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After my flight. Now go we in content.
To liberty, and not to banishment.



SCENE I. The Forest of Arden.

Enter Duke senior, AMIENS, and other Lords, in the dress of Foresters.

Duke S.

OW, my co-mates, and brothers in exile,

Hath not old custom made this life more


Than that of painted pomp? Are not these

More free from peril than the envious court?
Here feel we not the penalty of Adam,

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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 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, exempt from public haunt,


Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

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 S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison ? And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools -Being native burghers of this desert cityShould in their own confines with forked heads Have their round haunches gor'd.

1 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 banish'd you.
To-day, my lord of Amiens, and myself,
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 sequester'd stag,
That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt,
Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord,
The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans,
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat
Almost to bursting; and the big round tears
Cours'd one another down his innocent nose
In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool,
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.

Duke S.

But what said Jaques? Did he not moralize this spectacle?

1 Lord. Oh! yes, into a thousand similes.

First, for his weeping in the needless stream;
Poor deer, quoth he, thou mak'st a testament

As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more

To that which hath too much. Then, being there alone, Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends;

'Tis right, quoth he; thus misery doth part

The flux of company. Anon, a 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
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; swearing, that we
Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse,
To fright the animals, and to kill them up,
In their assign'd and native dwelling-place.

Duke S. And did you leave him in this contempla


2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting Upon the sobbing deer.

Duke S.

Shew me the place;

I love to cope him in these sullen fits,

For then he's full of matter.

2 Lord. I'll bring you to him straight. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Duke FREDERICK, Lords, and Attendants. Duke Frederick.

AN it be possible that no man saw them?

Are of consent and sufferance in this.

1 Lord. I cannot hear of any that did see her.
The ladies, her attendants of her chamber,
Saw her a-bed; and, in the morning early,
They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress.

2 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 o'er-heard

Your daughter and her cousin much commend
The parts and graces of the wrestleër

That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles;

And she believes, wherever they are gone,

That youth is surely in their company.

Duke F. Send to his brother's; 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
To bring again these foolish run-aways.

SCENE III. Before Oliver's House.

Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting.

HO'S there?




Adam. What! my young master? Oh, my gentle master,

Oh, my sweet master, Oh, you memory

Of old Sir Rowland! why, what make you here?
Why are you virtuous? why do people love you?
And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant?
Why would you be so fond to overcome
The bony priser 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 sanctified and holy traitors to you.

Oh, what a world is this, when what is comely
Envenoms him that bears it!

Orl. Why, what's the matter?

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...
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,
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.

Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go?

Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here. Orl. 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 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 sav'd under your father,
Which I did store, to be my foster-nurse,

When service should in my old limbs lie lame,
And unregarded age be 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 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;
I'll do the service of a younger man
In all your business and necessities.

Orl. O good old man, how well in thee appears
The constant fashion3 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,

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