In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry. Adam. Master, go on, and I will follow thee, SCENE IV. The Forest of Arden. [Exeunt. Enter ROSALIND in boy's clothes, CELIA dressed like a Ros. O Jupiter! how weary' are my spirits! not weary. Ros. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel, 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. Cel. I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go no farther. Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear you; yet I should bear no cross, if I did bear you; for, I think, you have no money in your purse. Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden. Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden. The more fool I 1 The old copy reads merry; perhaps rightly. Rosalind's language, as well as her dress, may be intended to have an assumed character. 2 A cross was a piece of money stamped with a cross; on this Shakspeare often quibbles. When I was at home, I was in a better place; but travellers must be content. Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone.-Look you who comes here; a young man, and an old, in solemn talk. Enter CORIN and SILVIUS. Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still. Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten. Or if thou hast not sat, as I do now, Or if thou hast not broke from company, Touch. And I mine. I remember, when I was in love, I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming anight to Jane Smile; and I remember the kissing of her batlet,' and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopped hands had milked; and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her; from 1 Batlet, the instrument with which washers beat clothes. 2 A peascod. This was the ancient term for peas growing or gathered, the cod being what we now call the pod. VOL. II. 36 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. Ros. Thou speak'st wiser than thou art 'ware of. Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own wit, till I break my shins against it. Ros. Jove! Jove! this shepherd's passion Is much upon my fashion. Touch. And mine; but it grows something stale with me. Cel. I pray you, one of you question 'yond man, If he for gold will give us any food; I faint almost to death. Touch. Holla; you, clown! Ros. Cor. Who calls? Peace, fool! he's not thy kinsman. Touch. Your betters, sir. Cor. Else are they very wretched. Good even to you, friend. Peace, I say. Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. Cor. Fair sir, I pity her, And wish for her sake, more than for mine own, But I am shepherd to another man, And do not shear the fleeces that I graze. And little recks to find the way to heaven 1 In the middle counties, says Johnson, they use mortal as a particle of amplification, as mortal tall, mortal little. So the meaning here may be" abounding in folly." Besides, his cote,1 his flocks, and bounds of feed, 2 Ros. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture? Cor. That young swain that you saw here but erewhile, That little cares for buying any thing. Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, Cel. And we will mend thy wages. I like this place, SCENE V. The same. Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others. SONG. Ami. Under the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me, 3 And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy, But winter and rough weather. [Exeunt. 1 i. e. cot or cottage: the word is still used in its compound form, as sheepcote in the next line. 2 In my voice, as far as I have a voice or vote, as far as I have the power to bid you welcome. 3 The old copy reads: "And turne his merry note." which Pope altered to tune, the reading of all the modern editions. Jaq. More, more, I pr'ythee, more. Ami. It will make you melancholy, monsieur Jaques. Jaq. I thank it. More, I pr'ythee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I pr'ythee, more. Ami. My voice is ragged;1 I know, I cannot please you. Jaq. I do not desire you to please me, I do desire you to sing. Come, more; another stanza. Call you them stanzas? Ami. What you will, monsieur Jaques. Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing. Will you sing? Ami. More at your request, 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, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues. Ami. 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 you. Jaq. 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. Who doth ambition shun, [All together here. Seeking the food he eats, And pleased with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither; Here shall he see No enemy, But winter and rough weather. 1 Ragged and rugged had formerly the same meaning. |