ACT II SCENE I | The Forest of Arden. | |
[
Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and two or three Lords,
like foresters
] |
DUKE SENIOR | Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, |
| Hath not old custom made this life more sweet |
| Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods |
| More free from peril than the envious court? |
| Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, |
| The seasons' 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 shrink with cold, I smile and say |
| 'This is no flattery: these are counsellors | 10 |
| That feelingly persuade me what I am.' |
| Sweet are the uses of adversity, |
| Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, |
| Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; |
| And this our life exempt from public haunt |
| Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, |
| Sermons in stones and good in every thing. |
| I would not change it. |
AMIENS | Happy is your grace, |
| That can translate the stubbornness of fortune | 20 |
| Into so quiet and so sweet a style. |
DUKE SENIOR | Come, shall we go and kill us venison? |
| And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools, |
| Being native burghers of this desert city, |
| Should in their own confines with forked heads |
| Have their round haunches gored. |
First Lord | Indeed, my lord, |
| The melancholy Jaques grieves at that, |
| And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp |
| Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. | 30 |
| To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself |
| Did steal behind him as he lay along |
| Under an oak whose antique root peeps out |
| Upon the brook that brawls along this wood: |
| To the which place a poor sequester'd stag, |
| That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, |
| Did come to languish, and indeed, my lord, |
| The wretched animal heaved forth such groans |
| That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat |
| Almost to bursting, and the big round tears |
| Coursed one another down his innocent nose |
| In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool | 40 |
| Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, |
| Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, |
| Augmenting it with tears. |
DUKE SENIOR | But what said Jaques? |
| Did he not moralize this spectacle? |
First Lord | O, yes, into a thousand similes. |
| First, for his weeping into the needless stream; |
| 'Poor deer,' quoth he, 'thou makest a testament |
| As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more |
| To that which had too much:' then, being there alone, |
| Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends, | 50 |
| ''Tis right:' quoth he; 'thus misery doth part |
| The flux of company:' anon a careless herd, |
| Full of the pasture, jumps along by him |
| And never stays to greet him; 'Ay' quoth Jaques, |
| 'Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens; |
| 'Tis just the fashion: wherefore do you look |
| Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?' |
| Thus most invectively he pierceth through |
| The body of the country, city, court, |
| Yea, and of this our life, swearing that we | 60 |
| Are mere usurpers, tyrants and what's worse, |
| To fright the animals and to kill them up |
| In their assign'd and native dwelling-place. |
DUKE SENIOR | And did you leave him in this contemplation? |
Second Lord | We did, my lord, weeping and commenting |
| Upon the sobbing deer. |
DUKE SENIOR | Show me the place: |
| I love to cope him in these sullen fits, |
| For then he's full of matter. |
First Lord | I'll bring you to him straight. |
[Exeunt] |