University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

OLIVER's House.
Orlando and Adam.
Orl.
Who's there?

Adam.
What, my young Master; Oh my gentle Master,
Oh my sweet Master! Oh you Memory
Of old Sir Rowland!—Why, what make you here?
Why are you virtuous? Why do People love you?
And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant?
Why wou'd you be so fond to overcome
The bonny Prizer of the humourous Duke?
Your Praise is come too swiftly Home before you:
Know you not, Master, to some kind of Men
Their Graces serve them but as Enemies,
No more do yours; your Virtues, gentle Master,
Are sanctify'd, and holy Traitors to you:
Oh, what a World is this! when what is comely
Envenoms him that bears it.

Orl.
Why, what's the Matter?

Adam.
—Oh, unhappy Youth,
Come not within these Doors, beneath this Roof
The Enemy of all your Graces lives;
Your Brother, no, no Brother, yet the Son
(Yet not the Son, I will not call him Son)
Of him I was about to call his Father,
Hath heard your Praises, and this Night he means
To burn the Lodging where you us'd to lie,
And you within it; if he fail of that,
He will have other Means to cut you off;
I over-heard 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, wou'd'st thou have me go?

Adam.
No matter whither, so you come not here.

Orl.
What, wou'd'st thou have me go and beg my Food;
Or with a base and boisterous Hand inforce
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.

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 shou'd 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,
Tho' I look old, yet I am strong and lusty;
For in my Youth I never did apply
Hot and Rebellious Liquors to my Blood,
Nor did I with unbashful Forehead woe
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 Need;
Thou art not for the Fashion of these Times,
Where none will sweat but for Promotion,
And having that, do choak their Service up
Even with the having; it is not so with thee;
But poor Old Man, thou prunest a rotten Tree,
That cannot so much as a Blossom yield
In lieu of all thy Pains and Husbandry.
Enter Le-Beu.
So, Sir, what News from Court?

Le-Beu.
Bad News towards you, Orlando.

Orl.
Say it then, good Le-Beu,
I have been hackney'd, worn in evil Fortune,
And shall receive it with a constant Mind.

Le-Beu.
The Duke, too jealous of his sickly State,
Perhaps of your Desert, commands you go
Within three Days after the Sight of this
[giving him an Order.
Into perpetual Banishment, or else
To suffer as a Traitor convict.

Orl.
The jealous Duke prevents my Brother's Malice;
Behold, good Adam, that eternal Guard
That watches and provides for all its Creatures,
Warns us away to save us from Destruction;
Thus what the Vulgar think Infliction, Pain,
Is often a Reward, and Virtue's Merit:
But come thy ways, we'll both along together,
And e'er we have thy youthful Wages spent,
We'll light upon some 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 liv'd 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.

[Exeunt.
FREDERICK's Palace.
Duke Frederick, with Lords.
Duke.
Can it be possible that no Man saw 'em?
It can not be, some Villains of my Court
Are of Consent and Sufferance in this.

Lord.
I cannot hear of any that did see her:
Hisperia the Princess's Gentlewoman
Confesses that she secretly o're heard
Your Daughter and her Cousin much commend
The Parts and Graces of the young Orlando,
That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles,
And she believes wherever they are gone
That Youth is surely in their Company.

Duke.
Send to his Brother, fetch that Gallant hither,
If he be absent, bring his Brother to me;
I'll make him find him; do this suddenly,
And let no Search, no Inquisition quail;
Bring me again this foolish Runaway,

[Exeunt.
The Forest of Arden, before the Duke's Cave.
Duke Alberto, Amiens, Jaques, and two or three Lords like Foresters.
Duke.
Now my Comates 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 we do feel the Penalty of Adam,
The Season's Difference, the Icy Phang,
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 Councellours
Who feelingly perswade me what I am.

Amiens.
—Happy is your Grace
That can translate the Stubborness of Fortune
Into so quiet and so sweet a Stile:
But, Sir, this Forest will become a City,
Your People quit the Tyrant's Court, and hither
Resort in Crouds; Mechanics of all Sorts
Petition to delight and serve your Grace;
They will obey you as their King and Father:
A double Tye of Duty.

Duke.
—My Heart bleeds
When I reflect, good Amiens, that my Power
Is weaker than my Love; No more of this:
Come, shall we go and kill us Venison?
And yet it irks me, the poor dapple Fools,
Being native Burghers of this Desart City,
Shou'd, in their own Confines, with forked Heads,
Have their round Haunches goar'd.

Jaques.
Indeed, my Lord, it grieves me very much,
And in that Kind, I swear you more usurp,
Than does your Brother, who hath banish'd you;
Mark well my Story and you'll find it so:
To Day, my Lord of Amiens, and myself,
Lay in the Shade of an old Druid Oak,
Whose antique venerable Root peeps out
Upon the Brook that brawls along this Wood,
To which Place, a poor sequestred Stag,
That from the Hunter's 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, while the big round Drops
Cours'd one another down his innocent Nose
In piteous Chace; and thus the hairy Fool
Stood on the extreamest Verge of the swift Brook,
Augmenting it with Tears.

Duke.
—Didst thou not Jaques?
Didst thou not moralize this Spectacle?

Jaques.
Who cou'd behold it, Sir, and not reflect?
First, for his Weeping in the unwanting Stream;
Is it not plain he made a Testament
As Worldlings do, giving his Sum of more
To that which had too much: Anon a careless Herd,
Full of the Pasture, jumps along the Verdure,
And never stays to greet him; there you see
A Crowd of fat and greasy Citizens
Looking with Scorn on a poor ruin'd Bankrupt.
Are we not all Usurpers, Tyrants, worse,
To fright these Animals and kill them thus
In their assign'd and native Dwelling-Place.

Duke.
—Shew me this Place,
There will we sweetly moralize together,
And make our Contemplations give at once
Delight, and Use.

[Exeunt.
SCENE another Part of the Forest.
Rosalind, in Boys Cloaths, as Ganymede; Cælia, dress'd like a Shepherdess, as Aliena.
Ros.

Oh, Jupiter, how weary are my Spirits?

Cæ.

I care not for my Spirits, if my Legs were
not tir'd.

Ros.

I cou'd find in my Heart to disgrace my
Mans Apparel, and to cry like a Woman; but I
must comfort the weaker Vessel, as Hat and Breeches
ought to shew itself couragious to a Petticoat; therefore,
Courage, good Aliena.

Cæ.

I pray you bear with me, I can go no farther.

Ros.

Come, bear a Heart, Girl; there is a Creature
[Enter Sylvius]
looks like a Man, I'll question
him if he for Gold will give us any Food—
Holla, Friend.

Syl.

Who calls?

Ros.

Good, even to you, Friend.

Syl.

And to you, gentle Sir, and to you both.

Ros.
I prithee, Shepherd, if that Love, or Gold,
Can in this Place buy any Entertainment,
Bring us where we may rest ourselves, and feed,
Here's a young Maid with Travel much oppress'd,
And faints for Succour.

Syl.
—Fair Sir, I pity her,
And wish for her Sake, more than for my own,
My Fortunes were more able to relieve her;
But I am Shepherd to another Man,
And do not sheer the Fleeces that I graze:
My Master is of Churlish Disposition,
And little cares to find the Way to Heaven
By doing Deeds of Hospitality:
Besides, his Coat, his Flocks, and Bounds of Feed,
Are now on Sale; and at our Sheepcoat, yonder,
By Reason of his Absence, there is nothing
That you will feed on; if there is, you'll see,
And in my Voice most Welcome shall you be.

Ros.
I prithee, if it stand with Honesty,
Buy thou the Cottage, Pasture, and the Flock,
And thou shalt have to pay for it of us.

Cæ.
—And we will mend thy Wages,
I like this Place, and willingly wou'd spend
My Time in it.

Syl.
Assuredly the Thing is to be sold,
Go with me, if you like, upon Report,
The Soil, the Profit, and this kind of Life,
I will your very faithful Feeder be,
And buy it with your Gold.

[Exeunt.
Orlando and Adam.
Adam.
Dear Master, I can go no farther:
Oh I die for Food: Here lie I down,
And Measure out my Grave; Farewel kind Master.

Orl.
Why how now, Adam! No greater Heart in thee?
Live a little, Comfort a little, Chear thyself a little.
Thy Conceit is nearer Death, than thy Powers.
For my Sake be comfortable, hold Death a while
At Arms End: I will be here with you presently,
And if I bring thee not something to eat,
I will give thee Leave to die, but if thou diest
Before I come, thou art a Mocker of my Labour.
Well said, thou look'st chearly,
And I'll be with thee quickly; yet thou liest
In the bleak Air. Come I will bear the to some Shelter,

And thou shalt not die for Lack of a Dinner, if
there live any Thing in this Desart: Chearly good
Adam.

[Exit Orlando, leading Adam.
Duke Alberto, Amiens, and Nobles at a Banquet.
Duke.
I think he is transform'd into a Beast,
For I can no where find him like a Man.

Amiens.
My Lord, he is but even now gone hence.

Duke.
Pray seek him, tell him I wou'd speak with him.

Amiens.
He saves my Labour, by his own Approach.

[Enter Jaques.
Duke.
Why how now, Monsieur, What a Life is this?
That your poor Friends must woo your Company?
What, you look merrily!

Jaques.
A Fool, a Fool, I met a Fool i'the Forest,
A motly Fool, a miserable World!
As I do live by Food; I met a Fool;
Good Morrow, Fool, quoth I; no, Sir, quoth he,
Call me not Fool, till Heaven hath sent me Fortune;
And then he drew a Dial from his Poak,
And looking on it with lack-lustre Eye,
Says, very wisely, It is ten a Clock:
Thus we may see, quoth he, how the World wags;
'Tis but an Hour ago since it was nine,
And after one Hour more, 'twill be eleven,
And so from Hour to Hour we ripe, and ripe,
And then from Hour to Hour we rot, and rot,
And thereby hangs a Tale, Oh Noble Fool!
A worthy Fool; Motley's your only wear.

Duke.
What Fool is this?

Jaques.
A worthy Fool! One that has been a Courtier,
And says, if Ladies be but young and fair,
They have the Gift to know it: And in his Brain,
Which is as dry as the Remainder Biscuit
After a Voyage, he hath strange Places cram'd
With Observation, the which he vents
In mangled Forms. Oh that I were a Fool!
I am ambitious of a Motley Coat.

Duke.
Thou shalt have one.

Jaques.
—It is my only Suit.

Enter Orlando, his Sword drawn.
Orl.
Forbear to eat no more.

Jaques.
Why, I have eat none yet.

Orl.
Nor shall not till Necessity be serv'd.

Jaques.
Of what Kind shou'd this Cock come?

Duke.
Art thou thus 'bolden'd, Man, by thy Distress?
Or else a rude Despiser of Good Manners,
That in Civility thou seem'st so empty?

Orl.
You touch'd my Vein at first; the Thorny Point
Of bare Distress hath ta'en from me the Shew
Of smooth Civility; yet am I Inland bred,
And know some Nurture: But forbear, I say,
He dies that touches any of this Fruit
Till I and my Affairs are answer'd.

Jaques.

And you will not be answer'd with Reason,
I must die.

Duke.

—What wou'd you have?

Orl.

I almost die for Food, and let me have it.

Duke.
Sit down and feed, and welcome to our Table.

Orl.
Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you,
I thought that all Things had been Savage here,
And therefore put I on the Countenance
Of stern Commandment. But whate'er you are
That in this Desart, inaccessible,
Under the Shade of melancholly Boughs,
Lose, and neglect the creeping Hours of Time,
If ever you have look'd on better Days;
If ever been where Bells have knowl'd to Church;
If ever sat at any Good Man's Feast;
If ever from your Eyelids wiped a Tear;
And know what 'tis to pity, and be pity'd,
Let Gentleness my strong Enforcement be,
In the which Hope, I blush, and hide my Sword.

Duke.
True it is, that we have seen better Days,
And have with holy Bell been knowl'd to Church,
And sat at Good Men's Feasts, and wip'd our Eyes
Of Drops that sacred Pity hath engender'd:
And therefore sit you down in Gentleness,
And take upon Command what help we have,
That to your Wanting may be ministred.

Orl.
Then but forbear your Food a little Time,
Whiles, like a Doe, I go to find my Fawn,
And give it Food. There is an Old poor Man
That after me hath many a weary Step
Limp'd in pure Love; till he be first sufficed,
Oppress'd with two weak Evils, Age and Hunger,
I will not touch a Bit.

Duke.
—Go find him out,
And we will nothing waste till you return.

Orl.
I thank you, and be bless'd for your good Comfort.
[Exit Orlando.

Duke.
Thou see'st we are not all alone unhappy,
This wide and universal Theatre
Presents more woeful Pageants, than the Scene
Wherein we play.

Amiens.
Some Citizens from Liege, some of the many
Fled hither, Sir, for your Protection, beg by me
They may have Leave to entertain your Grace.

Duke.
How is it they propose to entertain?

Amiens.
A Play it shou'd be, Sir, what 'twill appear, I know not,
They have rehears'd it in the Wood this Morning.

Duke.

And what the Subject?

Amiens.

They call it, A tedious brief Scene of
young Pyramus and his Love Thisby; very tragical
Mirth.

Duke.
Merry and Tragical, tedious and brief,
How shall we find the Concord of this Discord?—
Well, let them be ready before our Cave in the
Evening; there they shall represent it; this Theatrical
Performance will stir thy Gall, Jaques.

Jaques.
—Not at all;
He that can reflect wants not these Mirrours:
All the World's a Stage,
And all the Men and Women meerly Players;
They have their Exits and their Entrances,
And one Man in his Time plays many Parts;
His Life being seven Ages: At first the Infant
Mewling and Puking in the Nurse's Arms:
And then the whining School-boy with his Satchel
And shining Morning Face, creeping like Snail
Unwillingly to School: And then the Lover
Sighing like Furnace, with a woeful Ballad
Made to his Mistress's Eyebrow: Then a Soldier
Full of strange Oaths, and bearded like the Pard,
Jealous in Honour, sudden and quick in Quarrel,
Seeking the Bubble Reputation—
Even in the Cannon's Mouth, And then the Justice
In fair round Belly, with good Capon lined,
With Eyes severe, and Beard of formal Cut,
Full of wise Saws, and modern Instances,
And so he plays his Part: The sixth Age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd Pantaloon
With Spectacles on Nose and Pouch on Side;
His youthful Hose well sav'd a World too wide
For his shrunk Shank, and his big manly Voice
Turning again toward Childish treble Pipes,
And whistles in his Sound: Last Scene of all
That ends this strange eventful History,
Appears in Nerves unbrac'd, Reflection lost,
A second Childishness, and meer Oblivion.

Enter Orlando, leading Adam
Duke.
Welcome, here rest your venerable Burthen,
And let him feed—

Orl.
I thank you most for him.

Adam.
—So had you Need,
I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.

Duke.
Welcome, fall too, I will not trouble you
As yet, to question you about your Fortunes.
Give us some Musick—


SONG.
Blow, blow, thou Winter Wind.
Thou art not so unkind, as Man's Ingratitude;
Thy Tooth is not so keen, because thou art not seen,
Altho' thy Breath be rude.
Freeze, Freeze, thou bitter Sky, that does not bite so nigh
As Benefits forgot:
Tho' thou the Waters warp, thy Sting is not so sharp,
As Friend remember'd not.

Duke.
If that you are the good Sir Rowland's Son,
As you have whisper'd faithfully you are,
And as mine Eye doth his Effigies witness
Most truly limn'd, and living in your Face,
Be truly welcome hither: I am the Duke
That lov'd your Father, the Residue of your Fortune,
Go to my Cave and tell me.—Good old Man
Thou art right welcome, as thy Master is;
Support him by the Arm; give me your Hand,
And let me all your Fortunes understand.