The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 50

Heigh-ho! sing, &c.

DUKE SENIOR. 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 That lov'd 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

ACT III. SCENE I.

The palace

Enter DUKE FREDERICK, OLIVER, and LORDS

FREDERICK. Not see him since! Sir, sir, that cannot be.

But were I not the better part made mercy, I should not seek an absent argument Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it: Find out thy brother wheresoe'er he is; Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more To seek a living in our territory.

Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine Worth seizure do we seize into our hands, Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth Of what we think against thee.

OLIVER. O that your Highness knew my heart in this!

I never lov'd my brother in my life.

FREDERICK. More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors; And let my officers of such a nature Make an extent upon his house and lands.

Do this expediently, and turn him going. Exeunt

SCENE II.

The forest

Enter ORLANDO, with a paper

ORLANDO. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love; And thou, thrice-crowned Queen of Night, survey With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, Thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway.

O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books, And in their barks my thoughts I'll character, That every eye which in this forest looks Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where.

Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree, The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she. Exit

Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE

CORIN. And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone?

TOUCHSTONE. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is nought.

In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd?

CORIN. No more but that I know the more one sickens the worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money, means, and content, is without three good friends; that the property of rain is to wet, and fire to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep; and that a great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art may complain of good breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred.

TOUCHSTONE. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court, shepherd?

CORIN. No, truly.

TOUCHSTONE. Then thou art d.a.m.n'd.

CORIN. Nay, I hope.

TOUCHSTONE. Truly, thou art d.a.m.n'd, like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side.

CORIN. For not being at court? Your reason.

TOUCHSTONE. Why, if thou never wast at court thou never saw'st good manners; if thou never saw'st good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is d.a.m.nation. Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd.

CORIN. Not a whit, Touchstone. Those that are good manners at the court are as ridiculous in the country as the behaviour of the country is most mockable at the court. You told me you salute not at the court, but you kiss your hands; that courtesy would be uncleanly if courtiers were shepherds.

TOUCHSTONE. Instance, briefly; come, instance.

CORIN. Why, we are still handling our ewes; and their fells, you know, are greasy.

TOUCHSTONE. Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? And is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say; come.

CORIN. Besides, our hands are hard.

TOUCHSTONE. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again. A more sounder instance; come.

CORIN. And they are often tarr'd over with the surgery of our sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are perfum'd with civet.

TOUCHSTONE. Most shallow man! thou worm's meat in respect of a good piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and perpend: civet is of a baser birth than tar- the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd.

CORIN. You have too courtly a wit for me; I'll rest.

TOUCHSTONE. Wilt thou rest d.a.m.n'd? G.o.d help thee, shallow man! G.o.d make incision in thee! thou art raw.

CORIN. Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get that I wear; owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness; glad of other men's good, content with my harm; and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck.

TOUCHSTONE. That is another simple sin in you: to bring the ewes and the rams together, and to offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a bell-wether, and to betray a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not d.a.m.n'd for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst scape.

CORIN. Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother.

Enter ROSALIND, reading a paper

ROSALIND. 'From the east to western Inde, No jewel is like Rosalinde.

Her worth, being mounted on the wind, Through all the world bears Rosalinde.

All the pictures fairest lin'd Are but black to Rosalinde.

Let no face be kept in mind But the fair of Rosalinde.'

TOUCHSTONE. I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners, and suppers, and sleeping hours, excepted. It is the right b.u.t.ter-women's rank to market.

ROSALIND. Out, fool!

TOUCHSTONE. For a taste: If a hart do lack a hind, Let him seek out Rosalinde.

If the cat will after kind, So be sure will Rosalinde.

Winter garments must be lin'd, So must slender Rosalinde.

They that reap must sheaf and bind, Then to cart with Rosalinde.

Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, Such a nut is Rosalinde.

He that sweetest rose will find Must find love's p.r.i.c.k and Rosalinde.

This is the very false gallop of verses; why do you infect yourself with them?

ROSALIND. Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree.

TOUCHSTONE. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.

ROSALIND. I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a medlar. Then it will be the earliest fruit i' th' country; for you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medlar.

TOUCHSTONE. You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest judge.

Enter CELIA, with a writing

ROSALIND. Peace!

Here comes my sister, reading; stand aside.

CELIA. 'Why should this a desert be?

For it is unpeopled? No; Tongues I'll hang on every tree That shall civil sayings show.

Some, how brief the life of man Runs his erring pilgrimage, That the streching of a span Buckles in his sum of age; Some, of violated vows 'Twixt the souls of friend and friend; But upon the fairest boughs, Or at every sentence end, Will I Rosalinda write, Teaching all that read to know The quintessence of every sprite Heaven would in little show.

Therefore heaven Nature charg'd That one body should be fill'd With all graces wide-enlarg'd.

Nature presently distill'd Helen's cheek, but not her heart, Cleopatra's majesty, Atalanta's better part, Sad Lucretia's modesty.

Thus Rosalinde of many parts By heavenly synod was devis'd, Of many faces, eyes, and hearts, To have the touches dearest priz'd.

Heaven would that she these gifts should have, And I to live and die her slave.'

ROSALIND. O most gentle pulpiter! What tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried 'Have patience, good people.'

CELIA. How now! Back, friends; shepherd, go off a little; go with him, sirrah.

TOUCHSTONE. Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage.

Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE CELIA. Didst thou hear these verses?

ROSALIND. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear.

CELIA. That's no matter; the feet might bear the verses.

ROSALIND. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse.

CELIA. But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name should be hang'd and carved upon these trees?

ROSALIND. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree. I was never so berhym'd since Pythagoras' time that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember.