke. Show me the place;

I love to cope you in these sullen fits,
For then you're full of matter.
Jaques. I'll bring you to it straight.

[Exeunt, L,

SCENE III.—A Room in the Palace.

Enter DUKE FREDERICK, EUSTACE, LOUIS, and
GENTLEMEN, r.

Fred. (c.) Can it be possible, that no man saw them? It cannot be; some villains of my court

Are of consent and sufferance in this.

1 Gent. (R.) I cannot hear of any that did see her. The ladies, her attendants of her chamber, Saw her a-bed; and, in the morning early,

They found the bed untreasured of their mistress.

2 Gent. (L.) My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft

Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.
Hesperia, the princess' gentlewoman,
Confesses, that she secretly o'erheard

Your daughter, and her cousin, much commend
The parts and graces of the wrestler,
That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles;
And she believes, wherever they are gone,

That youth is surely in their company.

Fred. Send to his brother: fetch that gallant hither; [Exit second GENTLEMAN, L.

I'll make him find him-do this suddenly;
And let not search and inquisition quail,
To bring again these foolish runaways.

SCENE IV.-The Forest.

[Excunt, R.

Enter JAQUES, AMIENS, and Three other LORDS, L. Jaques. (c.) More, more; I pr'ythee more.

Amiens. (L.) It will make you melancholy, Jaques. Jaques. I thank it; I do love it better than laughing. Amiens. Those, that are in the extremity of either, are abominable fellows, and betray themselves to every modern censure, worse than drunkards.

Jaques. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; nor the soldier's, which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politic; nor the lady's, which is nice; nor the lover's, which is all these; but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many ob

jects; and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, in which my after rumination wraps me, is a most humorous sadness.-Sing, I pr'ythee sing.

Amiens. My voice is rugged: I know I cannot please you.

Jaques. I do not desire you to please me, I desire you to sing.-I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weasel can suck eggs. Come, warble, warble.

SONG --AMIENS.

Under the greenwood tree,"

Who loves to lie with me,

And tune his merry note

Unto the sweet bird's throat,

Come hither, come hither, come hither;

Here shall ye see

No enemy,

But winter and rough weather

Who doth ambition shun,

And loves to live i' the sun,

Seeking the food he eats,

And pleased with what he gets,

Come hither, come hither, come hither;

Here shall he see

No enemy,

But winter and rough weather.

Jaques. I'll go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the first-born of Egypt.

[Exit, L.

[Exeunt, R.

Amiens. And we'll go seek the Duke: his banquet is

prepared.

SCENE V.-The Forest of Arden.

Enter ROSALIND, in Boy's Clothes, for Ganymede;
CELIA, dressed like a Shepherdess, and TOUCH-
STONE, L. U. E.

Ros. (R. C.) O Jupiter! how weary are my spirits!
Touch. (c.) I care not for my spirits, if my legs were

not weary.

Ros. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel, and cry like a woman: but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show it