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Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.
Orla. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food
Adam. But do not fo; I have five hundred crowns,
Orla. Oh! good old man, how well in thee appears
We'll light upon fome settled low Content.
Adam. Master, go on; and I will follow thee To the last gasp with truth and loyalty. 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 recompence me better Than to die well, and not my master's debtor. [Exe.
SCENE changes to the FOREST of Arden. Enter Rosalind in Boy's cloaths for Ganimed, Celia drejt
like a Shepherdess for Aliena, and Clown.
Ros. O )
Clo. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary.
Rof. 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 self courageous to petticoat; therefore, courage, good Aliena.
Cel. I pray you, bear with me, I cannot go no further.
Clo. For my part, I had rather bear with you, than bear you ; yet I should bear no Cross, if I did bear you ; for, I think, you have no inony in your purse.
Rof. Well, this is the forest of Arden.
Clo. Ay; now I am in Arden, the more fool I ; when I was at home, I was in a better place; but travellers must be content.
Rol. Ay, be fo, good Touchstone: look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in solemn talk.
(s) o Jupiter! how merry are my Spirits? į And yet, within the Space of one intervening Line, She says, She could find in her Heart to disgrace her Man's Apparel, and cry like a Woman. Sure, this is but a very bad Symptom of the Briskness of Spirits.: rather, a direct Proof of the contrary Disposition, Mr. Warburton and I, concurr'd in conje&turing it should be, as I have reform'd it in the Text: -- how weary are my Spa rits ? And the Clown's Reply makes this Reading certain.
Enter Corin and Silvius. Cor. That is the way to make her scorn ftill. Sil. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her! Cor. I partly guess ; for I have lov'd ere now. Sil. No, Corin, being old, thou can'ft not guess, Tho' in thy youth thou wast as true a lover, As ever figh'd upon a midnight pillow ; But if thy love were ever like to mine, (As, sure, I think, did never man love so) How many actions most ridiculous Haft thou been drawn to by thy fantafie?
Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.
Sil. O, thou didst then ne'er love fo heartily ;
Ros. Alas, poor Shepherd ! searching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found my own.
Clo. And I mine ; I remember, when I was in love, I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming a-nights to Yane Smile ; and I remember the kissing of her batlet, and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopt 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 fake. 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.
Rof. Thou speak’It wiser, than thou art ware of. Clo. Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit, 'till I break my shins against it.
Rof. Jove! Jove! this Shepherd's passion is much upon my fa.hion.
Clo. And mine; but it grows something stale with me.
Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man,
Clo. Holla ; you, Clown!
Ros. I prythee, shepherd, if that love or gold
Cor. Fair Sir, I pity her,
ture ? Cor. That young swain, that you saw here but ere
while, That little cares for buying any thing.
Rof. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty,
Cel. And we will mend thy wages.
Cor. Affuredly, the thing is to be fold;
SCENE changes to a defart Part of the
S ON G.
Here all he fee
Bilt ovinter and rough weather. Faq. More, more, I pr’ythee, more. Ami. It will make you melancholy, Monsieur J aques.
Jag. I thank it; more, I pr’ythee, more; I can fuck melancholy out of a Song, as a weazel sucks eggs : more, I pr’ythee, more.
Ami. My voice is rugged ; I know, I cannot please you.
Jaq. I do not desire you to please me, I do defire you to sing ; come, come, another stanzo ; call you 'em itanzo's ?
Ami. What you will, Monsieur J aques.
Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names, they owe me nothing. —- Will you fing?
Ami. More at your request, than to please my self.
Faq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'lt thank you ; but That, they call Compliments, 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.