Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. Orla. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go? Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here. Orla. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food? Or with a base, and boisterous fword 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 fubject me to the malice Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother. Adam. But do not fo; I have five hundred crowns, Orla. Oh! good old man, how well in thee appears We'll We'll light upon some settled low Content. Than to die well, and not my master's debtor. [Exe. SCENE changes to the FOREST of Arden. Enter Rofalind in Boy's cloaths for Ganimed, Celia dreft like a Shepherdefs for Aliena, and Clown. Jupiter! how weary are my fpirits? (5) were not weary. Rof. I could find in my heart to difgrace my man's apparel, and cry like a woman; but I muft comfort the weaker veffel, as doublet and hose ought to fhow 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 mony 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. Rof. Ay, be fo, good Touchstone: look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in folemn talk. (s) o Jupiter! how merry are my Spirits? ] And yet, within the Space of one intervening Line, She says, She could find in her Heart to difgrace her Man's Apparel, and cry like a Woman. Sure, this is but a very bad Symptom of the Brisknes of Spirits: rather, a direct Proof of the contrary Disposition. Mr. Warburton and I, concurr'd in conjecturing it should be, as I have reform'd it in the Text: how weary are my Sp.rits? And the Clown's Reply makes this Reading certain. Enter Enter Corin and Silvius. Cor. That is the way to make her fcorn you fill. Sil. O Corin, that thou knew'ft how I do love her! Cor. I partly guefs; for I have lov'd ere now. Sil. No, Corin, being old, thou can'st not guess, Tho' in thy youth thou waft as true a lover, As ever figh'd upon a midnight pillow; But if thy love were ever like to mine, (As, fure, I think, did never man love fo) How many actions most ridiculous Haft thou been drawn to by thy fantafie? Çor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten. Or if thou haft not fate as I do now, Or if thou haft not broke from company, O Phebe! Phebe! Phebe! [Exit Sil. Rof. Alas, poor Shepherd! fearching 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 fword upon a ftone, and bid him take that for coming a-nights to Jane Smile; and I remember the kifling of her batlet, and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopt hands had milk'd; and I remember the wooing of a peafcod instead of her, from whom I took two cods, and giving her them again, faid with weeping tears, wear thefe for my fake. We, that are true lovers, run into ftrange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, fo is all nature in love mortal in folly. Rof. Thou fpeak'ft wifer, than thou art ware of. Clo. Nay, I fhall ne'er be ware of mine own wit, 'till I break my fhins against it. Rof. Jove! Jove! this Shepherd's paffion is much upon my fashion. Clo Clo. And mine; but it grows fomething ftale with me. Cel. I pray you, one of you queftion yond man, If he for gold will give us any food; I faint almoft to death. Clo. Holla; you, Clown! Rof. Peace, fool; he's not thy kinsman. Clo. Your Betters, Sir. Cor. Elfe they are very wretched. Rof. Peace, I fay; good Even to you, friend. Cor. Fair Sir, I pity her, And wish for her fake, more than for mine own, But I am Shepherd to another man, And do not fheer the fleeces that I graze; My mafter is of churlish difpofition, And little wreaks to find the way to heav'n By doing deeds of hofpitality: Befides, his Coate, his flocks, and bounds of feed Rof. What is he, that fhall buy his flock and paf 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 ftand with honesty, I like this place, and willingly could wafte VOL. II. Cor. Affuredly, the thing is to be fold; [Exeunt. SCENE changes to a defart Part of the FOREST. Enter Amiens, Jaques, and others. SONG. Under the green-wood tree, Who loves to lye with me, And tune his merry note, Unto the fweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither: No enemy, But vinter and rough weather. Jaq. More, more, I pr'ythee, more. Ami. It will make you melancholy, Monfieur Jaques. faq. I thank it; more, I pr'ythee, more; I can fuck melancholy out of a Song, as a weazel fucks eggs : more, I pr'ythee, more. Ami. My voice is rugged; I know, I cannot please you. Jaq. I do not defire you to please me, I do defire you to fing; come, come, another ftanzo; call you 'em itanzo's ? Ami. What you will, Monfieur Jaques. 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'll 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, fing; and you that will not, hold your tongues Ami. |