As You Like It: Act II

Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
Than that of painted pomp?

And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools,
Being native burghers of this desert city,
Should in their own confines with forkèd heads
Have their round haunches gored.

Today 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 sequestered stag
That from the hunter’s aim had ta’en a hurt
Did come to languish.

Today 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 sequestered stag
That from the hunter’s aim had ta’en a hurt
Did come to languish.

Did he not moralize this spectacle?

Then, being there alone,
Left and abandoned of his velvet friends:
"'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.

Can it be possible that no man saw them?
It cannot be. Some villains of my court
Are of consent and sufferance in this.

Hisperia, the Princess’ gentlewoman,
Confesses that she secretly o’erheard
Your daughter and her cousin much commend
The parts and graces of the wrestler
That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles,
And she believes wherever they are gone
That youth is surely in their company.

Do this suddenly,
And let not search and inquisition quail
To bring again these foolish runaways.

O, what a world is this when what is comely
Envenoms him that bears it!

This is no place, this house is but a butchery.
Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.

What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food,
Or with a base and boist’rous sword enforce
A thievish living on the common road?

Take that, and He that doth the ravens feed,
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,
Be comfort to my age. Here is the gold.

O good old man, how well in thee appears
The constant service of the antique world,
When service sweat for duty, not for meed.

But, poor old man, thou prun’st a rotten tree
That cannot so much as a blossom yield
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry.

But, poor old man, thou prun’st [prune] a rotten tree
That cannot so much as a blossom yield
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry.

Yet fortune cannot recompense me better
Than to die well, and not my master’s debtor.

I could find in my heart to disgrace my man’s apparel and to cry like a woman, but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat.

We that are true lovers run into strange capers.

Here’s a young maid with travel much oppressed,
And faints for succor.

That young swain that you saw here but erewhile,
That little cares for buying anything.

Come, warble, come.

’Tis a Greek invocation to call fools into a circle.

I am ambitious for a motley coat.

And they that are most gallèd with my folly,
They most must laugh.

Most mischievous foul sin in chiding sin;
For thou thyself hast been a libertine,
As sensual as the brutish sting itself,
And all th’ embossèd sores and headed evils
That thou with license of free foot hast caught
Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.

Most mischievous foul sin in chiding sin;
For thou thyself hast been a libertine,
As sensual as the brutish sting itself,
And all th’ embossèd sores and headed evils
That thou with license of free foot hast caught
Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.

Most mischievous foul sin in chiding sin;
For thou thyself hast been a libertine,
As sensual as the brutish sting itself,
And all th’ embossèd sores and headed evils
That thou with license of free foot hast caught
Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.

Most mischievous foul sin in chiding sin;
For thou thyself hast been a libertine,
As sensual as the brutish sting itself,
And all th’ embossèd sores and headed evils
That thou with license of free foot hast caught
Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.

Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea
Till that the weary very means do ebb?

Enter Orlando, brandishing a sword.

Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you.
I thought that all things had been savage here,
And therefore put I on the countenance
Of stern commandment.

But forbear, I say.
He dies that touches any of this fruit
Till I and my affairs are answerèd.

True is it that we have seen better days,
And have with holy bell been knolled to church,
And sat at good men’s feasts and wiped our eyes
Of drops that sacred pity hath engendered.

Set down your venerable burden,
And let him feed.

Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot.

If that you were the good Sir Rowland’s son,
As you have whispered faithfully you were,
And as mine eye doth his effigies witness
Most truly limned and living in your face,
Be truly welcome hither.

If that you were the good Sir Rowland’s son,
As you have whispered faithfully you were,
And as mine eye doth his effigies witness
Most truly limned and living in your face,
Be truly welcome hither.