Unclaim’d of any man. But who [comes] here?
Enter Orlando [with his sword drawn].
Orl.
Forbear, and eat no more.
Jaq.
Why, I have eat none yet.
Orl.
Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv’d.
Jaq.
Of what kind should this cock come of?
Duke S.
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?
Orl.
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.
Jaq.
And you will not be answer’d with reason,
I must die.
Duke S.
What would you have? Your gentleness shall force,
More than your force move us to gentleness.
Orl.
I almost die for food, and let me have it.
Duke S.
Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.
Orl.
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 command’ment. Bur what e’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 sate 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 S.
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 engend’red;
And therefore sit you down in gentleness,
And take upon command what help we have
That to your wanting may be minist’red.
Orl.
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 S.
Go find him out,
And we will nothing waste till you return.
Orl.
I thank ye, and be blest for your good comfort!
[Exit.]
Duke S.
Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy:
This wide and universal theatre
Presents more woeful pageants than the scene
Wherein we play in.
Jaq.
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 honor, 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 sixt 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 every thing.
Enter Orlando with Adam.
Duke S.
Welcome. Set down your venerable burthen,
And let him feed.
Orl.
I thank you most for him.
Adam.
So had you need,
I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.
Duke S.
Welcome,