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twg_000000015000 | always the dullness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits.How now, wit, whither wander you? TOUCHSTONE. Mistress, you must come away to your father. CELIA. Were you made the messenger? TOUCHSTONE. No, by mine honour, but I was bid to come for you. ROSALIND. Where learned you that oath, fool? TOUCHSTONE. Of a certain knight that swore by | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015001 | his honour they were good pancakes, and swore by his honour the mustard was naught. Now, Ill stand to it, the pancakes were naught and the mustard was good, and yet was not the knight forsworn. CELIA. How prove you that in the great heap of your knowledge? ROSALIND. Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom. TOUCHSTONE. Stand you both forth | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015002 | now: stroke your chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave. CELIA. By our beards, if we had them, thou art. TOUCHSTONE. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were. But if you swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn. No more was this knight swearing by his honour, for he never | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015003 | had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away before ever he saw those pancackes or that mustard. CELIA. Prithee, who ist that thou meanst? TOUCHSTONE. One that old Frederick, your father, loves. CELIA. My fathers love is enough to honour him. Enough! Speak no more of him. Youll be whipped for taxation one of these days. TOUCHSTONE. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015004 | The more pity that fools may not speak wisely what wise men do foolishly. CELIA. By my troth, thou sayest true. For since the little wit that fools have was silenced, the little foolery that wise men have makes a great show. Here comes Monsieur Le Beau. Enter Le Beau. ROSALIND. With his mouth full of news. CELIA. Which he | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015005 | will put on us as pigeons feed their young. ROSALIND. Then shall we be news-crammed. CELIA. All the better; we shall be the more marketable. _Bonjour_, Monsieur Le Beau. Whats the news? LE BEAU. Fair princess, you have lost much good sport. CELIA. Sport! Of what colour? LE BEAU. What colour, madam? How shall I answer you? ROSALIND. As wit | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015006 | and fortune will. TOUCHSTONE. Or as the destinies decrees. CELIA. Well said. That was laid on with a trowel. TOUCHSTONE. Nay, if I keep not my rank ROSALIND. Thou losest thy old smell. LE BEAU. You amaze me, ladies. I would have told you of good wrestling, which you have lost the sight of. ROSALIND. Yet tell us the manner | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015007 | of the wrestling. LE BEAU. I will tell you the beginning and, if it please your ladyships, you may see the end, for the best is yet to do; and here, where you are, they are coming to perform it. CELIA. Well, the beginning that is dead and buried. LE BEAU. There comes an old man and his three sons | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015008 | CELIA. I could match this beginning with an old tale. LE BEAU. Three proper young men of excellent growth and presence. ROSALIND. With bills on their necks: Be it known unto all men by these presents. LE BEAU. The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the Dukes wrestler, which Charles in a moment threw him and broke three of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015009 | his ribs, that there is little hope of life in him. So he served the second, and so the third. Yonder they lie, the poor old man their father making such pitiful dole over them that all the beholders take his part with weeping. ROSALIND. Alas! TOUCHSTONE. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies have lost? LE BEAU. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015010 | Why, this that I speak of. TOUCHSTONE. Thus men may grow wiser every day. It is the first time that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport for ladies. CELIA. Or I, I promise thee. ROSALIND. But is there any else longs to see this broken music in his sides? Is there yet another dotes upon rib-breaking? Shall we | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015011 | see this wrestling, cousin? LE BEAU. You must if you stay here, for here is the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to perform it. CELIA. Yonder, sure, they are coming. Let us now stay and see it. Flourish. Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, Orlando, Charles and Attendants. DUKE FREDERICK. Come on. Since the youth will not be | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015012 | entreated, his own peril on his forwardness. ROSALIND. Is yonder the man? LE BEAU. Even he, madam. CELIA. Alas, he is too young. Yet he looks successfully. DUKE FREDERICK. How now, daughter and cousin? Are you crept hither to see the wrestling? ROSALIND. Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave. DUKE FREDERICK. You will take little delight in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015013 | it, I can tell you, there is such odds in the man. In pity of the challengers youth I would fain dissuade him, but he will not be entreated. Speak to him, ladies; see if you can move him. CELIA. Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau. DUKE FREDERICK. Do so; Ill not be by. [_Duke Frederick steps aside._] LE | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015014 | BEAU. Monsieur the challenger, the Princess calls for you. ORLANDO. I attend them with all respect and duty. ROSALIND. Young man, have you challenged Charles the wrestler? ORLANDO. No, fair princess. He is the general challenger. I come but in as others do, to try with him the strength of my youth. CELIA. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015015 | for your years. You have seen cruel proof of this mans strength. If you saw yourself with your eyes or knew yourself with your judgement, the fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal enterprise. We pray you for your own sake to embrace your own safety and give over this attempt. ROSALIND. Do, young sir. Your | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015016 | reputation shall not therefore be misprized. We will make it our suit to the Duke that the wrestling might not go forward. ORLANDO. I beseech you, punish me not with your hard thoughts, wherein I confess me much guilty to deny so fair and excellent ladies anything. But let your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015017 | trial, wherein if I be foiled there is but one shamed that was never gracious; if killed, but one dead that is willing to be so. I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me; the world no injury, for in it I have nothing. Only in the world I fill up a place, which | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015018 | may be better supplied when I have made it empty. ROSALIND. The little strength that I have, I would it were with you. CELIA. And mine to eke out hers. ROSALIND. Fare you well. Pray heaven I be deceived in you. CELIA. Your hearts desires be with you. CHARLES. Come, where is this young gallant that is so desirous to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015019 | lie with his mother earth? ORLANDO. Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working. DUKE FREDERICK. You shall try but one fall. CHARLES. No, I warrant your grace you shall not entreat him to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him from a first. ORLANDO. You mean to mock me after; you should not have | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015020 | mocked me before. But come your ways. ROSALIND. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man! CELIA. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the leg. [_Orlando and Charles wrestle._] ROSALIND. O excellent young man! CELIA. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should down. [_Charles is thrown. Shout._] DUKE FREDERICK. No | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015021 | more, no more. ORLANDO. Yes, I beseech your grace. I am not yet well breathed. DUKE FREDERICK. How dost thou, Charles? LE BEAU. He cannot speak, my lord. DUKE FREDERICK. Bear him away. [_Charles is carried off by Attendants._] What is thy name, young man? ORLANDO. Orlando, my liege, the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys. DUKE FREDERICK. I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015022 | would thou hadst been son to some man else. The world esteemed thy father honourable, But I did find him still mine enemy. Thou shouldst have better pleased me with this deed Hadst thou descended from another house. But fare thee well, thou art a gallant youth. I would thou hadst told me of another father. [_Exeunt Duke Frederick, Le | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015023 | Beau and Lords._] CELIA. Were I my father, coz, would I do this? ORLANDO. I am more proud to be Sir Rowlands son, His youngest son, and would not change that calling To be adopted heir to Frederick. ROSALIND. My father loved Sir Rowland as his soul, And all the world was of my fathers mind. Had I before known | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015024 | this young man his son, I should have given him tears unto entreaties Ere he should thus have ventured. CELIA. Gentle cousin, Let us go thank him and encourage him. My fathers rough and envious disposition Sticks me at heart.Sir, you have well deserved. If you do keep your promises in love But justly, as you have exceeded promise, Your | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015025 | mistress shall be happy. ROSALIND. Gentleman, [_Giving him a chain from her neck_.] Wear this for meone out of suits with Fortune, That could give more but that her hand lacks means. Shall we go, coz? CELIA. Ay.Fare you well, fair gentleman. ORLANDO. Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts Are all thrown down, and that which | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015026 | here stands up Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. ROSALIND. He calls us back. My pride fell with my fortunes. Ill ask him what he would.Did you call, sir? Sir, you have wrestled well and overthrown More than your enemies. CELIA. Will you go, coz? ROSALIND. Have with you.Fare you well. [_Exeunt Rosalind and Celia._] ORLANDO. What passion | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015027 | hangs these weights upon my tongue? I cannot speak to her, yet she urged conference. O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown. Or Charles or something weaker masters thee. Enter Le Beau. LE BEAU. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you To leave this place. Albeit you have deserved High commendation, true applause, and love, Yet such is now the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015028 | Dukes condition That he misconsters all that you have done. The Duke is humorous; what he is indeed More suits you to conceive than I to speak of. ORLANDO. I thank you, sir; and pray you tell me this: Which of the two was daughter of the Duke That here was at the wrestling? LE BEAU. Neither his daughter, if | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015029 | we judge by manners, But yet indeed the smaller is his daughter. The other is daughter to the banished Duke, And here detained by her usurping uncle To keep his daughter company, whose loves Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters. But I can tell you that of late this Duke Hath taen displeasure gainst his gentle niece, Grounded | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015030 | upon no other argument But that the people praise her for her virtues And pity her for her good fathers sake; And, on my life, his malice gainst the lady Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well. Hereafter, in a better world than this, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. ORLANDO. I rest much bounden to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015031 | you; fare you well! [_Exit Le Beau._] Thus must I from the smoke into the smother, From tyrant Duke unto a tyrant brother. But heavenly Rosalind! [_Exit._] SCENE III. A Room in the Palace Enter Celia and Rosalind. CELIA. Why, cousin, why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy! Not a word? ROSALIND. Not one to throw at a dog. CELIA. No, thy | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015032 | words are too precious to be cast away upon curs. Throw some of them at me. Come, lame me with reasons. ROSALIND. Then there were two cousins laid up, when the one should be lamed with reasons and the other mad without any. CELIA. But is all this for your father? ROSALIND. No, some of it is for my childs | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015033 | father. O, how full of briers is this working-day world! CELIA. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery. If we walk not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats will catch them. ROSALIND. I could shake them off my coat; these burs are in my heart. CELIA. Hem them away. ROSALIND. I would try, if I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015034 | could cry hem and have him. CELIA. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. ROSALIND. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself. CELIA. O, a good wish upon you! You will try in time, in despite of a fall. But turning these jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest. Is it possible on such | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015035 | a sudden you should fall into so strong a liking with old Sir Rowlands youngest son? ROSALIND. The Duke my father loved his father dearly. CELIA. Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his son dearly? By this kind of chase I should hate him, for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando. ROSALIND. No, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015036 | faith, hate him not, for my sake. CELIA. Why should I not? Doth he not deserve well? Enter Duke Frederick with Lords. ROSALIND. Let me love him for that, and do you love him because I do.Look, here comes the Duke. CELIA. With his eyes full of anger. DUKE FREDERICK. Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste, And get you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015037 | from our court. ROSALIND. Me, uncle? DUKE FREDERICK. You, cousin. Within these ten days if that thou best found So near our public court as twenty miles, Thou diest for it. ROSALIND. I do beseech your Grace, Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me. If with myself I hold intelligence, Or have acquaintance with mine own desires, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015038 | If that I do not dream, or be not frantic As I do trust I am notthen, dear uncle, Never so much as in a thought unborn Did I offend your Highness. DUKE FREDERICK. Thus do all traitors. If their purgation did consist in words, They are as innocent as grace itself. Let it suffice thee that I trust thee | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015039 | not. ROSALIND. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor. Tell me whereon the likelihood depends. DUKE FREDERICK. Thou art thy fathers daughter, theres enough. ROSALIND. So was I when your highness took his dukedom; So was I when your highness banished him. Treason is not inherited, my lord, Or, if we did derive it from our friends, Whats that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015040 | to me? My father was no traitor. Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much To think my poverty is treacherous. CELIA. Dear sovereign, hear me speak. DUKE FREDERICK. Ay, Celia, we stayed her for your sake, Else had she with her father ranged along. CELIA. I did not then entreat to have her stay; It was your pleasure | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015041 | and your own remorse. I was too young that time to value her, But now I know her. If she be a traitor, Why, so am I. We still have slept together, Rose at an instant, learned, played, ate together, And wheresoeer we went, like Junos swans, Still we went coupled and inseparable. DUKE FREDERICK. She is too subtle for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015042 | thee, and her smoothness, Her very silence, and her patience Speak to the people, and they pity her. Thou art a fool. She robs thee of thy name, And thou wilt show more bright and seem more virtuous When she is gone. Then open not thy lips. Firm and irrevocable is my doom Which I have passed upon her. She | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015043 | is banished. CELIA. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege. I cannot live out of her company. DUKE FREDERICK. You are a fool. You, niece, provide yourself. If you outstay the time, upon mine honour And in the greatness of my word, you die. [_Exeunt Duke Frederick and Lords._] CELIA. O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt thou go? Wilt | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015044 | thou change fathers? I will give thee mine. I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than I am. ROSALIND. I have more cause. CELIA. Thou hast not, cousin. Prithee be cheerful. Knowst thou not the Duke Hath banished me, his daughter? ROSALIND. That he hath not. CELIA. No, hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love Which teacheth thee that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015045 | thou and I am one. Shall we be sundered? Shall we part, sweet girl? No, let my father seek another heir. Therefore devise with me how we may fly, Whither to go, and what to bear with us, And do not seek to take your change upon you, To bear your griefs yourself and leave me out. For, by this | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015046 | heaven, now at our sorrows pale, Say what thou canst, Ill go along with thee. ROSALIND. Why, whither shall we go? CELIA. To seek my uncle in the Forest of Arden. ROSALIND. Alas, what danger will it be to us, Maids as we are, to travel forth so far? Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. CELIA. Ill put myself in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015047 | poor and mean attire, And with a kind of umber smirch my face. The like do you; so shall we pass along And never stir assailants. ROSALIND. Were it not better, Because that I am more than common tall, That I did suit me all points like a man? A gallant curtal-axe upon my thigh, A boar-spear in my hand, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015048 | and in my heart Lie there what hidden womans fear there will, Well have a swashing and a martial outside, As many other mannish cowards have That do outface it with their semblances. CELIA. What shall I call thee when thou art a man? ROSALIND. Ill have no worse a name than Joves own page, And therefore look you call | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015049 | me Ganymede. But what will you be called? CELIA. Something that hath a reference to my state: No longer Celia, but Aliena. ROSALIND. But, cousin, what if we assayed to steal The clownish fool out of your fathers court? Would he not be a comfort to our travel? CELIA. Hell go along oer the wide world with me. Leave me | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015050 | alone to woo him. Lets away, And get our jewels and our wealth together, Devise the fittest time and safest way To hide us from pursuit that will be made After my flight. Now go we in content To liberty, and not to banishment. [_Exeunt._] ACT II SCENE I. The Forest of Arden Enter Duke Senior, Amiens and two or | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015051 | three Lords, dressed as foresters. DUKE SENIOR. Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we not the penalty of Adam, The seasons difference, as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015052 | winters wind, Which when it bites and blows upon my body Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say: This is no flattery. These are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am. Sweet are the uses of adversity, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; And this our life, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015053 | exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in everything. AMIENS. I would not change it. Happy is your grace, That can translate the stubbornness of fortune Into so quiet and so sweet a style. DUKE SENIOR. Come, shall we go and kill us venison? And yet it irks me | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015054 | the poor dappled fools, Being native burghers of this desert city, Should in their own confines with forked heads Have their round haunches gored. FIRST LORD. Indeed, my lord, The melancholy Jaques grieves at that, And in that kind swears you do more usurp Than doth your brother that hath banished you. Today my lord of Amiens and myself Did | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015055 | steal behind him as he lay along Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out Upon the brook that brawls along this wood; To the which place a poor sequestered stag, That from the hunters aim had taen a hurt, Did come to languish; and indeed, my lord, The wretched animal heaved forth such groans That their discharge did stretch | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015056 | his leathern coat Almost to bursting, and the big round tears Coursed one another down his innocent nose In piteous chase. And thus the hairy fool, Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, Stood on th extremest verge of the swift brook, Augmenting it with tears. DUKE SENIOR. But what said Jaques? Did he not moralize this spectacle? FIRST LORD. O | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015057 | yes, into a thousand similes. First, for his weeping into the needless stream: Poor deer, quoth he thou makst a testament As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more To that which had too much. Then, being there alone, Left and abandoned of his velvet friends: Tis right; quoth he, thus misery doth part The flux of company. Anon a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015058 | careless herd, Full of the pasture, jumps along by him And never stays to greet him. Ay, quoth Jaques, 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015059 | swearing that we Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and whats worse, To fright the animals and to kill them up In their assigned and native dwelling-place. DUKE SENIOR. And did you leave him in this contemplation? SECOND LORD. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting Upon the sobbing deer. DUKE SENIOR. Show me the place. I love to cope him in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015060 | these sullen fits, For then hes full of matter. FIRST LORD. Ill bring you to him straight. [_Exeunt._] SCENE II. A Room in the Palace Enter Duke Frederick with Lords. DUKE FREDERICK. Can it be possible that no man saw them? It cannot be! Some villains of my court Are of consent and sufferance in this. FIRST LORD. I cannot | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015061 | hear of any that did see her. The ladies, her attendants of her chamber, Saw her abed, and in the morning early They found the bed untreasured of their mistress. SECOND LORD. My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. Hesperia, the princess gentlewoman, Confesses that she secretly oerheard Your | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015062 | daughter and her cousin much commend The parts and graces of the wrestler That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles; And she believes wherever they are gone That youth is surely in their company. DUKE FREDERICK. Send to his brother; fetch that gallant hither. If he be absent, bring his brother to me. Ill make him find him. Do | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015063 | this suddenly! And let not search and inquisition quail To bring again these foolish runaways. [_Exeunt._] SCENE III. Before Olivers House Enter Orlando and Adam, meeting. ORLANDO. Whos 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015064 | people love you? And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant? Why would you be so fond to overcome The bonny prizer 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015065 | sanctified and holy traitors to you. O, what a world is this, when what is comely Envenoms him that bears it! ORLANDO. Why, whats the matter? ADAM. O unhappy youth, Come not within these doors! Within this roof The enemy of all your graces lives. Your brotherno, no brother, yet the son Yet not the son; I will not call | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015066 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015067 | but a butchery. Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. ORLANDO. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go? ADAM. No matter whither, so you come not here. ORLANDO. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food, Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce A thievish living on the common road? This I must do, or | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015068 | 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 saved under your father, Which I did store to be my foster-nurse, When service should in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015069 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015070 | 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. Ill do the service of a younger man In all your business and necessities. ORLANDO. O good old man, how well | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015071 | 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 prunst a rotten | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015072 | tree, That cannot so much as a blossom yield In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry. But come thy ways, well go along together, And ere we have thy youthful wages spent Well 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015073 | 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 masters debtor. [_Exeunt._] SCENE IV. The Forest of Arden Enter Rosalind as Ganymede, Celia as Aliena, and Touchstone. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015074 | 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 mans 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015075 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015076 | 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015077 | that thou knewst how I do love her! CORIN. I partly guess, for I have loved ere now. SILVIUS. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess, Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover As ever sighed upon a midnight pillow. But if thy love were ever like to mine As sure I think did never man | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015078 | 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 remembrest not the slightest folly That ever love did make thee run into, Thou hast not loved. Or if thou hast not sat as I do | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015079 | now, Wearing thy hearer in thy mistress praise, Thou hast not loved. Or if thou hast not broke from company Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, Thou hast not loved. O Phoebe, Phoebe, Phoebe! [_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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015080 | 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 batlet, and the cows dugs that her pretty chopped hands had milked; and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her, from whom I took two cods, and, giving | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015081 | 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 speakst wiser than thou art ware of. TOUCHSTONE. Nay, I shall neer be ware of mine own wit till I break | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015082 | my shins against it. ROSALIND. Jove, Jove, this shepherds 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, hes not thy kinsman. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015083 | 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. Heres a young maid | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015084 | with travel much oppressed, 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015085 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015086 | his flock and pasture? CORIN. That young swain that you saw here but erewhile, That little cares for buying anything. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015087 | 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. AMIENS. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015088 | [_Sings_.] Under the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me And turn his merry note Unto the sweet birds 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. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015089 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015090 | 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, Ill thank you; but that they call compliment is like th encounter of two dog-apes. And when a man thanks me heartily, methinks I have given him a penny and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015091 | he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues. AMIENS. Well, Ill 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 too disputable for my company. I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015092 | think of as many matters as he, but I give heaven thanks and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come. AMIENS. [_Sings_.] Who doth ambition shun And loves to live i th sun, Seeking the food he eats And pleased with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither. Here shall he see No enemy But winter and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015093 | rough weather. JAQUES. Ill give you a verse to this note that I made yesterday in despite of my invention. AMIENS. And Ill 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015094 | he, An if he will come to me. AMIENS. Whats that ducdame? JAQUES. Tis a Greek invocation to call fools into a circle. Ill go sleep if I can; if I cannot, Ill rail against all the first-born of Egypt. AMIENS. And Ill go seek the Duke; his banquet is prepared. [_Exeunt severally._] SCENE VI. Another part of the Forest | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015095 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015096 | 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 arms end. I will here be with thee presently, and if I bring thee not something to eat, Ill give thee leave to die. But if thou diest before I come, thou | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015097 | art a mocker of my labour. Well said, thou lookst cheerly, and Ill 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. Another part of the Forest | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015098 | Enter Duke Senior, Amiens and Lords as outlaws. DUKE SENIOR. I think he be transformed 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015099 | 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
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