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31. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. | Gives us free fcope; only doth backward pull

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I am undone; there is no living, none, If Bertram be away. It were all one, That I fhould love a bright particular ftar, And think to wed it, he is fo above me! In his bright radiance and collateral light Muft I be comforted, not in his sphere, Th' ambition in my love thus plagues itfelf: The hind that would be mated by the lion Muft die for love. 'Twas pretty tho' a plague, To fee him every hour; to fit and draw His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, In our heart's table: heart, too capable Ofevery line and trick of his fweet favour! But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy Muft fanctify his relics.

A parafitical, vain Coward

I know him a notorious liar;

Our flow defigns, when we our felves are dull.
Impoffible be ftrange attempts to thofe
That weigh their pain in fenfe, and do suppose
What hath been cannot be. Who ever ftrove

To fhew her merit, that did miss her love?
Character of a noble Courtier, by an old


King. I would I had that corporal foundness


As when thy father and myself in friendship
Firft tried our foldierfhip! He did look far
Into the fervice of the time, and was
Difcipled of the braveft. He lafted long;
But on us both did haggish age fteal on,
And wore us out of act. It much repairs me
To talk of your good father. In his youth
He had the wit which I can well obferve
To day in our young Lords; but they may jeft
Till their own fcorn return to them unnoted,
Ere thy can hide their levity in honour:
So like a courtier, no contempt or bitterness
Were in his pride or fharpnefs; if they were,
His equal had awak'd them: and his honour,
Clock to itself, knew the true minute when
Exception bid him fpeak; and at that time
His tongue obey'd his hand. Who were below
He us'd as creatures of another place, [him
And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks,
Making them proud of his humility.
In their poor praise he humbled: fuch a man
Might be a copy to thefe younger times,
Which,follow'dwell, would demonftrate them
But goers backward.
Would I were with him!-He would always


(Methinks I hear him now) his plaufive words He fcatter'd not in ears; but grafted them To grow there, and to bear; 'Let me not live' fteely-Thus his good melancholy oft began,

Think him a great way fool, folely a coward;
Yet thefe fix'd evils fit fo fit in him,
That they take place, when virtue's
Look bleak in the cold wind: withal, full oft


we fee

Cold wifdom waiting on fuperfluous folly. The Remedy of Erils generally in yourselves. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,

Which we afcribe to Heaven. The fated fky

On the catastrophe and heel of paftime, [he, When it was out-Let me not live, quoth ‘After my flame lacks oil; to be the snuff Of younger fpirits, whofe apprehenfive fenfes All but new things difdain; whose judg[ftancies 'Mere fathers of their garments; whofe conExpire before their fashions.-This hewifhed I, after

ments are


I, after him, do after him wish too,
Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home,
1 quickly were diffolved from my hive,
To give fome labourer room.

Idolatrous Worship.

-Thus Indian like,
Religious in mine error, I adore
The fun, that looks upon his worshipper,
But knows of him no more!

Mean Inflruments often fuccessful.
What I can do, can do no hurt to try,
Since you fet up you reft 'gainft remedy,
He that of greatest works is finisher,
Oft does them by the weakest minister;
So holy writ in babes hath judgment fhown,
When judges have been babes; great floods
have flown
From fimple fources; and great feas have
When miracles have by the greatest been de-
Oft expectation fails, and most oft there [ny'd.
Where moft it promifes; and oft it hits
Where hope is coldeft, and defpair moft fits.

Honour due to perfonal Virtue, not to Birth.
Strange is it, that our bloods, [together,
Whofe colour, weight, and heat, pour'd out
Would quite confound diftinction, yet ftand
In diff'rences fo mighty. If the be [off
All that is virtuous, fave what thou diflik'ft,
-A poor phyfician's daughter, thou diflik'ft
Of virtue for the name.-But do not fo-
From lowest place when virtuous things pro-

The place is dignified by the doer's deed.
Where great addition fwells, and virtue none,
It is a dropfied honour; good alone
Is good without a name; vileness is fo:
The property, by what it is, fhould go,
Not by the title. She is young, wife, fair,
In thefe, to nature fhe's immediate heir;
And thefe breed honour: that is honour's

Which challenges itfelf as honour's born,
And is not like the fire. Honours thrive
When rather from our acts we them derive
Than our fore-goers; the mere word's a flave
Debauch'd on every tomb, on every grave;
A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb,
Where duft and damn'd oblivion is the tomb
Of honour'd bones indeed.

Self-accufation of too great Love.
Poor lord is 't I
That chafe thee from thy country, and expofe
Those tender limbs of thine to the event
Of the none-fparing war? And is it I [thou
That drive thee from the fportive court, where
Waft fhot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
Offmoky mufkets? O you leaden meffengers,
That ride upon the violent fpeed of fire,
Fly with falle aim; move the fill-piercing air,
That fings with piercing, do not touch my


Whoever shoots at him, I fet him there:
Whoever charges on his forward breast,
I am the caitili that do hold him to it:
And tho' I kill him not, I am the caufe
His death was fo effected. Better 'twere

I met the raving lion, when he roar'd
With fharp constraint of hunger, better' twere
That all the miferies which nature owes
Were mine at once. No, come thou home,

Whence honour but of danger wins a fcar,
As oft it lofes all. I will be gone:
My being here it is, that holds thee hence.
Shall I ftay here to do it? No, no, although
The air of Paradife did fan the house,
And angels offic'd all I will be gone;
That pitiful rumour may report my flight,
To confolate thine ear.

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Till we ferve you; but when you have our
You barelyleave our thorns to prick ourselves,
And mock us with our bareness.

Mine honour's fuch a ring:
My chastity's the jewel of our house,
Bequeath'd down from many ancestors;
Which were the greatest obloquy i'th' world
In me to lose.

Cowardly Braggart.

Yet am I thankful: if my heart were great, 'Twould burft at this, Captain I'll be no more: But I will eat, and drink, and fleep as foft As captain fhall: fimply the thing I am (gart, Shall make me live. Who knows hi elfabrag. Let him fear this; for it will come to país, That every braggart fhall be found an afi. Ruft, fword! cool, blushes! and Parolles, live


Safeft in fhame! being fool'd, by foo!'ry
There's place and means for every man alive.)

The Rafhness of Youth excufed.

I befeech your majetky to make it
Natural rebellion, done in the blaze of youth,
When oil and fire, too strong for reafon's force,
O'erbear it, and burn on.

What's loft moft valued."
Prailing what is loft,
Makes the remembrance dear.
Against Delay.

Let's take the inftant by the forward top;
Th'inaudible and noifeless foot of time
For we are old, and on our quick'ft decrees
Steals, ere we can effect them.

Excufe for unreasonable Diflike,
At first
I fuck my choice upon her, ere my heart
Durft make too bold a herald of my tongue:
Where the impreffion of mine eye enfixing,
Contempt his fcornful prefpective did lend me,
Scorned a fair colour, or exprefs'd it ftolen,
Which warp'd the line of every other favour;
Extended or contracted all proportions
To a moft hideous object: thence it came,
That the whom all men prais'd, and whom


Since I have loft, have lov'd, was in my eye
The duft that did offend it.
Impediments ftimulate.
As "all impediments in fancy's courfe
Are motives of mere fancy."



WE have ftill flept together; [together;
Rofe at an inftant; learn'd, play'd, eat
And wherefoe'er we went, like Juno's fwans,
Still we went coupled, and infeparable.


SHAKSPEARE. And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools,
Being native burghers of this defert city,
Should in their old confines, with forked
Have their round haunches gored.
The melancholy Jaques grieves at that;
ift Lord. Indeed, my Lord,
And, in that kind fwears, you do more ufurp
Than doth your brother who hath banish'd
To-day my lord of Amiens and myself, [you.
Did fteal behind him, as he lay along
Under an oak, whofe antique roots peep out
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood:
To the which place a poor fequefter'd ftag,
That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt,
Did come to languifh: and, indeed, my lord,
Thewretched animal heav'dforthfuch groans,
That their discharge did ftretch his leathern

Fond youthful Friendship.
Celia. O my poor Rofalind, whither wilt
thou go?
Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee
I charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than
Rofalind. I have more cause. [I am.
Celia. Thou haft not, cousin. [Duke
Pr'ythee be cheerful: know'st thou not, the
Has banith'd me, his daughter?
Rofalind. That he hath not.
[the love
Celia. No hath not? Rofalind lacks then
Which teacheth me that thou and I are one:
Shall we be fundered? Shall we part, fweet
No, let my father feek another heir. [girl?
Therefore devife with me how we may fly,
Whither to go, and what to bear with us:
And do notfeek to take your change upon you,
To bear your griefs yourself,and leave me out:
For by this heaven, now at our forrows pale,
Say what thou canft, I'll go along with thee.

Beauty provoketh thieves fooner than gold.
Woman in a Man's Drefs.

Wer't not better,
Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did fuit me all points like a man?
A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh,
A boar-fpear in my hand, and (in my heart,
Lie there what hidden woman's fears there

I'll have a fwafhing and a martial outfide;
As many other mannith cowards have,
That do outface it with their femblances.
Solitude preferred to a Court Life, and the Advan-
tages of Adverfitv.

Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,
Hath not old cuftom made this life more fweet
Than that of painted pomp Are not these

More free from peril than the envious court?
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
The feafon's difference; as the icy fang,
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind;
Which, when it bites and blows upon my body,
Even till I fhrink with cold, I fmile and fay,
"This is no flattery;" thefe are counfellors,
That feelingly perfuade me what I amn,
Sweet are the ufes of adverfity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head:
And this our lite, except from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running

Sermons in ftones, and good in every thing.
I would not change it!

Amiens. Happy is your grace,
That can tranflate the stubbornness of fortune
Into fo quiet and fo fweet a ftyle!
Reflections on a wounded Stag, and on the melan-
choly Jaques.

Come, fhall we go and kill us venison ?


Almoft to bursting; and the big round tears
In piteous chace; and thus the hairy fool;
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
Augmenting it with tears.
Stood on th'extremeft verge of thefwiftbrook,

Cours'd one another down his innocent nofe

Did he not moralize this fpectacle?
Duke, f. But what faid Jaques ?

ift Lord. Oyes, into a thousand fimiles. Poor' deer, quoth he, thou mak'it a testament First, for his weeping in the needlefs ftream As worldlings do, giving thy fum of more To that which had too much. Then, being alone,

Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends;
The flux of company. Anon, a carclefs herd,
'Tis right, quoth he, thus mifery doth part
Full of the pafture, jumps along by him,
And never stays to greet him: Ay, quoth

Sweep on, you fat and greafy citizens;
'Tis just the fathion; wherefore do you look
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?
Thus moft invectively he pierceth through
Yea, and of this our life; fwearing that we
The body of the country, city, court,
Are mere ufurpers, tyrants, and what's worse,
In their affign'd and native dwelling-place.
To fright the animals, and kill them up,
D. J. And did you leave him in this con-
Upon the fobbing deer.
Amiens. We did, my lord, weeping and com-


love to cope him in thefe fullen fits,
D. J. Shew me the place;

For then he is full of matter.

Confpicuous Virtue expofed to Envy.

Adam. What! my young mafter? O my gentle

O my fweet mafter! O you memory
Ofold Sir Rowland! whywhat make you here?
Why are you virtuous? Why do people love


And wherefore are you gentle, frong, and va
Whywould you be fo fond to overcome liant?
The bony prifer of the humorousduke? [you.
Your praife is come too fwiftly home before
Know you not, mafter, to fome kind of men
Their graces ferve them but as enemies?
Nn 2


No more do yours; your virtues, gentle maf-1 Who laid him down, and bask'd him in the fun,
Are fanctified and holy traitors to you. [ter, And rail'd on lady Fortune in good terms-
Oh! what a world is this, when what is come- In good fet terms-and yet a motley fool.
Envenoms him that bears it!
[ly 'Good-morrow, fool,'quoth I: 'No Sir,'quoth

Refolved Honefly.

Orlando. What, wouldst thou have me go
and beg my food?

Or with a bafe and boisterous fword enforce
A thievifh living ca the common road?
This I must do, or know not what to
Yet this I will not do, do how I can;
I rather will fubject me to the malice
Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother.
Gratitude in an old Servant.


[fortune. 'Call me not fool, till Heaven hath fent me And then he drew a dial from his poke, And, looking on it with lack-luftre eye, Says, very wifely, 'It is ten o'clock: [wags: do-Thus may we fee,' quoth he, 'how the world "Tis but an hour ago fince it was nine; 'And after one hour more 'twill be eleven; 'And fo from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, 'And then from hour to hour we rot and rot, And thereby hangsa tale.' When I did hear The motly fool thus moral on the time, My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, That fools fhould be fo deep contemplative: And I did laugh, fans intermiffion, An hour by his dial.

Adam. But do not fo; I have five hundred


Duke. What fool is this?
[a courtier,
Jaques. Oworthy fool! one that hath been
And fays, if ladies be but young and fair,
They have the gift to know it: and in his brain,
Which is as dry as the remainder bifcuit
After a voyage, he hath ftrange places


The thrifty hire I fav'd under your father,
Which I did store, to be my fofter nurse
When fervice fhould in myold limbs lie lame,
And unregarded age in corners thrown.
Take that; and He that doth the ravens feed,
Yea, providently caters for the fparrow,
Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold;
All this I give you: let me be your fervant:
Tho' I look old, yet I am ftrong and lufty;
For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood;
Nor did I with unbafhful forehead woo
With obfervation, the which he vents
The means of weakness and debility : In mangled forms. Oh that I were a fool!
Thefore my age is as a lufty winter,
I am ambitious for a motley coat!
Frofty but kindly. Let me go with you,
A Fool's Liberty of Speech.
I'll do the fervice of a younger man,
Duke. Thou fhalt have one.
In all your bufinefs and neceffities. [appears
Jaques. It is my only fuit:
Orlando. Oh! good old man, how well in thee Provided that you weed your better judg
The conftant fervice of the antique world, Of all opinion, that grows rank in them,
When fervants fweat for duty, not for meed! That I am wife. I must have liberty
Thou art not for the fashion of thefe times, Withal; as large a charter as the wind,
Where none will fweat but for promotion;
And, having that, do choak their fervice up, And they that are moft galled with my folly,
To blow on whom I pleafe; for fo fools have:
Even with the having. It is not fo with thee-They moft muft laugh. And why, Sir, mufthey
But, poor old man, thou prun'ft a rotten tree,
That cannot fo much as a bloom yield,
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry.
But come thy ways, we'll go along together,
And ere we have thy youthful wages fpent,
We'll light upon fome fettled low content.
Adam. Mafter, go on; and I will follow thee,
To the laft gafp, with truth and loyalty-
From seventeen years till now almost fourfcore
Here lived I, but now live here no more.
At seventeen years many their fortune feek,
But at fourfcore it is too late a week;
Yet fortune cannot recompenfe me better
Than to die well, and not my master's debtor,
Lover defcribed.

Oh thou didst then ne'er love fo heartily.
If thou remember'ft not the flighteft folly
That ever love did make thee run into
Thou haft not lov'd

Or if thou haft not fate as I do now,
Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
Thou haft not lov'd-

Or if thou haft not broke from company
Abruptly, as my paffion now makes me,
Thou haft not lov'd-

The why is plain as way to parish-church:
He, whom a fool doth very wifely hit,
Not to feem fenfelefs of the bob. If not,
Doth very foolishly, although he fmart,
The wife man's folly is anatomiz'd

Inveft me in my motley; give me leave through
Even by the fquandering glances of the fool.
Cleanfe the foul body of th'infected world,
To fpeak my mind, and I will through and
If they will patiently receive my medicine.
Duke. Fie on thee-1 can tell what thou
[but good?

wouldst do.

Jaques. What, for a counter, would I do
Duke. Moft mifchievous foul fin in chiding
For thou thyfelf haft been a libertine, [in
As fenfual as the brutish fting itself:
And all th'imboffed fores and headedevils,
That thou with licence of freefoot haft caught,
Wouldst thou difgorge into the general world.
An Apology for Satire.

Jaques. Why, who cries out on pride, That can therein tax any private party? Doth it not flow as hugely as the fea, Till that the very means do ebb? What woman in the city do I name, When that I fay, the city woman bears Jaques. As I do live by food, I met a fool; The cost of princes on unworthy fhoulders?

Defcription of a Fool, and his Morals on the Time.


Who can come in and fay that I mean her,
When fuch a one as fhe, fuch is her neighbour?
Or what is he of bafett function,
That fays, his bravery is not on my coft;
(Thinking that I mean him) but therein fuits
His folly to the metal of my fpeech? [wherein
There then, how then? What then? let me fee
My tongue hath wrong'd him. If it do him

Then he hath wrong'd himself. If he be free,
Why, then, my taxing, like a wild goofe, flies
Unclaim'd of any man.

Diftrefs prevents Ceremony.

The thorny point

Of bare diftrefs hath ta'en from me the fhow Offmooth civility.

A tender Petition and Reply. Orlando. Speak you fo gently? Pardon me, I pray you:

I thought that all things had been favage here;
And therefore put I on the countenance
Of Sterncommandment. But whate'er you are,
That in this defert inacceffible,

Under the shade of melancholy boughs,
Lofe 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
If ever fat atany good man's feaft; [church;
If ever from your eyelids wip'd a tear,
And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied-
Let gentleness my ftrong enforcement be;
In the which hope I bluth, and hide my fword.
Duke. True it is that we have feen better days,
And have with holy bell been knoll'd to

And fat at good men's feafts; andwip'd our eyes
Of drops that facred pity hath engender'd;
And therefore fit you down in gentleness,
And take upon command what help we have,
That toyourwanting may be minifter'd. [while,
Orlando. Then but forbear your food a little
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 firft fuffic'd,
Opprefs'dwith twoweak evils, age and hunger,

Seeking the bubble reputation [juftice,
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the
In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,
With eyes fevere, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wife faws and modern inftances,
And fo he plays his part. The fixth age shifts
Into the lean and flipper'd pantaloon,
With fpectacles on's nofe and pouch on's fide;
Hisyouthful hofe, well fav'd,a world too wide
For his fhrunk thanks; and his big manlyvoice,
Turning again towards childish treble, pipes
And whiftles in his found. Laft fcene of all,
That ends this ftrange eventful history,
Is fecond childifhnefs, and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, fans eyes, fans tafte, fans everything.
Ingratitude. A Song.

Blow, blow, thou winter-wind,
Thou art not fo unkind

As man's ingratitude:
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,

Although thy breath be rude.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter fky,
Thou doft not bite fo nigh

As benefits forgot:
Tho' thou the waters warp,
Thy fting is not fo fharp

As friend remember'd not.
Scornful Love.

Sylvius. The common executioner, Whofe heart th' accuftom'd fight of death makes hard,

Falls not the axe upon the humble neck, But first begs pardon: will you sterner be Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?

Phabe. I would not be thy executioner: I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. Thou tell'ft me there is murder in mine eye; 'Tis pretty, fure, and very probable, [things, That eyes, that are the frail'ft and fofteft Who fhut their coward gates on atomies, Now I do frown on thee with all my heart; Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers! And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them Now counterfeit to fwoon; why, now fall [down; Or, if thou canst not,O,for fhame, for fhame, Thou feeft we are not all alone unhappy-Lienot, to faymine eyes are murderers. [thee. Now fhew the wound mine eye hath made in

I will not touch a bit!

The World compared to a Stage.

This wide and univerfal theatre

kill thee:

Prefents more woeful pageants than the fcene Scratch thee but with a pin,and there remains Wherein we play.

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 feven ages. At first, the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms: And then the whining fchool-boy, with his


And fhining morning face, creeping like fnail Une illingly to fchool. And then the lover; Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his miftrefs's eye-brow. Then the foldier,

Full of ftrange oaths,and bearded likethepard, Jealousin honour,fudden and quick in quarrel,

Some fear of it; lean but upon a rush,
The cicatrice and capable impreffure [eyes,
Thy palm fome moment keeps: but now mine
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not;
Nor, I am fure, there is no force in eyes
That can do hurt to any.
O dear Phoebe,
If ever (as that ever may be near)
You meet in fome fresh cheek the power of
Then fhall you know the wounds invisible
That Love's keen arrows make.

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