Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Welcome. Set down your venerable burthen,
And let him feed.
So had you need:
I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.
Welcome; fall to: I will not trouble you
As yet, to question you about your fortunes.
Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing.
Blow, blow, thou winter wind.
Thou art not so unkind
As man’s 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:
Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remember’d not.
Heigh-ho! sing, etc.
If that you were the good Sir Rowland’s son,
As you have whisper’d faithfully you were,
And as mine eye doth his effigies witness
Most truly limn’d 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 is.
Support him by the arm. Give me your hand,
And let me all your fortunes understand. Exeunt.
Act III
Scene I
A room in the palace.
Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, and Oliver. | |
Duke Frederick |
Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be: |
Oliver |
O that your highness knew my heart in this! |
Duke Frederick |
More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors; |
Scene II
The forest.
Enter Orlando, with a paper. | |
Orlando |
Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love: |
Enter Corin and Touchstone. |
|
Corin | And how like you this shepherd’s life, Master Touchstone? |
Touchstone | Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life, but in respect that it is a shepherd’s life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now, in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As is it a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd? |
Corin | No more but that I know the more one sickens the worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money, means and content is without three good friends; that the property of rain is to wet and fire to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep, and that a great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art may complain of good breeding or comes of a very dull kindred. |
Touchstone | Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court, shepherd? |
Corin | No, truly. |
Touchstone | Then thou art damned. |
Corin | Nay, I hope. |
Touchstone | Truly, thou art damned like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side. |
Corin | For not being at court? Your reason. |
Touchstone | Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never sawest good manners; if thou never sawest good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd. |
Corin | Not a whit, Touchstone: those that are good manners at the court are as ridiculous in the country as the behavior of the country is most mockable at the court. You told me you salute not at the court, but you kiss your hands: that courtesy would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds. |
Touchstone | Instance, briefly; come, instance. |
Corin | Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their fells, you know, are greasy. |
Touchstone | Why, do not your courtier’s hands sweat? and is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say; come. |
Corin | Besides, our hands are hard. |
Touchstone | Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again. A more sounder instance, come. |
Corin | And they are often tarred over with the surgery of our sheep: and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier’s hands are perfumed with civet. |
Touchstone | Most shallow man! thou worms-meat, in respect of a good piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and perpend: civet is of a baser birth than tar, the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd. |
Corin | You have too courtly a wit for me: I’ll rest. |
Touchstone | Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee, shallow man! God make incision in thee! thou art raw. |
Corin | Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man’s happiness, glad of other men’s good, content with my harm, and the greatest of my pride |