William Shakespeare - The Complete Works of William Shakespeare

Or what is he of basest function

That says his bravery is not on my cost,—

Thinking that I mean him,—but therein suits

His folly to the metal of my speech?

There then; how then? what then? Let me see wherein

My tongue hath wrong’d him: if it do him right,

Then he hath wrong’d himself; if he be free,

Why then, my taxing like a wild-goose flies,

Unclaim’d of any man.—But who comes here?

[Enter ORLANDO, with his sword drawn.]

ORLANDO

Forbear, and eat no more.

JAQUES

Why, I have eat none yet.

ORLANDO

Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv’d.

JAQUES

Of what kind should this cock come of?

DUKE SENIOR

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?

ORLANDO

You touch’d my vein at first: the thorny point

Of bare distress hath ta’en from me the show

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 answered.

JAQUES

An you will not be answered with reason, I must die.

DUKE SENIOR

What would you have? your gentleness shall force

More than your force move us to gentleness.

ORLANDO

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

DUKE SENIOR

Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.

ORLANDO

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 desert inaccessible,

Under the shade of melancholy boughs,

Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time;

If ever you have look’d on better days,

If ever been where bells have knoll’d to church,

If ever sat at any good man’s feast,

If ever from your eyelids wip’d a tear,

And know what ‘tis to pity and be pitied,

Let gentleness my strong enforcement be:

In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.

DUKE SENIOR

True is it that we have seen better days,

And have with holy bell been knoll’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 minister’d.

ORLANDO

Then but forbear your food a little while,

Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn,

And give it food. There is an old poor man

Who after me hath many a weary step

Limp’d in pure love: till he be first suffic’d,—

Oppress’d with two weak evils, age and hunger,—

I will not touch a bit.

DUKE SENIOR

Go find him out.

And we will nothing waste till you return.

ORLANDO

I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort!

[Exit.]

DUKE SENIOR

Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy;

This wide and universal theatre

Presents more woeful pageants than the scene

Wherein we play in.

JAQUES

All the world’s a stage,

And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms;

Then the whining schoolboy, 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’ 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 lin’d,

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,

Is second childishness and mere oblivion;

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

[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.

[AMIENS sings.]

SONG

I.

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.

II.

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 remember’d not.

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.

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]

ACT III

SCENE I. A Room in the Palace

[Enter DUKE FREDERICK, OLIVER, Lords and Attendants.]

DUKE 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.

DUKE 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.]

SCENE II. The Forest of Arden

[Enter ORLANDO, with a paper.]

ORLANDO

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

And thou, thrice-crownèd 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.