LITMIR.BIZ

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1. Lord.

      O yes, into a thousand similes.

      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]

      “’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 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

      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 contemplation?

       2. Lord.

      We did, my lord, weeping and commenting

      Upon the sobbing deer.

       Duke S.

      Show me the place.

      I love to cope him in these sullen fits,

      For then he’s full of matter.

       1. Lord.

      I’ll bring you to him straight.

       Exeunt.

       ¶

       William Hodges, p. — Samuel Middiman, e.

Scene II

       Enter Duke [Frederick] with Lords.

       Duke F.

      Can it be possible that no man saw them?

      It cannot be. Some villains of my court

      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.

      Hisperia, the princess’ gentlewoman,

      Confesses that she secretly o’erheard

      Your daughter and her cousin much commend

      The parts and graces of the wrastler

      That did but lately foil the sinowy Charles,

      And she believes, where ever they are gone,

      That youth is surely in their company.

       Duke F.

      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;

      And let not search and inquisition quail

      To bring again these foolish runaways.

       Exeunt.

       ¶

Scene III

       Enter Orlando and Adam, [meeting].

       Orl.

      Who’s there?

       Adam.

      What, my young master? O my gentle master,

      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

      The bonny 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.

      O, what a world is this, when what is comely

      Envenoms him that bears it!

       [Orl.]

      Why, what’s the matter?

       Adam.

      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 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

      Of a diverted blood and bloody brother.

      

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