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;