Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. Orla. Why, whither, Adam, wouldft thou have me go Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here. Orla. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food Or with a base, and boisterous fword 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 fubfect me to the malice Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother. Adam. But do not fo; I have five hundred crowns, Orla. Oh! good old man, how well in thee appears We'll We'll light upon fome fettled low Content. rom feventeen years 'till now almost fourscore fet fortune cannot recompence me better Than to die well, and not my mafter's debtor. [Exe. SCENE changes to the FOREST of Arden. Inter Rofalind in Boy's cloaths for Ganimed, Celia dreft like a Shepherdefs for Aliena, and Clown. Jupiter! how weary are my fpirits? (5) were not weary. Rof. I could find in my heart to difgrace my man's apparel, and cry like a woman; but I must comfort the weaker veffel, as doublet and hofe ought to fhow it felf courageous to petticoat; therefore, courage, good Aliena. Cel. I pray you, bear with me, I cannot go no further. Clo. For my part, I had rather bear with you, than bear you; yet I fhould bear no Crofs, if I did bear you; for, I think, you have no mony in your purse. Rof. Well, this is the foreft of Arden. Clo. Ay; now I am in Arden, the more fool I ; when I was at home, I was in a better place; but travellers must be content. Rof. Ay, be fo, good Touchstone: look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in folemn talk. (s) o Jupiter! how merry are my Spirits? ] And yet, within the Space of one intervening Line, She fays, She could find in her Heart to difgrace her Man's Apparel, and cry like a Woman. Sure, this is but a very bad Symptom of the Briskness of Spirits: rather, a direct Proof of the contrary Difpofition. Mr. Warburton and I, concurr'd in conjecturing it should be, as I have reform'd it in the Text: how weary are my Spirits? And the Clown's Reply makes this Reading certain. Enter Enter Corin and Silvius. Cor. That is the way to make her fcorn you ft Haft thou been drawn to by thy fantafie? Thou haft not lov'd. Or if thou haft not fate as I do now, Or if thou haft not broke from company, O Phebe! Phebe! Phebe! [Exit Rof. Alas, poor Shepherd! fearching of thy wo I have by hard adventure found my own. Clo. And I mine; I remember, when I was in l I broke my fword upon a ftone, and bid him take for coming a-nights to Jane Smile; and I remem the kiffing of her batlet, and the cow's dugs that pretty chopt hands had milk'd; and I remember wooing of a peafcod instead of her, from whom I t two cods, and giving her them again, faid with we ing tears, wear thefe for my fake. We, that are t lovers, run into ftrange capers; but as all is mortal nature, fo is all nature in love mortal in folly. Rof. Thou fpeak'ft wifer, than thou art ware of. Clo. Nay, I fhall ne'er be ware of mine own wit, As You LIKE IT. 289 Clo. And mine; but it grows fomething stale with me. Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man, If he for gold will give us any food; I faint almoft to death. Clo. Holla; you, Clown! Rof. Peace, fool; he's not thy kinfman. Clo. Your Betters, Sir. Cor. Elfe they are very wretched. Rof. Peace, I fay; good Even to you, friend. Cor. Fair Sir, I pity her, And wish for her fake, more than for mine own, But I am Shepherd to another man, And do not fheer the fleeces that I graze; My mafter is of churlish difpofition, And little wreaks to find the way to heav'n Befides, his Coate, his flocks, and bounds of feed Rof. What is he, that fhall buy his flock and paf ture? Cor. That young fwain, that you faw here but ere while, That little cares for buying any thing. Rof. I pray thee, if it fland with honesty, Buy thou the cottage, pafture, and the flock, I like this place, and willingly could wafte My time in it. VOL. II. Cor. Affuredly, the thing is to be fold; [Exe SCENE changes to a defart Part of th FOREST. Enter Amiens, Jaques, and others. SONG. Under the green-wood tree, Who loves to lye with me, And tune his merry note, Unto the fweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither: No enemy, But vinter and rough weather. Jaq. More, more, I pr'ythee, more. Ami. It will make you melancholy, Monfieur Jagu Faq. I thank it; more, I pr'y thee, more; I fuck melancholy out of a Song, as a weazel fucks eg more, I pr'y thee, more. Ami. My voice is rugged; I know, I cannot pl you. Faq. I do not defire you to please me, I do de you to fing; come, come, another stanzo ; call you itanzo's ? Ami. What you will, Monfieur Jaques. Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names, they owe nothing. Will you fing? Ami. More at your requeft, than to please my self Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll tha you; but That, they call Compliments, is like the counter of two dog-apes. And when a man thanks |