Act II, Scene 1

The Forest of Arden

Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and two or three LORDS, like foresters

• Duke. 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 550
  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 winter's wind,
  Which when it bites and blows upon my body, 555
  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, 560
  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 everything.
  I would not change it. 565

• Amiens. Happy is your Grace,
  That can translate the stubbornness of fortune
  Into so quiet and so sweet a style.

• Duke. Come, shall we go and kill us venison?
  And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools, 570
  Being native burghers of this desert city,
  Should, in their own confines, with forked heads
  Have their round haunches gor'd.

• First Lord. Indeed, my lord,
  The melancholy Jaques grieves at that; 575
  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 580
  Upon the brook that brawls along this wood!
  To the which place a poor sequest'red 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 585
  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, 590
  Stood on th' extremest verge of the swift brook,
  Augmenting it with tears.

• Duke. But what said Jaques?
  Did he not moralize this spectacle?

• First Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes. 595
  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
  To that which had too much.' Then, being there alone,
  Left and abandoned of his velvet friends: 600
  '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; 605
  '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; swearing that we 610
  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. And did you leave him in this contemplation?

• Second Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting 615
  Upon the sobbing deer.

• Duke. Show me the place;
  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. Exeunt 620

Act II, Scene 2

The DUKE’S palace

Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with LORDS

• 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. 625
  The ladies, her attendants of her chamber,
  Saw her abed, and in the morning early
  They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress.

• Second Lord. My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft
  Your Grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. 630
  Hisperia, the Princess' gentlewoman,
  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; 635
  And she believes, wherever they are gone,
  That youth is surely in their company.

• 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; 640
  And let not search and inquisition quail
  To bring again these foolish runaways. Exeunt

Act II, Scene 3

Before OLIVER’S house

Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting

• Orlando. Who's there?

• Adam. What, my young master? O my gentle master! 645
  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?
  And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant?
  Why would you be so fond to overcome 650
  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, 655
  Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.
  O, what a world is this, when what is comely
  Envenoms him that bears it!

• Orlando. Why, what's the matter?

• Adam. O unhappy youth! 660
  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- 665
  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. 670
  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?

• Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here.

• Orlando. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food, 675
  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;
  Yet this I will not do, do how I can.
  I rather will subject me to the malice 680
  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, 685
  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; 690
  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; 695
  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.

• Orlando. O good old man, how well in thee appears 700
  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 705
  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
  In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry.
  But come thy ways, we'll go along together, 710
  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
  To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty.
  From seventeen years till now almost four-score 715
  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 master's debtor. Exeunt 720

Act II, Scene 4

The Forest of Arden

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, 725
  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 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; 730
  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; when I was at
  home I was in a better place; but travellers must be content. 735

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, that thou knew'st how I do love her! 740

• Corin. I partly guess; for I have lov'd ere now.

• Silvius. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess,
  Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover
  As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow.
  But if thy love were ever like to mine, 745
  As sure I think did never man 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! 750
  If thou rememb'rest not the slightest folly
  That ever love did make thee run into,
  Thou hast not lov'd;
  Or if thou hast not sat as I do now,
  Wearing thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, 755
  Thou hast not lov'd;
  Or if thou hast not broke from company
  Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,
  Thou hast not lov'd.
  O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe! Exit Silvius 760

• 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 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 765
  cow's dugs that her pretty chapt hands had milk'd; and I remember
  the wooing of peascod instead of 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 770
  in folly.

• 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 775
  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. 780

• Touchstone. Holla, you clown!

• Rosalind. Peace, fool; he's not thy kinsman.

• Corin. Who calls?

• Touchstone. Your betters, sir.

• Corin. Else are they very wretched. 785

• 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. 790
  Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd,
  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; 795
  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. 800
  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. 805

• Rosalind. 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 any thing.

• Rosalind. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty,
  Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, 810
  And thou shalt have to pay for it of us.

• Celia. 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 815
  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

Act II, Scene 5

Another part of the forest

Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and OTHERS

• Amiens. Under the greenwood tree 820
  Who loves to lie with me,
  And turn his merry note
  Unto the sweet bird's throat,
  Come hither, come hither, come hither.
  Here shall he see 825
  No enemy
  But winter and rough weather.

• Jaques (lord). More, more, I prithee, more.

• Amiens. It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.

• Jaques (lord). I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy 830
  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 (lord). 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. 835

• Jaques (lord). Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing. Will
  you sing?

• Amiens. More at your request than to please myself.

• Jaques (lord). 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; 840
  and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks 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 all this day to look 845
  you.

• Jaques (lord). 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.
  SONG 850
  [All together here]
  Who doth ambition shun,
  And loves to live i' th' sun,
  Seeking the food he eats,
  And pleas'd with what he gets, 855
  Come hither, come hither, come hither.
  Here shall he see
  No enemy
  But winter and rough weather.

• Jaques (lord). I'll give you a verse to this note that I made yesterday in 860
  despite of my invention.

• Amiens. And I'll sing it.

• Jaques (lord). Thus it goes:
  If it do come to pass
  That any man turn ass, 865
  Leaving his wealth and ease
  A stubborn will to please,
  Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame;
  Here shall he see
  Gross fools as he, 870
  An if he will come to me.

• Amiens. What's that 'ducdame'?

• Jaques (lord). '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. 875

• Amiens. And I'll go seek the Duke; his banquet is prepar'd.

Exeunt severally

Act II, Scene 6

The forest

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. 880

• 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 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 885
  arm's end. I will here be with thee presently; and if 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 labour. 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 shelter; 890
  and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live
  anything in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam! Exeunt

Act II, Scene 7

The forest

A table set out. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and LORDS, like outlaws

• Duke. I think he be transform'd into a beast;
  For I can nowhere find him like a man. 895

• First Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone hence;
  Here was he merry, hearing of a song.

• Duke. If he, compact of jars, grow musical,
  We shall have shortly discord in the spheres.
  Go seek him; tell him I would speak with him. 900

Enter JAQUES

• First Lord. He saves my labour by his own approach.

• Duke. Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this,
  That your poor friends must woo your company?
  What, you look merrily! 905

• Jaques (lord). 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 bask'd him in the sun,
  And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms, 910
  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.'
  And then he drew a dial from his poke,
  And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, 915
  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;
  And after one hour more 'twill be eleven;
  And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, 920
  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,
  My lungs began to crow like chanticleer
  That fools should be so deep contemplative; 925
  And I did laugh sans intermission
  An hour by his dial. O noble fool!
  A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear.

• Duke. What fool is this?

• Jaques (lord). O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier, 930
  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
  After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd
  With observation, the which he vents 935
  In mangled forms. O that I were a fool!
  I am ambitious for a motley coat.

• Duke. Thou shalt have one.

• Jaques (lord). It is my only suit,
  Provided that you weed your better judgments 940
  Of all opinion that grows rank in them
  That I am wise. I must have liberty
  Withal, as large a charter as the wind,
  To blow on whom I please, for so fools have;
  And they that are most galled with my folly, 945
  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
  Doth very foolishly, although he smart,
  Not to seem senseless of the bob; if not, 950
  The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd
  Even by the squand'ring glances of the fool.
  Invest me in my motley; give me leave
  To speak my mind, and I will through and through
  Cleanse the foul body of th' infected world, 955
  If they will patiently receive my medicine.

• Duke. Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do.

• Jaques (lord). What, for a counter, would I do but good?

• Duke. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin;
  For thou thyself hast been a libertine, 960
  As sensual as the brutish sting itself;
  And all th' embossed sores and headed evils
  That thou with license of free foot hast caught
  Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.

• Jaques (lord). Why, who cries out on pride 965
  That can therein tax any private party?
  Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,
  Till that the wearer's very means do ebb?
  What woman in the city do I name
  When that I say the city-woman bears 970
  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 neighbour?
  Or what is he of basest function
  That says his bravery is not on my cost, 975
  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 wherein
  My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right,
  Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free, 980
  Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies,
  Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes here?

Enter ORLANDO with his sword drawn

• Orlando. Forbear, and eat no more.

• Jaques (lord). Why, I have eat none yet. 985

• Orlando. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd.

• Jaques (lord). Of what kind should this cock come of?

• Duke. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress?
  Or else a rude despiser of good manners,
  That in civility thou seem'st so empty? 990

• Orlando. You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny point
  Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show
  Of smooth civility; yet am I inland bred,
  And know some nurture. But forbear, I say;
  He dies that touches any of this fruit 995
  Till I and my affairs are answered.

• Jaques (lord). An you will not be answer'd with reason, I must die.

• Duke. 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. 1000

• Duke. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.

• 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 1005
  That in this desert inaccessible,
  Under the shade of melancholy boughs,
  Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time;
  If ever you have look'd on better days,
  If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church, 1010
  If ever sat at any good man's feast,
  If ever from your eyelids wip'd 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. 1015

• Duke. True is it that we have seen better days,
  And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church,
  And sat at good men's feasts, and wip'd our eyes
  Of drops that sacred pity hath engend'red;
  And therefore sit you down in gentleness, 1020
  And take upon command what help we have
  That to your wanting may be minist'red.

• 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 1025
  Who after me hath many a weary step
  Limp'd in pure love; till he be first suffic'd,
  Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,
  I will not touch a bit.

• Duke. Go find him out. 1030
  And we will nothing waste till you return.

• Orlando. I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort! Exit

• Duke. Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy:
  This wide and universal theatre
  Presents more woeful pageants than the scene 1035
  Wherein we play in.

• Jaques (lord). 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, 1040
  His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
  Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
  Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
  And shining morning face, creeping like snail
  Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, 1045
  Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
  Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
  Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
  Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
  Seeking the bubble reputation 1050
  Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
  In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,
  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 1055
  Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
  With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
  His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
  For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
  Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 1060
  And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
  That ends this strange eventful history,
  Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
  Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.

Re-enter ORLANDO with ADAM

• Duke. Welcome. Set down your venerable burden,
  And let him feed.

• Orlando. I thank you most for him.

• Adam. So had you need;
  I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. 1070

• Duke. Welcome; fall to. I will not trouble you
  As yet to question you about your fortunes.
  Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing.
  SONG
  Blow, blow, thou winter wind, 1075
  Thou art not so unkind
  As man's ingratitude;
  Thy tooth is not so keen,
  Because thou art not seen,
  Although thy breath be rude. 1080
  Heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho! unto the green holly.
  Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
  Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
  This life is most jolly.
  Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, 1085
  That dost not bite so nigh
  As benefits forgot;
  Though thou the waters warp,
  Thy sting is not so sharp
  As friend rememb'red not. 1090
  Heigh-ho! sing, &c.

• Duke. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son,
  As you have whisper'd faithfully you were,
  And as mine eye doth his effigies witness
  Most truly limn'd and living in your face, 1095
  Be truly welcome hither. I am the Duke
  That lov'd 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.
  Support him by the arm. Give me your hand, 1100
  And let me all your fortunes understand. Exeunt