SCENE VI. The forest
Enter ORLANDO and 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.
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 will give thee leave to die: but if thou diest
before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said! thou lookest cheerly, 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!
SCENE VII. The forest
A table set out. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and Lords like outlaws
I think he be transform'd into a beast;
For I can no where find him like a man.
My lord, he is but even now gone hence:
Here was he merry, hearing of a song.
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.
He saves my labour by his own approach.
Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this,
That your poor friends must woo your company?
What, you look merrily!
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,
And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock:
Thus we may see,' quoth he, 'how the world wags:
'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine,
And after one hour more 'twill be eleven;
And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,
And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot;
And thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear
The motley fool thus moral on the time,
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,
That fools should be so deep-contemplative,
And I did laugh sans intermission
An hour by his dial. O noble fool!
A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear.
What fool is this?
O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier,
And says, 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 biscuit
After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd
With observation, the which he vents
In mangled forms. O that I were a fool!
I am ambitious for a motley coat.
Thou shalt have one.
It is my only suit;
Provided that you weed your better judgments
Of all opinion that grows rank in them
That I am wise. I must have liberty
Withal, as large a charter as the wind,
To blow on whom I please; for so fools have;
And they that are most galled with my folly,
They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so?
The 'why' is plain as way to parish church:
He that a fool doth very wisely hit
Doth very foolishly, although he smart,
Not to seem senseless of the bob: if not,
The wise man's folly is anatomized
Even by the squandering glances of the fool.
Invest me in my motley; give me leave
To speak my mind, and I will through and through
Cleanse the foul body of the infected world,
If they will patiently receive my medicine.
Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do.
What, for a counter, would I do but good?
Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin:
For thou thyself hast been a libertine,
As sensual as the brutish sting itself;
And all the embossed sores and headed evils,
That thou with licence of free foot hast caught,
Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.
Why, who cries out on pride,
That can therein tax any private party?
Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,
Till that the weary very means do ebb?
What woman in the city do I name,
When that I say the city-woman bears
The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders?
Who can come in and say that I mean her,
When such a one as she such is her neighbour?
Or what is he of basest function
That says his bravery is not of my cost,
Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits
His folly to the mettle 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
Forbear, and eat no more.
Why, I have eat none yet.
Nor shalt not, till necessity be served.
Of what kind should this cock come of?
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?