DUKE SENIOR

Now my Coe-mates, and brother's in exile: Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Then that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril then the envious Court? Here feel we not the penalty of Adam, The seasons difference, as the I cy phange And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which when it bites and blows upon my body Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say This is no flattery: these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am: Sweet are the uses of adversity Which Like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious Jewel in his head: And this our life exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in every thing. Come, shall we go and kill us venison? And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools Being native Burghers of this desert City, Should in their own confines with forked heads Have their round banches goard. But what said Jaques? Did he not moralise this spectacle? Show me the place, I love to cope him in these sullen fits, For then he's full of matter. I think he be transformed into a beast, For I can no where find him, Like a man. If he compact of jars, grow Musical, We shall have shortly discord in the Spheres: Go seek him, tell him I would speak with him. Why how now Monsieur, what a life is this That your poor friends must woe your company, What, you look merrily. What fool is this? Thou shalt have one. Fie on thee. I can tell what thou wouldst do. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin: For thou thy self hast be a Libertine, As sensual as the brutish sting it self, And all the embossed sores, and headed evils, That thou with license of free foot hast caught, Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world. Art thou thus boldened man by thy distres? Or else a rude despiser of good manners, That in civility thou seemest so empty? What would you have? Your gentleness shall force, more then your force Move us to gentleness. Fit down and feed, & welcome to our table True is it, that we have seen better days, And have with holy bell been knowld to Church, And sat at good men's feasts, and wiped our eyes Of drops, that sacred pity hath engendered: And therefore fit you down in gentleness, And take upon command, what help we have That to your wanting may be ministered. Welcome, fallen too: I will not trouble you, As yet to question you about your Fortune's: Give us some Music, and good Cozen, sing. Blow, blow, thou winter wind , Thou art not so unkind, as men ingratitude Thy tooth is not so keen, because thou art not seen, although thy breath be rude. Heigh ho, sing heigh ho, unto the green holly, Most friendship, is feigning; most Loving, mere folly: The heigh ho, the holly, This Life is most jolly. Freize, freize, thou bitter sky that dost not bite so nigh as benefits forgotten: Though thou the waters warp, thy sting is not so sharp, as friend remembered not. Heigh ho, sing, &c. Dost thou believe Orlando, that the boy Can do all this that he hath promised? I do remember in this shepherd boy, Some lively touches of my daughters favour. And did you leave him in this contemplation? Go find him out. And we will nothing waste till you return. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son, As you have whispered faithfully you were, And as mine eye does his effigies witness, Most truly limned, and living in your face, Be truly welcome hither: I am the Duke That loved your Father, the residue of your fortune, Go to my Cave, and tell me, Good old man, Thou art right welcome, as thy Master's is: Support him by the arm: give me your hand, And let me all your Fortune's understand. Thou seest, we are not all alone unhappy: This wide and universal Theater Presents more woeful Pageants then the Scene Wherein we play in. Welcome: set down your venerable burr then, and let him feed. That would I, had I kingdoms to give with his. I Like him very well. By my faith, he is very swift, and sententious He uses his folly Like a stalking-horse, and un der the presentation of that he shoots his wit. If there be truth in sighed, you are my daughter. Oh my deer Niece, welcome thou art to me, Even daughter welcome, in no less degree. Welcome young man: Thou offerest fairly to thy brother's wedding: To one his lands withheld, and to the other A land it self at large, a potent Dukedom. First, in this Forest, let us do those ends That here weet well begun, and well begotten: And after, every of this happy number That have endured shrewed days, and nights with us, Shall share the good of our returned fortune, According to the measure of their states. Mean time, forget this new-falne dignity, And fallen into our Rustic Revelry: Play Music, and you Brides and Bridegrooms all, With measure heaped in joy, to that Measures fallen. Stay, Jaques, stay. Proceed, proceed: we'll begin these rights, As we do trust, they'll end in true delights. —