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SILVIUS

       O, thou didst then never love so heartily:

       If thou remember’st 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,

       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.]

       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 batlet, and the cow’s dugs that her pretty chapp’d hands had milk’d: and I remember the wooing of a 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 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

       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.

       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.

       ROSALIND

       Peace, I say.—

       Good even to you, friend.

       CORIN

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

       ROSALIND

       I pr’ythee, 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 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:

       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:

       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.

       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 anything.

       ROSALIND

       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.

       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,

       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. Another part of the Forest

       [Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others.]

       AMIENS

       [SONG]

       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.

       JAQUES

       More, more, I pr’ythee, more.

       AMIENS

       It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.

       JAQUES

       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.

       AMIENS

       My voice is ragged; I know I cannot please you.

       JAQUES

       I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to sing. Come, more: another stanza. Call you them stanzas?

       AMIENS

       What you will, Monsieur Jaques.

       JAQUES

       Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing. Will you sing?

       AMIENS

       More at your request than to please myself.

       JAQUES

       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 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 you.

       JAQUES

       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. All together here.]

       Who doth ambition shun,

       And loves to live i’ the sun,

      

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