Array MyBooks Classics - The Complete Works of William Shakespeare - Illustrated edition (37 plays, 160 sonnets and 5 Poetry Books With Active Table of Contents)

“Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens,

’Tis just the fashion. Wherefore do you look

Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?”

Thus most invectively he pierceth through

The body of [the] country, city, court,

Yea, and of this our life, swearing that we

Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what’s worse,

To fright the animals and to kill them up

In their assign’d and native dwelling-place.

Duke S.

And did you leave him in this contemplation?

2. Lord.

We did, my lord, weeping and commenting

Upon the sobbing deer.

Duke S.

Show me the place.

I love to cope him in these sullen fits,

For then he’s full of matter.

1. Lord.

I’ll bring you to him straight.

Exeunt.

¶

William Hodges , p. — Samuel Middiman , e.

Enter Duke [Frederick] with Lords.

Duke F.

Can it be possible that no man saw them?

It cannot be. Some villains of my court

Are of consent and sufferance in this.

1. Lord.

I cannot hear of any that did see her.

The ladies, her attendants of her chamber,

Saw her a-bed, and in the morning early

They found the bed untreasur’d of their mistress.

2. Lord.

My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft

Your Grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.

Hisperia, the princess’ gentlewoman,

Confesses that she secretly o’erheard

Your daughter and her cousin much commend

The parts and graces of the wrastler

That did but lately foil the sinowy Charles,

And she believes, where ever they are gone,

That youth is surely in their company.

Duke F.

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 not search and inquisition quail

To bring again these foolish runaways.

Exeunt.

¶

Enter Orlando and Adam, [meeting].

Orl.

Who’s there?

Adam.

What, my young master? O my gentle master,

O my sweet master, O 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 would you be so fond to overcome

The bonny priser of the humorous 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 sanctified and holy traitors to you.

O, what a world is this, when what is comely

Envenoms him that bears it!

[Orl.]

Why, what’s the matter?

Adam.

O unhappy youth,

Come not within these doors! Within 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 use to lie,

And you within it. If he fail of that,

He will have other means to cut you off;

I overheard 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, wouldst thou have me go?

Adam.

No matter whither, so you come not here.

Orl.

What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food?

Or with a base and boist’rous sword enforce

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 sav’d under your father,

Which I did store to be my foster-nurse,

When service should 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.

Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty;

For in my youth I never did apply

Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood,

Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo

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.

O good old man, how well in thee appears

The constant service of the antique world,

When service sweat for duty, not for meed!

Thou art not for the fashion of these times,

Where none will sweat but for promotion,

And having that do choke their service up

Even with the having. It is not so with thee.

But, poor old man, thou prun’st a rotten tree,

That cannot so much as a blossom yield

In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry.

But come thy ways, we’ll go along together,

And ere 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 lived 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 recompense me better

Than to die well, and not my master’s debtor.

Exeunt.

¶

Enter Rosalind for Ganymed, Celia for Aliena, and Clown, alias Touchstone.

Ros. O Jupiter, how [weary] are my spirits!

Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary.

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

Cel. I pray you bear with me, I cannot go no further.

Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear you. Yet I should bear no cross if I did bear you, for I think you have no money in your purse.

Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden.

Touch. 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.

Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone. Look you, who comes here, a young man and an old in solemn talk.

Cor.

That is the way to make her scorn you still.

Sil.

O Corin, that thou knew’st how I do love her!

Cor.

I partly guess; for I have lov’d ere now.

Sil.

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?

Cor.

Into a thousand that I have forgotten.