As You Like It: ACT II , SCENE VII. The forest.

As You Like It: ACT II


	Introduction

	ACT I

	ACT II

		SCENE I. The Forest of Arden.

		SCENE II. A room in the palace.

		SCENE III. Before OLIVER'S house.

		SCENE IV. The Forest of Arden.

		SCENE V. The Forest.

		SCENE VI. The forest.

		SCENE VII. The forest.

	ACT III

	ACT IV

	ACT V

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SCENE VII. The forest.

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

DUKE SENIOR

I think he be transform'd into a beast;
For I can no where 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

5     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.

Enter JAQUES

First Lord

He saves my labour by his own approach.

DUKE SENIOR

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

JAQUES

      A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' the forest,
      A motley fool; a miserable world!
      As I do live by food, I met a fool
15    Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun,
      And rail'd 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-lustre 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.

DUKE SENIOR

35 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 cramm'd
      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.

JAQUES

45    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 galled 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 squandering 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 the 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?

DUKE SENIOR

65    Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin:
      For thou thyself hast been a libertine,
      As sensual as the brutish sting itself;
      And all the embossed sores and headed evils,
      That thou with licence 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 neighbour?
80    Or what is he of basest function
      That says his bravery is not of 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 wherein
85    My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right,
      Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free,
      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

90 Why, I have eat none yet.

ORLANDO

Nor shalt not, till necessity be served.

JAQUES

Of what kind should this cock come of?

DUKE SENIOR

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

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:
100   He dies that touches any of this fruit
      Till I and my affairs are answered.

JAQUES

An you will not be answered with reason, I must die.

DUKE SENIOR

What would you have? Your gentleness shall force
More than your force move us to gentleness.

ORLANDO

105 I almost die for food; and let me have it.

DUKE SENIOR

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
110   Of stern commandment. But whate'er you are
      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,
115   If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church,
      If ever sat at any good man's feast,
      If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear
      And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied,
      Let gentleness my strong enforcement be:
120   In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.

DUKE SENIOR

      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 wiped our eyes
      Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd:
125   And therefore sit you down in gentleness
      And take upon command what help we have
      That to your wanting may be minister'd.

ORLANDO

      Then but forbear your food a little while,
      Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn
130   And give it food. There is an old poor man,
      Who after me hath many a weary step
      Limp'd in pure love: till he be first sufficed,
      Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,
      I will not touch a bit.

DUKE SENIOR

135 Go find him out,
And we will nothing waste till you return.

ORLANDO

I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort!

Exit

DUKE SENIOR

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

JAQUES

      All the world's a stage,
      And all the men and women merely players:
      They have their exits and their entrances;
145   And one man in his time plays many parts,
      His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
      Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
      And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
      And shining morning face, creeping like snail
150   Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
      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,
155   Seeking the bubble reputation
      Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
      In fair round belly with good capon lined,
      With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
      Full of wise saws and modern instances;
160   And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
      Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
      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,
165   Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
      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 everything.

Re-enter ORLANDO, with ADAM

DUKE SENIOR

170 Welcome. Set down your venerable burthen,
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.

DUKE SENIOR

175   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.

AMIENS

      Blow, blow, thou winter wind.
      Thou art not so unkind
180   As man's ingratitude;
      Thy tooth is not so keen,
      Because thou art not seen,
      Although thy breath be rude.
      Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
185   Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
      Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
      This life is most jolly.
      Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
      That dost not bite so nigh
190   As benefits forgot:
      Though thou the waters warp,
      Thy sting is not so sharp
      As friend remember'd not.
      Heigh-ho! sing, &c.

DUKE SENIOR

195   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,
      Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke
200   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.
      Support him by the arm. Give me your hand,
      And let me all your fortunes understand.

Exeunt

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