« PreviousContinue »
I will your very faithful feeder be,
Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and Others.
Ami. Under the greenwood tree,
Who loves to lie with me,
Unto the sweet bird's throat,
Here shall he see
Jaq. More, more, I pr’ythee, more.
Ami. It will make you melancholy, monsieur Jaques. Jag. I thank it. More, I pr’ythee, more.
I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weazel sucks eggs: More, I pr’ythee, more.
Ami. My voice is ragged;* I know, I cannot
Jag. I do not desire you to please me, I do desire you to sing: Come, more; another stanza; Call you them stanzas? Ami. What you will, monsieur Jaques.
Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing: Will you sing?
- ragged;] Our modern editors (Mr. Malone excepted) read rugged; but ragged had anciently the same meaning. VOL. III.
Ami. More at your request, than to please myself.
Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you: but that they call compliment, is like the encounter of two dog-apes; and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks, I have given him a penny, and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues.
Ami. Well, I'll end the song.–Sirs, cover the while; the duke will drink under this tree:-he hath been all this day to look you.
Jaq. And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is too dispútable for my company: I think of as many matters as he; but I give heaven thanks, and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come.
Who doth ambition shun, [All together here.
And pleas'd with what he gets,
Here shall he see
But winter and rough weather. Jaq. I'll give you a verse to this note, that I made yesterday in despite of
If it do come to pass,
any man turn ass, Leaving his wealth and ease, A stubborn will to please,
dispátable] Foi disputatious,
Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame ;*
Here shall he see,
Gross fools as he
Ami. What's that ducdame?
Jaq. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I'll go sleep if I can; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the first-born of Egypt.
Ami. And I'll go seek the duke; his banquet is prepar’d.
Enter ORLANDO and ADAM. Adam. Dear master, I can go no further: O, I die for food! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master.
Orl. Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee? Live a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little: If this uncouth forest yield any thing savage, I will either be food for it, or bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. For my sake, be comfortable; hold death awhile at the arm's end: I will here be with thee presently; and if I bring thee not something to eat, I'll give thee leave to die: but if thou diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said! thou look’st cheerily: and I'll be with thee quickly. Yet thou liest in the bleak air: Come, I will bear thee to some shelter; and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam!
ducddme ;] For ducdàme, Sir Thomas Hanmer, very acutely and judiciously, reads duc ad me, that is, bring him to me. Dr. Farmer thinks it is evidently a word coined for the nonce.
A table set out. Enter Duke senior, AMIENS,
Lords, and others. Duke S. I think he be transform'd into a beast; For I can no where find him like a man.
1 Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone hence; Here was he merry, hearing of a song.
Duke S. If he, compact of jars, grow musical, We shall have shortly discord in the spheres: Go, seek him; tell him, I would speak with him.
i Lord. He saves my labour by his own approach. Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur! what a life
is this, That your poor friends must woo your company? What! you look merrily.
Jaq. A fool, a fool! I met a fool i'the forest, A motley fool;—a miserable world! As I do live by food, I met a fool; Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, And rail'd on lady Fortune in good terms, In good set terms, and yet a motley fool. Good-morrow, fool, quoth I: No, sir, quoth he, Call me not fool, till heaven hath sent me fortune:* And then he drew a dial from his poke;
compact of jars,] i. e. made up of discords. & Call me not fool, till heaven hath sent me fortune :) Fortuna favet fatuis, is, as Mr. Upton observes, the saying here alluded to; or, as in Publius Syrus: “ Fortuna, nimium quem fovet, stultum facit."
And looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
Duke S. What fool is this?
if ladies be but young, and fair,
Duke S. Thou shalt have one.
It is my only suit;'
only suit;] Suit means petition, not dress.