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Rof. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel, and cry like a woman; but I must comfort the weaker veffel, as doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat; therefore, courage, good Aliena..
Cel. I pray you, bear with me; I can go no further.
Clo. For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear you; yet I should bear no crofs if I did bear you; for, I think, you. have no money in your purse.
Rof. Well, this is the foreft of Arden.
Clo. Ay, now am I in Arden, the more fool I; when I was at home, I was in a better place; but travellers must be content. Rof. Ay, be fo, good Touchstone; look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in folemn talk.
Enter Corin, and Sylvius.
Cor. That is the way to make her fcorn you still.
Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.
Thou haft not lov'd.
Or if thou haft not fat as I do now,
Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
Or if thou haft not broke from company,
O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe !
Rof. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found my own.
Clo. And I mine; I remember, when I was in love, I broke my fword upon a ftone, and bid him take that for coming o' nights to Jane Smile; and I remember the kiffing of her batlet, and the cow's dugs that her pretty chop'd hands had milk'd; and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her; from whom I took two cods, and, giving her them again, faid with weeping tears, wear these for my fake. We that are true lovers run into ftrange capers; but all is mortal in nature, fo is all nature in love mortal in folly.
Rof. Thou fpeak'st wiser than thou art ware of.
Clo. Nay, I fhall ne'er be ware of mine own wit, till I break my shins against it.
Rof. Jove! Jove! this fhepherd's paffion is much upon my
Clo. And mine; but it grows fomething ftale with me.
If he for gold will give us any food;
I faint almoft to death.
Clo. Holla; you, clown!
Rof. Peace, fool; he's not thy kinsman.
Cor. Who calls?
Clo. Your betters.
Cor. Elfe they're very wretched.
Rof. Peace, fool, I fay. Good even to you, friend.
Rof. I pr'ythee, shepherd, if that love, or gold,
Cor. Fair fir, I pity her,
And wifh, for her fake more than for mine own,
But I am shepherd to another man,
That will feed on; but what is, come see,
Rof. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture?
Rof. I pray thee, if it ftand with honefty,
Cor. Affuredly, the thing is to be fold;
Come hither, come hither, come hither;
But winter and rough weather.
Jaq. More, more, I pr'ythee, more.
Ami. It will make you melancholy, monfieur Jaques. Jaq. I thank it; more, I pr'ythee, more: I can fuck melancholy out of a song, as a weafel fucks eggs more, I pr'ythee, more. Ami. My voice is rugged, I know, I cannot please you. Jaq. I do not desire you to please me, I do defire you fing; come, come, another stanzo: call you 'em stanzo's ? Ami. What you will, monfieur Jaques.
Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing. Will you fing?
Ami. More at your requeft, than to please myself.
Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you; but that they call compliment is like the encounter of two dog-apes: and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks, I have given him a penny, and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, fing; and you that will not, hold your tongues
Ami. Well, I'll end the fong. Sirs, cover the while; the duke will dine under this tree: he hath been all this day to look you. Jaq. And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is too difputable for my company: I think of as many matters as he, but I give heav'n thanks, and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come.
Here shall be fee
But winter and rough weather.
Faq. I'll give you a verse to this note, that I made yesterday
If it do come to pass,
Duc ad me, duc ad me, duc ad me;
An if he will come to me.
Ami. What's that duc ad me?
Jaq. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I'll go fleep if I can; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the first-born of Egypt.
Ami. And I'll go feek the duke: his banquet is prepar'd.
Enter Orlando, and Adam.
Adam. Dear mafter, I can go no further: o, I die for food! ere lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewel, kind master. Orla. Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee? live a little, comfort a little, cheer thyfelf a little. If this uncouth foreft yield any thing favage, I will either be food for it, or bring it for food to thee: thy conceit is nearer death, than thy powers. For my fake, be comfortable; hold death a while at the arm's end: I will be here with thee presently; and if I bring thee not fomething to eat, I'll give thee leave to die: but if thou diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well faid! thou look'st cheerly and I'll be with thee quickly: yet thou lieft in the bleak air: come, I will bear thee to fome shelter, and thou shalt