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Rof. I could find in my heart to difgrace my man's apparel, and cry like a woman; but I must comfort the weaker veffel, as doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat; therefore, courage, good Aliena.


Cel. I pray you, bear with me; I can go no further. Clo. For my part, I had rather bear with than bear you; yet I should bear no cross if I did bear you; for, I think, you have no money in your purse.

Rof. Well, this is the foreft of Arden.

Clo. Ay, now am I 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.

Enter Corin, and Sylvius.

Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you fill.
Syl. O Corin, that thou knew'ft how I do love her!
Cor. I partly guess; for I have lov'd ere now.
Syl. No, Corin, being old thou can'ft not guess ;
Though 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 moft ridiculous
Haft thou been drawn to by thy fantafy?
Cor. Into a thoufand that I have forgotten.
Syl. O, thou didft then ne'er love fo heartily;
If thou remember'ft not the flightest folly
That ever love did make thee run into,,
Thou haft not lov'd.

Or if thou haft not fat as I do now,
Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
Thou haft not lov'd.

Or if thou haft not broke from company,
Abruptly as my paffion now makes me,
Thou haft not lov'd.

O Phebe,

O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe !

Rof. Alas, poor fhepherd! searching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found my own.

[Exit Syl.

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 o' nights to Jane Smile; and I remember the kiffing of her batlet, and the cow's dugs that her pretty chop'd hands had milk'd; and I remember the wooing of a peafcod inftead of her; from whom I took two cods, and, giving her them again, faid with weeping tears, wear these for my fake. We that are true lovers run into strange capers; but all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.

Rof. Thou fpeak'st wiser than thou art ware of.

Clo. Nay, I fhall ne'er be ware of mine own wit, till I break my shins against it.

Rof. Jove! Jove this fhepherd's paffion is much upon my


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 almost to death.

Clo. Holla; you, clown!

Rof. Peace, fool; he's not thy kinsman.

Cor. Who calls?

Clo. Your betters.

Cor. Elfe they're very wretched.

Rof. Peace, fool, I fay. Good even to you, friend.
Cor. And to you, gentle fir, and to you all.
Rof. I pr'ythee, fhepherd, if that love, or gold,

Can in this defert place buy entertainment,
Bring us where we may reft ourselves, and feed;
Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd,
And faints for fuccour.

Cor. Fair fir, I pity her,

And wifh, for her fake more than for mine own,
My fortunes were more able to relieve her ;


But I am shepherd to another man,
And do not fhear the fleeces that I graze;
My mafter is of churlifh difpofition,
And little recks to find the way to heav'n
By doing deeds of hospitality:

Befides, his cot, his flocks, and bounds of feed
Are now on fale, and at our fheepcot now,
By reason of his abfence, there is nothing
That you will feed on; but what is, come fee,
And in my voice most welcome shall you be.

Rof. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture?
Cor. That young fwain that you faw here but erewhile,
That little cares for buying any thing.

Rof. I pray thee, if it ftand with honefty,

Buy thou the cottage, pafture, 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 wafte
My time in it.

Cor. Affuredly, the thing is to be fold;
Go with me; if you like, upon report,
The foil, the profit, and this kind of life,
I will your very faithful feeder be,

And buy it with your gold right fuddenly.



Enter Amiens, Jaques, and others.


Under the greenwood tree,
Who loves to lie with me,
And tune his merry note,
Unto the fweet birds throat;


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Come hither, come hither, come hither;
Here shall be fee

No enemy,

But winter 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 weafel 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 stanzo: call you 'em ftanzo'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 myself.

Faq. 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, fing; and you that will not, hold your tongues

Ami. Well, I'll end the fong. Sirs, cover the while; the duke will dine 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 difputable for my company: I think of as many matters as he, but I give heav'n thanks, and make no boast of them. warble, come.

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Faq. I'll give you a verse to this note, that I made yesterday

in despite of my invention.

Ami. And I'll fing it.

Jaq. Thus it goes:

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Jaq. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. go fleep if I can; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the first-born of Egypt.

Ami. And I'll go feek the duke: his banquet is prepar'd.


Enter Orlando, and Adam.


Adam. Dear mafter, I can go no further: o, I die for food! ere lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewel, kind master. Orla. Why, how now, Adam ! no greater heart in thee? live a little, comfort a little, cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth foreft yield any thing favage, I will either be food for it, or bring it for food to thee: thy conceit is nearer death, than thy powers. For my fake, be comfortable; hold death a while at the arm's end: I will be here 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 faid! thou look'ft cheerly and I'll be with thee quickly: yet thou lieft in the bleak air: come, I will bear thee to fome shelter, and thou shalt

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