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that I mean him,—but therein suits

       His folly to the metal of my speech?

       There then; how then? what then? Let me see wherein

       My tongue hath wrong’d him: if it do him right,

       Then he hath wrong’d himself; if he be free,

       Why then, my taxing like a wild-goose flies,

       Unclaim’d of any man.—But who comes here?

       [Enter ORLANDO, with his sword drawn.]

       ORLANDO

       Forbear, and eat no more.

       JAQUES

       Why, I have eat none yet.

       ORLANDO

       Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv’d.

       JAQUES

       Of what kind should this cock come of?

       DUKE SENIOR

       Art thou thus bolden’d, man, by thy distress:

       Or else a rude despiser of good manners,

       That in civility thou seem’st so empty?

       ORLANDO

       You touch’d my vein at first: the thorny point

       Of bare distress hath ta’en from me the show

       Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred,

       And know some nurture. But forbear, I say;

       He dies that touches any of this fruit

       Till I and my affairs are answered.

       JAQUES

       An you will not be answered with reason, I must die.

       DUKE SENIOR

       What would you have? your gentleness shall force

       More than your force move us to gentleness.

       ORLANDO

       I almost die for food, and let me have it.

       DUKE SENIOR

       Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.

       ORLANDO

       Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you:

       I thought that all things had been savage here;

       And therefore put I on the countenance

       Of stern commandment. But whate’er you are

       That in this desert inaccessible,

       Under the shade of melancholy boughs,

       Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time;

       If ever you have look’d on better days,

       If ever been where bells have knoll’d to church,

       If ever sat at any good man’s feast,

       If ever from your eyelids wip’d a tear,

       And know what ‘tis to pity and be pitied,

       Let gentleness my strong enforcement be:

       In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.

       DUKE SENIOR

       True is it that we have seen better days,

       And have with holy bell been knoll’d to church,

       And sat at good men’s feasts, and wip’d our eyes

       Of drops that sacred pity hath engender’d:

       And therefore sit you down in gentleness,

       And take upon command what help we have,

       That to your wanting may be minister’d.

       ORLANDO

       Then but forbear your food a little while,

       Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn,

       And give it food. There is an old poor man

       Who after me hath many a weary step

       Limp’d in pure love: till he be first suffic’d,—

       Oppress’d with two weak evils, age and hunger,—

       I will not touch a bit.

       DUKE SENIOR

       Go find him out.

       And we will nothing waste till you return.

       ORLANDO

       I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort!

       [Exit.]

       DUKE SENIOR

       Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy;

       This wide and universal theatre

       Presents more woeful pageants than the scene

       Wherein we play in.

       JAQUES

       All the world’s a stage,

       And all the men and women merely players;

       They have their exits and their entrances;

       And one man in his time plays many parts,

       His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,

       Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms;

       Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel

       And shining morning face, creeping like snail

       Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,

       Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad

       Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,

       Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,

       Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,

       Seeking the bubble reputation

       Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,

       In fair round belly with good capon lin’d,

       With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,

       Full of wise saws and modern instances;

       And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts

       Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,

       With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;

       His youthful hose, well sav’d, a world too wide

       For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,

       Turning again toward childish treble, pipes

       And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,

       That ends this strange eventful history,

       Is second childishness and mere oblivion;

       Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

       [Re-enter ORLANDO with ADAM.]

       DUKE SENIOR

       Welcome. Set down your venerable burden,

       And let him feed.

       ORLANDO

       I thank you most for him.

       ADAM

       So had you need;

       I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.

       DUKE SENIOR

       Welcome; fall to: I will not trouble you

       As yet, to question you about your fortunes.—

       Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing.

       [AMIENS sings.]

       SONG

       I.

       Blow, blow, thou winter wind,

       Thou art not so unkind

       As man’s ingratitude;

      

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