William Shakespeare - William Shakespeare - Complete Works

have no money in your purse.

ROSALIND. Well,. this is the Forest of Arden.

TOUCHSTONE. 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.

Enter CORIN and SILVIUS

ROSALIND. Ay, be so, good Touchstone. Look you, who comes here, a

young man and an old in solemn talk.

CORIN. That is the way to make her scorn you still.

SILVIUS. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her!

CORIN. I partly guess; for I have lov'd ere now.

SILVIUS. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess,

Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover

As ever sigh'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

Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?

CORIN. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.

SILVIUS. O, thou didst then never love so heartily!

If thou rememb'rest not the slightest folly

That ever love did make thee run into,

Thou hast not lov'd;

Or if thou hast not sat as I do now,

Wearing thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,

Thou hast not lov'd;

Or if thou hast not broke from company

Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,

Thou hast not lov'd.

O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe! Exit Silvius

ROSALIND. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound,

I have by hard adventure found mine own.

TOUCHSTONE. 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-night to

Jane Smile; and I remember the kissing of her batler, and the

cow's dugs that her pretty chopt hands had milk'd; and I remember

the wooing of peascod instead of her; from whom I took two cods,

and giving her them again, said with weeping tears 'Wear these

for my sake.' 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.

ROSALIND. Thou speak'st wiser than thou art ware of.

TOUCHSTONE. Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I break

my shins against it.

ROSALIND. Jove, Jove! this shepherd's passion

Is much upon my fashion.

TOUCHSTONE. And mine; but it grows something stale with me.

CELIA. I pray you, one of you question yond man

If he for gold will give us any food;

I faint almost to death.

TOUCHSTONE. Holla, you clown!

ROSALIND. Peace, fool; he's not thy Ensman.

CORIN. Who calls?

TOUCHSTONE. Your betters, sir.

CORIN. Else are they very wretched.

ROSALIND. Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend.

CORIN. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.

ROSALIND. I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold

Can in this desert place buy entertainment,

Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed.

Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd,

And faints for succour.

CORIN. Fair sir, I pity her,

And wish, for her sake more than for mine own,

My fortunes were more able to relieve her;

But I am shepherd to another man,

And do not shear the fleeces that I graze.

My master is of churlish disposition,

And little recks to find the way to heaven

By doing deeds of hospitality.

Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed,

Are now on sale; and at our sheepcote now,

By reason of his absence, there is nothing

That you will feed on; but what is, come see,

And in my voice most welcome shall you be.

ROSALIND. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture?

CORIN. That young swain that you saw here but erewhile,

That little cares for buying any thing.

ROSALIND. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty,

Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock,

And thou shalt have to pay for it of us.

CELIA. And we will mend thy wages. I like this place,

And willingly could waste my time in it.

CORIN. 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 right suddenly. Exeunt

SCENE V. Another part of the forest

Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and OTHERS

SONG

AMIENS. Under the greenwood tree

Who loves to lie with me,

And turn his merry note

Unto the sweet bird's throat,

Come hither, come hither, come hither.

Here shall he see

No enemy

But winter and rough weather.

JAQUES. More, more, I prithee, more.

AMIENS. It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.

JAQUES. I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy

out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more.

AMIENS. My voice is ragged; I know I cannot please you.

JAQUES. I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to sing.

Come, more; another stanzo. Call you 'em stanzos?

AMIENS. What you will, Monsieur Jaques.

JAQUES. Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing. Will

you sing?

AMIENS. More at your request than to please myself.

JAQUES. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you; but

that they call compliment is like th' encounter of two dog-apes;

and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks have given him a

penny, and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you

that will not, hold your tongues.

AMIENS. Well, I'll end the song. Sirs, cover the while; the Duke

will drink under this tree. He hath been all this day to look

you.

JAQUES. And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is to

disputable for my company. I think of as many matters as he; but

I give heaven thanks, and make no boast of them. Come, warble,

come.

SONG

[All together here]

Who doth ambition shun,

And loves to live i' th' sun,

Seeking the food he eats,

And pleas'd with what he gets,

Come hither, come hither, come hither.

Here shall he see

No enemy

But winter and rough weather.

JAQUES. I'll give you a verse to this note that I made yesterday in

despite of my invention.

AMIENS. And I'll sing it.

JAQUES. Thus it goes:

If it do come to pass

That any man turn ass,

Leaving his wealth and ease

A stubborn will to please,

Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame;

Here shall he see

Gross fools as he,

An if he will come to me.

AMIENS. What's that 'ducdame'?

JAQUES. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I'll

go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the

first-born of Egypt.

AMIENS. And I'll go seek the Duke; his banquet is prepar'd.

Exeunt severally

Enter ORLANDO and ADAM

ADAM. Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food! Here lie

I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master.

ORLANDO. Why, how now, Adam! No greater heart in thee? Live a

little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth

forest yield anything savage, I will either be food for it or

bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy

powers. For my sake be comfortable; hold death awhile at the

arm's end. I will here be with the 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 cheerly; and I'll be with thee quickly. Yet thou

liest in the bleak air. Come, I will bear thee to some shelter;

and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live

anything in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam! Exeunt