Knowledge house - The Complete Works of Shakespeare

In fair round belly with good capon lin’d,

With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,

Full of wise saws and modern instances;

And so he plays his part. The sixt 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.

Enter Orlando with Adam.

Duke S.

Welcome. Set down 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 S.

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

[Ami.]

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, etc.

Duke S.

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.

¶

Robert Smirke , p. — Charley F. Tomkins , e.

Robert Smirke , p. — John Ogborne , e.

Robert Smirke , p. — Robert Thew , e.

Robert Smirke , p. — John Ogborne , e.

Robert Smirke , p. — John Peter Simon , e.

Robert Smirke , p. — William Satchwell Leney , e.

Robert Smirke , p. — John Peter Simon , e.

Enter Duke [Frederick], Lords, and Oliver.

Duke F.

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.

Oli.

O that your Highness knew my heart in this!

I never lov’d my brother in my life.

Duke F.

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].

Orl.

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 Clown [Touchstone].

Cor. And how like you this shepherd’s life, Master Touchstone?

Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life; but in respect that it is a shepherd’s life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vild 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 humor well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd?

Cor. 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 learn’d no wit by nature, nor art, may complain of good breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred.

Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court, shepherd?

Cor. No, truly.

Touch. Then thou art damn’d.

Cor. Nay, I hope.

Touch. Truly, thou art damn’d, like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side.

Cor. For not being at court? Your reason.

Touch. 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.

Cor. Not a whit, Touchstone. Those that are good manners at the court are as ridiculous in the country as the behavior 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.

Touch. Instance, briefly; come, instance.

Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their fells you know are greasy.

Touch. 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.