Act II
Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, and two or three Lords, like 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, 5
The seasons’ difference, as the icy fang
And churlish chiding of the winter’s 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 counselors 10
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, exempt from public haunt, 15
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. 20
DUKE SENIOR
Come, shall we go and kill us venison?
And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools,
Being native burghers of this desert city,
Should in their own confines with forkèd heads
Have their round haunches gored. 25
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 30
Did 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 hunter’s aim had ta’en a hurt 35
Did come to languish. And indeed, my lord,
The wretched animal heaved forth such groans
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat
Almost to bursting, and the big round tears
Coursed one another down his innocent nose 40
In piteous chase. And thus the hairy fool,
Much markèd of the melancholy Jaques,
Stood on th’ extremest verge of the swift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.
DUKE SENIOR But what said Jaques? 45
Did he not moralize this spectacle?
FIRST LORD
O yes, into a thousand similes.
First, for his weeping into the needless stream:
“Poor deer,” quoth he, “thou mak’st a testament
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more 50
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 careless herd, 55
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?” 60
Thus most invectively he pierceth through
The body of 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 65
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. 70
I love to cope him in these sullen fits,
For then he’s full of matter.
FIRST LORD I’ll bring you to him straight.
They exit.
Scene 2
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 hear of any that did see her.
The ladies her attendants of her chamber 5
Saw her abed, and in the morning early
They found the bed untreasured of their mistress.
SECOND LORD
My lord, the roinish clown at whom so oft
Your Grace was wont to laugh is also missing.
Hisperia, the Princess’ gentlewoman, 10
Confesses that she secretly o’erheard
Your 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 15
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.
I’ll make him find him. Do this suddenly,
And let not search and inquisition quail 20
To bring again these foolish runaways.
They exit.
Scene 3
Enter Orlando and Adam, meeting.
ORLANDO 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? 5
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 10
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! 15
ORLANDO 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— 20
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, 25
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.
ORLANDO
Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go? 30
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 boist’rous sword enforce
A thievish living on the common road?
This I must do, or know not what to do; 35
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, 40
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, 45
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, 50
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 55
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, 60
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 65
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 70
To the last gasp with truth and loyalty.
From seventeen years till now almost fourscore
Here livèd I, but now live here no more.
At seventeen years, many their fortunes seek,
But at fourscore, it is too late a week. 75
Yet fortune cannot recompense me better
Than to die well, and not my master’s debtor.
They exit.
Scene 4
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 5
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 10
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. 15
When I was at home I was in a better place, but
travelers must be content.
ROSALIND Ay, be so, good Touchstone.
Enter Corin and Silvius.
Look you who comes here, a young man and an old
in solemn talk. 20
Rosalind, Celia, and Touchstone step aside and
eavesdrop.
CORIN, to Silvius
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 loved ere now.
SILVIUS
No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess,
Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover 25
As ever sighed 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? 30
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 loved. 35
Or if thou hast not sat as I do 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, 40
Thou hast not loved.
O Phoebe, Phoebe, Phoebe! He exits.
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 45
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 chopped hands had milked;
and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of 50
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. 55
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. 60
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, to Corin Holla, you clown! 65
ROSALIND Peace, fool. He’s not thy kinsman.
CORIN Who calls?
TOUCHSTONE Your betters, sir.
CORIN Else are they very wretched.
ROSALIND, to Touchstone
Peace, I say. As Ganymede, to Corin. Good even to 70
you, friend.
CORIN
And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.
ROSALIND, as Ganymede
I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold
Can in this desert place buy entertainment,
Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed. 75
Here’s a young maid with travel much oppressed,
And faints for succor.
CORIN Fair sir, I pity her
And wish for her sake more than for mine own
My fortunes were more able to relieve her. 80
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. 85
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. 90
ROSALIND, as Ganymede
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 anything.
ROSALIND, as Ganymede
I pray thee, if it stand with honesty,
Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, 95
And thou shalt have to pay for it of us.
CELIA, as Aliena
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 100
The soil, the profit, and this kind of life,
I will your very faithful feeder be
And buy it with your gold right suddenly.
They exit.
Scene 5
Enter Amiens, Jaques, and others.
Song.
AMIENS sings
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. 5
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.
JAQUES More, more, I prithee, more.
AMIENS It will make you melancholy, Monsieur 10
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. 15
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 20
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 25
me heartily, methinks I 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 30
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 think of as many
matters as he, but I give heaven thanks and make no
boast of them. Come, warble, come. 35
Song.
ALL together here.
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. 40
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. 45
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 50
A stubborn will to please,
Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame.
Here shall he see
Gross fools as he,
An if he will come to me. 55
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 60
prepared.
They exit.
Scene 6
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. He lies down.
ORLANDO Why, how now, Adam? No greater heart in
thee? Live a little, comfort a little, cheer thyself a 5
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 thee presently, and if 10
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 labor. 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 15
shelter, and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner if
there live anything in this desert. Cheerly, good
Adam.
They exit.
Scene 7
Enter Duke Senior and Lords, like 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, 5
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 labor by his own approach.
DUKE SENIOR, to Jaques
Why, how now, monsieur? What a life is this
That your poor friends must woo your company? 10
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 basked him in the sun 15
And railed 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.” 20
And then he drew a dial from his poke
And, looking on it with lack-luster 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, 25
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, 30
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. 35
DUKE SENIOR What fool is this?
JAQUES
O worthy fool!—One that hath been a courtier,
And says “If ladies be but young and fair,
They have the gift to know it.” And in his brain,
Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit 40
After a voyage, he hath strange places crammed
With observation, the which he vents
In mangled forms. O, that I were a fool!
I am ambitious for a motley coat.
DUKE SENIOR
Thou shalt have one. 45
JAQUES It is my only suit,
Provided that you weed your better judgments
Of all opinion that grows rank in them
That I am wise. I must have liberty
Withal, as large a charter as the wind, 50
To blow on whom I please, for so fools have.
And they that are most gallèd with my folly,
They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so?
The “why” is plain as way to parish church:
He that a fool doth very wisely hit 55
Doth very foolishly, although he smart,
Not to seem senseless of the bob. If not,
The wise man’s folly is anatomized
Even by the squand’ring glances of the fool.
Invest me in my motley. Give me leave 60
To speak my mind, and I will through and through
Cleanse the foul body of th’ infected world,
If they will patiently receive my medicine.
DUKE SENIOR
Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do.
JAQUES
What, for a counter, would I do but good? 65
DUKE SENIOR
Most mischievous foul sin in chiding sin;
For thou thyself hast been a libertine,
As sensual as the brutish sting itself,
And all th’ embossèd sores and headed evils
That thou with license of free foot hast caught 70
Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.
JAQUES Why, who cries out on pride
That can therein tax any private party?
Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea
Till that the weary very means do ebb? 75
What woman in the city do I name
When that I say the city-woman bears
The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders?
Who can come in and say that I mean her,
When such a one as she such is her neighbor? 80
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 mettle of my speech?
There then. How then, what then? Let me see 85
wherein
My tongue hath wronged him. If it do him right,
Then he hath wronged himself. If he be free,
Why then my taxing like a wild goose flies
Unclaimed of any man. 90
Enter Orlando, brandishing a sword.
But who comes here?
ORLANDO Forbear, and eat no more.
JAQUES Why, I have eat none yet.
ORLANDO
Nor shalt not till necessity be served.
JAQUES Of what kind should this cock come of? 95
DUKE SENIOR, to Orlando
Art thou thus boldened, man, by thy distress,
Or else a rude despiser of good manners,
That in civility thou seem’st so empty?
ORLANDO
You touched my vein at first. The thorny point
Of bare distress hath ta’en from me the show 100
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 answerèd.
JAQUES An you will not be answered with reason, I 105
must die.
DUKE SENIOR, to Orlando
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. 110
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, 115
Under the shade of melancholy boughs,
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time,
If ever you have looked on better days,
If ever been where bells have knolled to church,
If ever sat at any good man’s feast, 120
If ever from your eyelids wiped 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.
He sheathes his sword.
DUKE SENIOR
True is it that we have seen better days, 125
And have with holy bell been knolled to church,
And sat at good men’s feasts and wiped our eyes
Of drops that sacred pity hath engendered.
And therefore sit you down in gentleness,
And take upon command what help we have 130
That to your wanting may be ministered.
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 135
Limped in pure love. Till he be first sufficed,
Oppressed 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. 140
ORLANDO
I thank you; and be blessed for your good comfort.
He exits.
DUKE SENIOR
Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy.
This wide and universal theater
Presents more woeful pageants than the scene
Wherein we play in. 145
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, 150
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 155
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice, 160
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
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 slippered pantaloon 165
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, 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, 170
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Enter Orlando, carrying Adam.
DUKE SENIOR
Welcome. Set down your venerable burden,
And let him feed. 175
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.— 180
Give us some music, and, good cousin, sing.
The Duke and Orlando continue their conversation,
apart.
Song.
AMIENS sings
Blow, blow, thou winter wind.
Thou art not so unkind
As man’s ingratitude.
Thy tooth is not so keen, 185
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. 190
This life is most jolly.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot.
Though thou the waters warp, 195
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remembered not.
Heigh-ho, sing heigh-ho, unto the green holly.
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
Then heigh-ho, the holly. 200
This life is most jolly.
DUKE SENIOR, to Orlando
If that you were the good Sir Rowland’s son,
As you have whispered faithfully you were,
And as mine eye doth his effigies witness
Most truly limned and living in your face, 205
Be truly welcome hither. I am the duke
That loved 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.
To Lords. Support him by the arm. To Orlando. 210
Give me your hand,
And let me all your fortunes understand.
They exit.
