William Shakespeare - William Shakespeare - Complete Works

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,

Is second childishness and mere oblivion;

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.

Re-enter ORLANDO with ADAM

DUKE SENIOR. Welcome. Set down your venerable burden.

And let him feed.

ORLANDO. I thank you most for him.

ADAM. So had you need;

I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.

DUKE SENIOR. Welcome; fall to. I will not trouble you

As yet to question you about your fortunes.

Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing.

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,

Although thy breath be rude.

Heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho! unto the green holly.

Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.

Then, heigh-ho, the holly!

This life is most jolly.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,

That dost not bite so nigh

As benefits forgot;

Though thou the waters warp,

Thy sting is not so sharp

As friend rememb'red not.

Heigh-ho! sing, &c.

DUKE SENIOR. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son,

As you have whisper'd faithfully you were,

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. Exeunt

Enter DUKE FREDERICK, OLIVER, and LORDS

FREDERICK. Not see him since! Sir, sir, that cannot be.

But were I not the better part made mercy,

I should not seek an absent argument

Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it:

Find out thy brother wheresoe'er he is;

Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living

Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more

To seek a living in our territory.

Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine

Worth seizure do we seize into our hands,

Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth

Of what we think against thee.

OLIVER. O that your Highness knew my heart in this!

I never lov'd my brother in my life.

FREDERICK. More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors;

And let my officers of such a nature

Make an extent upon his house and lands.

Do this expediently, and turn him going. Exeunt

Enter ORLANDO, with a paper

ORLANDO. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love;

And thou, thrice-crowned Queen of Night, survey

With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above,

Thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway.

O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books,

And in their barks my thoughts I'll character,

That every eye which in this forest looks

Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where.

Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree,

The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she. Exit

Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE

CORIN. And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone?

TOUCHSTONE. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good

life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is nought.

In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in

respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now in

respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect

it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life,

look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty

in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in

thee, shepherd?

CORIN. No more but that I know the more one sickens the worse at

ease he is; and that he that wants money, means, and content, is

without three good friends; that the property of rain is to wet,

and fire to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep; and that a

great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that he that hath

learned no wit by nature nor art may complain of good breeding,

or comes of a very dull kindred.

TOUCHSTONE. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in

court, shepherd?

CORIN. No, truly.

TOUCHSTONE. Then thou art damn'd.

CORIN. Nay, I hope.

TOUCHSTONE. Truly, thou art damn'd, like an ill-roasted egg, all on

one side.

CORIN. For not being at court? Your reason.

TOUCHSTONE. Why, if thou never wast at court thou never saw'st good

manners; if thou never saw'st good manners, then thy manners must

be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art

in a parlous state, shepherd.

CORIN. Not a whit, Touchstone. Those that are good manners at the

court are as ridiculous in the country as the behaviour of the

country is most mockable at the court. You told me you salute not

at the court, but you kiss your hands; that courtesy would be

uncleanly if courtiers were shepherds.

TOUCHSTONE. Instance, briefly; come, instance.

CORIN. Why, we are still handling our ewes; and their fells, you

know, are greasy.

TOUCHSTONE. Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? And is not the

grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow,

shallow. A better instance, I say; come.

CORIN. Besides, our hands are hard.

TOUCHSTONE. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again. A

more sounder instance; come.

CORIN. And they are often tarr'd over with the surgery of our

sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are

perfum'd with civet.

TOUCHSTONE. Most shallow man! thou worm's meat in respect of a good

piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and perpend: civet is

of a baser birth than tar- the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend

the instance, shepherd.

CORIN. You have too courtly a wit for me; I'll rest.

TOUCHSTONE. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God help thee, shallow man! God

make incision in thee! thou art raw.

CORIN. Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get that I

wear; owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness; glad of other

men's good, content with my harm; and the greatest of my pride is

to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck.

TOUCHSTONE. That is another simple sin in you: to bring the ewes

and the rams together, and to offer to get your living by the

copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a bell-wether, and to betray

a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram,

out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not damn'd for this,

the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else how

thou shouldst scape.

CORIN. Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother.

Enter ROSALIND, reading a paper

ROSALIND. 'From the east to western Inde,

No jewel is like Rosalinde.

Her worth, being mounted on the wind,

Through all the world bears Rosalinde.

All the pictures fairest lin'd

Are but black to Rosalinde.

Let no face be kept in mind

But the fair of Rosalinde.'

TOUCHSTONE. I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners, and

suppers, and sleeping hours, excepted. It is the right