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• 1 2016-11-13T11:22:34-08:00 Act II 6 As You Like It ACT 2 plain 2016-12-15T03:54:33-08:00 Scene 1
  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.