LITMIR.BIZ

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       Cor.

      Who calls?

       Touch.

      Your betters, sir.

       Cor.

      Else are they very wretched.

       Ros.

      Peace, I say. Good even to [you], friend.

       Cor.

      And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.

       Ros.

      I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold

      Can in this desert place buy entertainment,

      Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed.

      Here’s a young maid with travel much oppressed,

      And faints for succor.

       Cor.

      Fair sir, I pity her,

      And wish, for her sake more than for mine own,

      My fortunes were more able to relieve her;

      But I am shepherd to another man,

      And do not shear the fleeces that I graze.

      My master is of churlish disposition,

      And little reaks to find the way to heaven

      By doing deeds of hospitality.

      Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed

      Are now on sale, and at our sheep-cote 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.

       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,

      And thou shalt have to pay for it of us.

       Cel.

      And we will mend thy wages. I like this place,

      And willingly could waste my time in it.

       Cor.

      Assuredly the thing is to be sold.

      Go with me; if you like upon report

      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.

       ¶

Scene V

       Enter Amiens, Jaques, and others.

      Song

       [Ami.]

      Under the greenwood tree

      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

      No enemy

      But winter and rough weather.

      Jaq. More, more, I prithee more.

      Ami. It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.

      Jaq. I thank it. More, I prithee more. I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee more.

      Ami. My voice is ragged, I know I cannot please you.

      Jaq. I do not desire you to please me, I do desire you to sing. Come, more, another stanzo. Call you ’em stanzos?

      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 th’ 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.

       All together here.

      Song

      Who doth ambition shun,

      And loves to live i’ th’ sun,

      Seeking the food he eats,

      And pleas’d with what he gets,

      Come hither, come hither, come hither!

      Here shall he see

      [No enemy

      But winter and rough weather].

      Jaq. I’ll give you a verse to this note, that I made yesterday in despite of my invention.

      Ami. And I’ll sing it.

      [Jaq.] Thus it goes:

      If it do come to pass

      That any man turn ass,

      Leaving his wealth and ease

      A stubborn will to please,

      Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame!

      Here shall he see

      Gross fools as he,

      And if he will come to me.

      Ami. What’s that ‘ducdame’?

      Jaq. ’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.

      Ami. And I’ll go seek the Duke, his banket is prepar’d.

       Exeunt.

       ¶

Scene VI

       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.

      Orl. Why, how now, Adam? no greater heart in thee? Live a little, comfort a little, cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth forest yield any thing 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 a while at the arm’s end. I will here be with thee presently,

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