The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, William Shakespeare [book recommendations based on other books txt] 📗

but kindly. Let me go with you; I’ll do the service of a younger man

In all your business and necessities.

ORLANDO. 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 the 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

SCENE IV.

The Forest of Arden

 

Enter ROSALIND for GANYMEDE, CELIA for ALIENA, and CLOWN alias TOUCHSTONE

 

ROSALIND. O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits!

TOUCHSTONE. I Care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary.

ROSALIND. 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.

CELIA. I pray you bear with me; I cannot go no further.

TOUCHSTONE. 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.

ROSALIND. Well,. this is the Forest of Arden.

TOUCHSTONE. 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

 

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

CORIN. That is the way to make her scorn you still.

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

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

SILVIUS. 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?

CORIN. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.

SILVIUS. O, thou didst then never love so heartily!

If thou rememb’rest not the slightest folly That ever love did make thee run into, Thou hast not lov’d;

Or if thou hast not sat as I do now,

Wearing thy hearer in thy mistress’ praise, Thou hast not lov’d;

Or if thou hast not broke from company Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, Thou hast not lov’d.

O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe! Exit Silvius ROSALIND. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found mine own.

TOUCHSTONE. And I mine. I remember, when I was in love, I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming a-night to Jane Smile; and I remember the kissing of her batler, and the cow’s dugs that her pretty chopt hands had milk’d; and I remember the wooing of peascod instead of her; from whom I took two cods, and giving her them again, said with weeping tears ‘Wear these for my sake.’ We that are true lovers run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.

ROSALIND. Thou speak’st wiser than thou art ware of.

TOUCHSTONE. Nay, I shall ne’er be ware of mine own wit till I break my shins against it.

ROSALIND. Jove, Jove! this shepherd’s passion Is much upon my fashion.

TOUCHSTONE. And mine; but it grows something stale with me.

CELIA. I pray you, one of you question yond man If he for gold will give us any food; I faint almost to death.

TOUCHSTONE. Holla, you clown!

ROSALIND. Peace, fool; he’s not thy Ensman.

CORIN. Who calls?

TOUCHSTONE. Your betters, sir.

CORIN. Else are they very wretched.

ROSALIND. Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend.

CORIN. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.

ROSALIND. I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold Can in this desert place buy entertainment, Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed.

Here’s a young maid with travel much oppress’d, And faints for succour.

CORIN. Fair sir, I pity her,

And wish, for her sake more than for mine own, My fortunes were more able to relieve her; But I am shepherd to another man,

And do not shear the fleeces that I graze.

My master is of churlish disposition, And little recks to find the way to heaven By doing deeds of hospitality.

Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed, Are now on sale; and at our sheepcote now, By reason of his absence, there is nothing That you will feed on; but what is, come see, And in my voice most welcome shall you be.

ROSALIND. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture?

CORIN. That young swain that you saw here but erewhile, That little cares for buying any thing.

ROSALIND. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, And thou shalt have to pay for it of us.

CELIA. And we will mend thy wages. I like this place, And willingly could waste my time in it.

CORIN. Assuredly the thing is to be sold.

Go with me; if you like upon report

The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, I will your very faithful feeder be,

And buy it with your gold right suddenly. Exeunt

SCENE V.

Another part of the forest

 

Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and OTHERS

 

SONG

AMIENS. Under the greenwood tree

Who loves to lie with me,

And turn his merry note

Unto the sweet bird’s throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither.

Here shall he see

No enemy

But winter and rough weather.

 

JAQUES. More, more, I prithee, more.

AMIENS. It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.

JAQUES. I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more.

AMIENS. My voice is ragged; I know I cannot please you.

JAQUES. I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to sing.

Come, more; another stanzo. Call you ‘em stanzos?

AMIENS. What you will, Monsieur Jaques.

JAQUES. Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing. Will you sing?

AMIENS. More at your request than to please myself.

JAQUES. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I’ll thank you; but that they call compliment is like th’ encounter of two dog-apes; and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks have given him a penny, and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues.

AMIENS. Well, I’ll end the song. Sirs, cover the while; the Duke will drink under this tree. He hath been all this day to look you.

JAQUES. And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is to disputable for my company. I think of as many matters as he; but I give heaven thanks, and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come.

 

SONG

[All together here]

 

Who doth ambition shun,

And loves to live i’ th’ sun,

Seeking the food he eats,

And pleas’d with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither.

Here shall he see

No enemy

But winter and rough weather.

 

JAQUES. I’ll give you a verse to this note that I made yesterday in despite of my invention.

AMIENS. And I’ll sing it.

JAQUES. Thus it goes:

 

If it do come to pass

That any man turn ass,

Leaving his wealth and ease

A stubborn will to please,

Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame;

Here shall he see

Gross fools as he,

An if he will come to me.

 

AMIENS. What’s that ‘ducdame’?

JAQUES. ‘Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I’ll go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I’ll rail against all the first-born of Egypt.

AMIENS. And I’ll go seek the Duke; his banquet is prepar’d.

Exeunt severally

SCENE VI.

The forest

 

Enter ORLANDO and ADAM

 

ADAM. Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master.

ORLANDO. Why, how now, Adam! No greater heart in thee? Live a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth forest yield anything savage, I will either be food for it or bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. For my sake be comfortable; hold death awhile at the arm’s end. I will here be with the presently; and if I bring thee not something to eat, I will give thee leave to die; but if thou diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said!

thou look’st cheerly; and I’ll be with thee quickly. Yet thou liest in the bleak air. Come, I will bear thee to some shelter; and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live anything in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam! Exeunt

SCENE VII.

The forest

 

A table set out. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and LORDS, like outlaws DUKE SENIOR. I think he be transform’d into a beast; For I can nowhere find him like a man.

FIRST LORD. My lord, he is but even now gone hence; Here was he merry, hearing of a song.

DUKE SENIOR. If he, compact of jars, grow musical, We shall have shortly discord in the spheres.

Go seek him; tell him I would speak with him.

 

Enter JAQUES

 

FIRST LORD. He saves my labour by his own approach.

DUKE SENIOR. Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this, That your poor friends must woo your company?

What, you look merrily!

JAQUES. A fool, a fool! I met a fool i’ th’ forest, A motley fool. A miserable world!

As I do live by food, I met a fool,

Who laid him down and bask’d him in the sun, And rail’d on Lady Fortune in good terms, In good set terms-and yet a motley fool.

‘Good morrow, fool,’ quoth I; ‘No, sir,’ quoth he, ‘Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune.’

And then he drew a dial from his poke, And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, ‘It is ten o’clock; Thus we may see,’ quoth he, ‘how the world wags; ‘Tis but an hour ago since it was nine; And after one hour more ‘twill be eleven; And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot; And thereby hangs a tale.’ When I did hear The motley fool thus moral on the time, My lungs began to crow like chanticleer That fools should be so deep contemplative; And I did laugh sans intermission

An hour by his dial. O noble fool!

A worthy fool! Motley’s the only wear.

DUKE SENIOR. What fool is this?

JAQUES. O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier, And says, if ladies be but young