Duke Son Annotations

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Act 2, Scene 1 | Original Text | Modern Text | | Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and two or three LORDS, like foresters | DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and two or three LORDS enter, dressed like foresters. |

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15 | DUKE SENIOR Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,Hath not old custom made this life more sweetThan that of painted pomp? Are not these woodsMore free from peril than the envious court?Here feel we not the penalty of Adam,The seasons' difference, as the icy fangAnd 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 counselorsThat 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 everything. | DUKE SENIOR Now, my companions and brothers in exile, hasn’t experience made this simple life sweeter than a life of glittery pomp and circumstance? Aren’t these woods less perilous than the court, with all its jealousies and intrigues? Out here we feel the changing of the seasons, but we’re not bothered by it. When the icy fangs of the brutal, scolding wind bite and blow on my body, even though I’m shivering with cold, I can appreciate the weather’s honesty. I smile and think, “Thank goodness the wind doesn’t flatter me: it’s like a councilor who makes me feel what I’m really made of.” Adversity can have its benefits—like the ugly, poisonous toad that wears a precious jewel in its forehead. In this life, far away from the civilized world, we can hear the language of the trees, read the books of the running streams, hear sermons in the stones, and discover the good in every single thing. |

20 | AMIENS I would not change it. Happy is your Grace,That can translate the stubbornness of fortuneInto so quiet and so sweet a style. | AMIENS I wouldn’t change my situation for anything. You’re lucky, my lord, to be able to see the peace and sweetness even in what bad luck has brought you. |

25 | 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 headsHave their round haunches gored. | DUKE SENIOR Come, shall we hunt some deer for dinner? It bothers me, though, that these poor spotted innocents, who, after all, are this deserted city’s native citizens, should be gouged with arrows |

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Act 2, Scene 1, Page 2 | Original Text | Modern Text |

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| FIRST LORD Indeed, my lord,The melancholy Jaques grieves at that,And in that kind swears you do more usurpThan doth your brother that hath banished you.Today my Lord of Amiens and myselfDid steal behind him as he lay alongUnder an oak, whose antique root peeps outUpon the brook that brawls along this wood,To the which place a poor sequestered stagThat from the hunter’s aim had ta'en a hurtDid come to languish. And indeed, my lord,The wretched animal heaved forth such groansThat their discharge did stretch his leathern coatAlmost to bursting, and the big round tearsCoursed one another down his innocent noseIn piteous chase. And thus the hairy fool,Much markèd of the melancholy Jaques,Stood on th' extremest verge of the swift brook,Augmenting it with tears. | FIRST LORD Indeed, my lord, the gloomy Jaques grieves over these deaths. He swears that when you kill the deer, you’re a worse usurper than your brother was for banishing you. Today, Lord Amiens and I followed Jaques. We saw him lie down along a brook under an oak tree whose ancient roots peeked out from the earth. A poor, lonely stag who had been hurt by a hunter’s arrow came to rest there, where he heaved such heavy groans that the effort seemed to stretch his hide to bursting. Big, round tears ran piteously down the animal’s innocent nose. The hairy fool, watched closely by sad Jaques, stood on the very edge of the brook, adding his own tears to the streaming water. | 45 | DUKE SENIOR But what said Jaques?Did he not moralize this spectacle? | DUKE SENIOR And what did Jaques say? Didn’t he take the opportunity to draw a moral from the scene? |

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65 | FIRST LORD Oh, yes, into a thousand similes.First, for his weeping into the needless stream:“Poor deer,” quoth he, “thou mak’st a testamentAs worldlings do, giving thy sum of moreTo that which had too much.” Then, being there alone,Left and abandoned of his velvet friend,“'Tis right,” quoth he. “Thus misery doth partThe flux of company.” Anon a careless herd,Full of the pasture, jumps along by himAnd never stays to greet him. “Ay,” quoth Jaques,“Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens.'Tis just the fashion. Wherefore do you lookUpon that poor and broken bankrupt there?”Thus most invectively he pierceth throughThe body of the country, city, court,Yea, and of this our life, swearing that weAre mere usurpers, tyrants, and what’s worse,To fright the animals and to kill them upIn their assigned and native dwelling place. | FIRST LORD Oh, yes, he created a thousand comparisons. First, he spoke of the deer’s needless addition to the stream’s water supply. “Poor deer,” he said, “you’re just like a human: you add more to what already has too much.” Then, about the deer’s being alone, abandoned by his velvety companions: “It’s appropriate,” he said, “that a miserable creature should excuse itself from company.” Just then, a carefree herd of deer, having just eaten their fill of pasture grass, bounded along without stopping to greet their wounded brother. “Sure,” said Jaques, “hurry on, you fat and greasy citizens. Why stop and notice this poor, broken, bankrupt creature here?” In this way, he most insightfully pierced to the heart of the country, the city, the court, and even our lives out here in the forest, swearing that we are mere usurpers and tyrants, frightening and killing animals in their own homes. |
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Act 2, Scene 1, Page 3 | Original Text | Modern Text | | DUKE SENIOR And did you leave him in this contemplation? | DUKE SENIOR And did you leave him like this? | | SECOND LORD We did, my lord, weeping and commentingUpon the sobbing deer. | SECOND LORD We did, my lord, weeping and carrying on about the sobbing deer. |

70 | DUKE SENIOR Show me the place.I love to cope him in these sullen fits,For then he’s full of matter. | DUKE SENIOR Take me to him. I love to argue with him when he’s having one of these fits, because then he always has a lot to say. | | FIRST LORD I’ll bring you to him straight. | FIRST LORD I’ll bring you to him right away. | | Exeunt | They all exit. | | | |
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Act 2, Scene 2 | Original Text | Modern Text | | Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with LORDS | DUKE FREDERICK enters, with LORDS | | DUKE FREDERICK Can it be possible that no man saw them?It cannot be. Some villains of my courtAre of consent and sufferance in this. | DUKE FREDERICK Can it be possible that no one saw them leave? It cannot be. Some villains in my court must have known about this and let it happen. |

5 | FIRST LORD I cannot hear of any that did see her.The ladies, her attendants of her chamberSaw her abed, and in the morning earlyThey found the bed untreasured of their mistress. | FIRST LORD I can’t find anyone who saw her leave. Her ladies-in-waiting saw her go to bed, and early this morning the bed was empty. |

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15 | SECOND LORD My lord, the roinish clown, at whom so oftYour Grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.Hisperia, the Princess' gentlewoman,Confesses that she secretly o'erheardYour daughter and her cousin much commendThe parts and graces of the wrestlerThat did but lately foil the sinewy Charles,And she believes wherever they are goneThat youth is surely in their company. | SECOND LORD My lord, that dirty clown whom you laughed at so often is also missing. Hisperia, the princess’s gentlewoman, confesses that she overheard your daughter and her cousin praising the good looks and skills of the wrestler who recently beat the muscular Charles. Hisperia believes that, wherever they have gone, that young man is likely with them. |

20 | DUKE FREDERICK Send to his brother. Fetch that gallant hither.If he be absent, bring his brother to me.I’ll make him find him. Do this suddenly,And let not search and inquisition quailTo bring again these foolish runaways. | DUKE FREDERICK Send a message to his brother. Bring that swinger Orlando here. If he’s not around, bring his brother Oliver to me. I’ll make Oliver find him. Do this immediately, and don’t stop searching and interrogating until you’ve brought home these foolish runaways. | | Exeunt | They all exit. |
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Act 2, Scene 3 | Original Text | Modern Text | | Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting | ORLANDO and ADAM enter from opposite sides of the stage. | | ORLANDO Who’s there? | ORLANDO Who’s there? |

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15 | ADAM What, my young master, O my gentle master,O my sweet master, O you memoryOf old Sir Rowland! Why, what make you here?Why are you virtuous? Why do people love you?And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant?Why would you be so fond to overcomeThe bonny prizer of the humorous duke?Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.Know you not, master, to some kind of menTheir graces serve them but as enemies?No more do yours. Your virtues, gentle master,Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.Oh, what a world is this when what is comelyEnvenoms him that bears it! | ADAM My young master! Oh, my gentle master! My sweet master! Oh, you living memory of old Sir Rowland! What are you doing here? Why are you so strong and good? Why do people love you? And why are you noble, strong, and brave? Why would you be so foolish as to beat the moody duke’s favorite champion? Your praise has beaten you home. Don’t you know, master, that some men’s best qualities do them in? Yours are like that—complete and utter traitors to you. Oh, what a world this is, when even what is beautiful in a man poisons him! | | ORLANDO Why, what’s the matter? | ORLANDO Why, what’s the matter? |

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| ADAM O unhappy youth,Come not within these doors.
Within this roofThe enemy of all your graces lives.Your brother—no, no brother—yet the son—Yet not the son, I will not call him son—Of him I was about to call his fatherHath heard your praises, and this night he meansTo burn the lodging where you use to lie,And you within it. If he fail of that,He will have other means to cut you off.I overheard him and his practices.This is no place, this house is but a butchery.Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. | ADAM Oh, unlucky boy! Don’t walk through these doors. In this house lives a man who despises all that is good in you. Oliver, your brother—no, not your brother; and yet he’s the son—but no, I won’t call him the son—of that great man I was about to call his father, has heard about how well you did in the wrestling match, and tonight he’s planning on burning your house down, with you in it. And if he fails at that, he will find other ways to kill you. I overheard him and his plans. This is no place for you; this home is now a slaughterhouse. Hate it, fear it, do not come inside.
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Act 2, Scene 3, Page 2 | Original Text | Modern Text | 30 | ORLANDO Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go? | ORLANDO Then where would you have me go, Adam? | | ADAM No matter whither, so you come not here. | ADAM It doesn’t matter where, so long as it’s not here. |

35 | ORLANDO What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food,Or with a base and boist'rous sword enforceA thievish living on the common road?This I must do, or know not what to do.Yet this I will not do, do how I can.I rather will subject me to the maliceOf a diverted blood and bloody brother. | ORLANDO What, would you have me beg for my food? Or become a lowlife, sticking up travelers on the road? This is all that’s left for me to do, but I won’t do it. I’d rather give myself up to the hatred of a violent brother who refuses to recognize that we are brothers. |

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55 | ADAM But do not so. I have five hundred crowns,The thrifty hire I saved under your father,Which I did store to be my foster nurseWhen service should in my old limbs lie lameAnd unregarded age in corners thrown.Take that, and He that doth the ravens feed,Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,Be comfort to my age. Here is the gold.All this I give you. Let me be your servant.Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty,For in my youth I never did applyHot and rebellious liquors in my bloodNor did not with unbashful forehead wooThe means of weakness and debility.Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,Frosty but kindly. Let me go with you.I’ll do the service of a younger manIn all your business and necessities. | ADAM But don’t do that. I have five-hundred gold coins, which I carefully saved when I was working for your late father. I meant to use it for my retirement, to help me when my old body was lame and forgotten in some dark corner. But take the money, and God, who feeds even the raven and looks after even the sparrow, will comfort me in my old age. Here is the gold, I give it all to you. Let me be your servant. I know I may be old, but I’m strong and healthy, because in my youth I never drank nor lived recklessly. Therefore, my old age is like a blustery winter: cold, but kindly. Let me go with you. I’ll do everything a younger man could do for you. |
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Act 2, Scene 3, Page 3 | Original Text | Modern Text |

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| ORLANDO O good old man, how well in thee appearsThe constant service of the antique world,When service sweat for duty, not for meed.Thou art not for the fashion of these times,Where none will sweat but for promotion,And having that do choke their service upEven with the having. It is not so with thee.But, poor old man, thou prun’st a rotten treeThat cannot so much as a blossom yieldIn lieu of all thy pains and husbandry.But come thy ways. We’ll go along together,And ere we have thy youthful wages spent,We’ll light upon some settled low content. | ORLANDO Oh, good old man, you’re a great example of that old work ethic, where people worked because it was their duty, not just for the money. Your approach isn’t the fashion these days, when no one works hard except for a promotion, and, as soon as they’ve got it, they stop working. But in working for me, old man, you are pruning a rotten tree: despite all your pains and efforts, it won’t yield a single blossom. Come along, though. We’ll go together, and before we’ve spent all the savings of your youth, we’ll find a way to make a living. | 70

75 | ADAM Master, go on, and I will follow theeTo the last gasp, with truth and loyalty.From seventeen years till now almost fourscoreHere livèd I, but now live here no more.At seventeen years, many their fortunes seek,But at fourscore, it is too late a week.Yet fortune cannot recompense me betterThan to die well, and not my master’s debtor. | ADAM Go on, master, and I will follow you—with truth and loyalty to my last breath. From the time I was seventeen, over sixty years ago, I have lived in this house, but now I will live here no more. Many men seek their fortune at seventeen; at eighty, it’s a bit late. But fortune could not reward me better than to let me die well, without owing my master anything. | | Exeunt | They exit. |
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Act 2, Scene 4 | Original Text | Modern Text | | Enter ROSALIND for Ganymede, CELIA for Aliena, and TOUCHSTONE | ROSALIND (dressed as Ganymede), CELIA (dressed as Aliena), and TOUCHSTONE enter. | | ROSALIND O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits! | ROSALIND Oh Lord, my spirits are tired! | | TOUCHSTONE I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary. | TOUCHSTONE I wouldn’t care about my spirits, if my legs weren’t tired. | | ROSALIND 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. Therefore courage, good Aliena. | ROSALIND I’d insult my manly wardrobe by weeping like a woman if I didn’t have to comfort the weaker vessel here, as the jacket and hose ought to be brave for the sake of the petticoat. So, have courage, good Aliena. | | CELIA I pray you bear with me. I cannot go no further. | CELIA Please bear with me. I can’t go any further. | | TOUCHSTONE For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear you. Yet I should bear no cross if I did bear you, for I think you have no money in your purse. | TOUCHSTONE I’d rather bear with you than bear you. But if I did carry you, it would be no cross to bear, because I’m pretty sure you don’t have any money. | | ROSALIND Well, this is the Forest of Arden. | ROSALIND Well, this is the Forest of Arden. | | TOUCHSTONE Ay, now am I in Arden, the more fool I. When I was at homeI was in a better place, but travelers must be content. | TOUCHSTONE Yes, now I’m in Arden, and that makes me the bigger fool. When I was at home, I was in a better place. But travelers have to be content. | | ROSALIND Ay, be so, good Touchstone. | ROSALIND Yes, be content, good Touchstone. | | Enter CORIN and SILVIUS | CORIN and SILVIUS enter. | 15 | Look you who comes here, a young man and an old in solemn talk. | Look who’s coming: a young man and an old man, having a serious talk. |

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Act 2, Scene 4, Page 2 | Original Text | Modern Text | | CORIN That is the way to make her scorn you still. | CORIN What you’re doing is the way to make her scorn you continually. | | SILVIUS O Corin, that thou knew’st how I do love her! | SILVIUS Oh, Corin, I wish you could understand how much I love her! | | CORIN I partly guess, for I have loved ere now. | CORIN I’m sure I can guess. I have been in love too, you know. | 20

25 | SILVIUS No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess,Though in thy youth thou wast as true a loverAs ever sighed upon a midnight pillow.But if thy love were ever like to mine—As sure I think did never man love so—How many actions most ridiculousHast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy? | SILVIUS No Corin, since you’re old, you cannot guess—even if you were as dedicated a lover in your youth as there ever was, sighing and mooning all night long. If your love was anything like mine—and I’m sure that no man has loved as I love now—exactly how many ridiculous actions did your fantasizing lead you to? | | CORIN Into a thousand that I have forgotten. | CORIN Oh, a thousand of them, all of which I’ve forgotten. |

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35 | SILVIUS Oh, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily.If thou rememb’rest not the slightest follyThat ever love did make thee run into,Thou hast not loved.Or if thou hast not sat as I do now,Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress’s praise,Thou hast not loved.Or if thou hast not broke from companyAbruptly, as my passion now makes me,Thou hast not loved.O Phoebe, Phoebe, Phoebe! | SILVIUS Oh, then you never loved as wholeheartedly as me. If you can’t remember the stupidest little thing love made you do, you haven’t loved. Or if you haven’t sat as I do now, boring your listener with all your lover’s virtues, then you haven’t loved. Or if you haven’t broken away from human company, as my feelings now lead me to do, you haven’t loved. O Phoebe, Phoebe, Phoebe! | | Exit | He exits. |

40 | ROSALIND Alas, poor shepherd, searching of thy wound,I have by hard adventure found mine own. | ROSALIND Oh, poor shepherd! Listening to you speak of your wounded heart reminds me of my own pain. |

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Act 2, Scene 4, Page 3 | Original Text | Modern Text | | TOUCHSTONE And I mine. I remember when I was in love I broke my sword upon a stone and bid him take that for coming a- night to Jane Smile. And I remember the kissing of her batler, and the cow’s dugs that her pretty chopped hands had milked. And I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her, from whom I took two cods and, giving her them again, said with weeping tears, “Wear these for my sake.” We that are true lovers run into strange capers. But as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly. | TOUCHSTONE Me too. I remember when I was in love, I broke my sword on a stone, and told him to take that for coming at night to see Jane Smile. I remember kissing her washing stick and the cow’s udders that her pretty, chapped hands had milked. I remember wooing a pea plant in her name, and then taking two pea pods and begging her to wear them “for my sake.” Those of us who are really in love will do the strangest things. But everything that lives is mortal, including the foolishness of love. | | ROSALIND Thou speak’st wiser than thou art ware of. | ROSALIND You speak more wisely than you know. | | TOUCHSTONE Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I break my shins against it. | TOUCHSTONE Nah, I’ll never be aware of my own wit, until I break my shins on it. |

55 | ROSALIND Jove, Jove, this shepherd’s passionIs much upon my fashion. | ROSALIND By God! This shepherd’s condition is like my own. | | TOUCHSTONE And mine, but it grows something stale with me. | TOUCHSTONE And like mine, but I’m getting a little tired of it. | | CELIA I pray you, one of you question yond man, if he for gold will give us any food. I faint almost to death. | CELIA Please, one of you go ask that man over there if we can buy some food off him. I’m faint with hunger. | | TOUCHSTONE (to CORIN) Holla, you clown! | TOUCHSTONE (to CORIN) Hey, clown! | 60 | ROSALIND Peace, fool. He’s not thy kinsman. | ROSALIND Shut up, fool. He’s not your relative. | | CORIN Who calls? | CORIN Who’s calling? | | TOUCHSTONE Your betters, sir. | TOUCHSTONE Your superiors. | | CORIN Else are they very wretched. | CORIN If they weren’t my betters, they’d be pretty wretched indeed. |

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Act 2, Scene 4, Page 4 | Original Text | Modern Text | | ROSALIND Peace, I say. —Good even to you, friend. | ROSALIND (to TOUCHSTONE) Stop it, I say.—Good evening to you, friend. | 65 | CORIN And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. | CORIN Good evening to you, too, noble sir, and to all of you. |

70 | ROSALIND I prithee, shepherd, if that love or goldCan in this desert place buy entertainment,Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed.Here’s a young maid with travel much oppressed,And faints for succor. | ROSALIND Please sir, if love or money can buy anything in this empty place, tell us where we can rest and feed ourselves. We’ll pay you for the information. We have a young woman here who is very tired from traveling and faint with hunger. |

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80 | CORIN Fair sir, I pity herAnd wish, for her sake more than for mine own,My fortunes were more able to relieve her.But I am shepherd to another manAnd do not shear the fleeces that I graze.My master is of churlish dispositionAnd little recks to find the way to heavenBy doing deeds of hospitality.Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feedAre now on sale, and at our sheepcote now,By reason of his absence, there is nothingThat you will feed on. But what is, come see,And in my voice most welcome shall you be. | CORIN Dear sir, I pity the lady and wish—more for her sake than my own—that I was more able to help her. But I’m a hired hand: I don’t profit from the flocks I tend. My master is a brutish man and doesn’t care much if he gets to heaven by deeds of hospitality or not. Besides, his cottage, his flocks, and his grazing rights are on sale now, and since he’s not there, there’s nothing to eat at our house. But let’s see what’s on hand. If I have anything to say about it, you will be most welcome there. | | ROSALIND What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture? | ROSALIND Who wants to buy the flock and the pasture? | 85 | CORIN That young swain that you saw here but erewhile,That little cares for buying anything. | CORIN That young man who was just here. But he doesn’t really care about buying anything. | | ROSALIND I pray thee, if it stand with honesty,Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock,And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. | ROSALIND Please, if you can do it without taking advantage of the young man, buy the cottage, pasture, and flock for us, and we’ll pay you for it. |

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Act 2, Scene 4, Page 5 | Original Text | Modern Text | 90 | CELIA And we will mend thy wages. I like this place,And willingly could waste my time in it. | CELIA And we will raise your wages. I like this place. I could see myself wasting time here. |

95 | CORIN Assuredly the thing is to be sold.Go with me. If you like upon reportThe soil, the profit, and this kind of life,I will your very faithful feeder beAnd buy it with your gold right suddenly. | CORIN The thing is definitely going to be sold. Come with me. If you like what you see of the land, the profit that’s possible, and this rustic life, I’ll be your faithful servant, and buy the place with your gold right away. | | Exeunt | They all exit. |

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Act 2, Scene 5 | Original Text | Modern Text | | Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others | AMIENS, JAQUES, and others enter. |

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| AMIENS (sings) Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird’s throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither. Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. | AMIENS (singing) Whoever wants to lie with me, Under the greenwood tree, And turn his merry song To follow the sweet bird’s singing, Come here, come here, come here. Here you will find No enemy Besides winter and rough weather. | 10 | JAQUES More, more, I prithee, more. | JAQUES More, more, please, more. | | AMIENS It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques. | AMIENS It’s only going to make you sad, Monsieur Jaques. | | JAQUES I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more. | JAQUES I’m glad about that. More, please, more. I can suck sadness out of a song the way a weasel sucks eggs. More, please, more. | | AMIENS My voice is ragged. I know I cannot please you. | AMIENS My voice is ragged. I know I won’t please you. | 15 | JAQUES I do not desire you to please me.
I do desire you to sing.Come, more, another stanzo. Call you 'em “stanzos”? | JAQUES I don’t want you to please me, I want you to sing. Come on, another stanza—is that what you call 'em, “stanzas”? | | AMIENS What you will, Monsieur Jaques. | AMIENS Call them whatever you want, Monsieur Jaques. | | JAQUES Nay, I care not for their names. They owe me nothing. Will you sing? | JAQUES Nah, I don’t care what their names are; they owe me nothing. Will you sing? |

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Act 2, Scene 5, Page 2 | Original Text | Modern Text | 20 | AMIENS More at your request than to please myself. | AMIENS Okay, but only because you want me to. | | JAQUES Well then, if ever I thank any man, I’ll thank you. But that they call “compliment” is like th' 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. | JAQUES Well then, if I’ve ever thanked a man, I’ll thank you now. But two men complimenting each other is like two baboons getting together. Whenever a man compliments me, I feel like he’s a beggar and I just gave him a penny—an embarrassing exchange. Come on, sing—and those of you who won’t sing, shut up.
| | AMIENS 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. | AMIENS Well, I’ll finish the song I started.—Meanwhile, sirs, set the table. The duke will drink under this tree.—He’s been looking for you all day, you know. | | JAQUES And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is too disputable 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. | JAQUES And I’ve been avoiding him all day. He’s too argumentative for me. I think of as many things as he does, but I just thank heaven and don’t show off about it. Come, warble for me. |

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40 | EVERYONE (singing) Who doth ambition shun And loves to live i' th' sun, Seeking the food he eats And pleased with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither. Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. | EVERYONE (singing) Whoever shuns ambition And loves to live in the sun, Hunting the food he eats Pleased with what he finds, Come here, come here, come here. Here he will findNo enemy But winter and rough weather. | | JAQUES I’ll give you a verse to this note that I made yesterday in despite of my invention. | JAQUES I wrote a verse to this tune, though it’s not very imaginative. I’ll give it you. |

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Act 2, Scene 5, Page 3 | Original Text | Modern Text |

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50 | AMIENS And I’ll sing it. (taking paper fromJAQUES) Thus it goes:If it do come to pass That any man turn ass, Leaving his wealth and ease A stubborn will to please, Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame. Here shall he see Gross fools as he, An if he will come to me. | AMIENS And I’ll sing it. (taking a paper fromJAQUES) It goes like this:(sings) If it should come to pass That any man turns into an ass And leaves his wealth and ease Simply to please his stubborn will Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame. Here he will see Fools as stupid as he If he will only come to me. | | AMIENS What’s that “ducdame”? | AMIENS What’s that word “ducdame”? | | JAQUES '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. | JAQUES It’s a Greek invocation, calling fools into a circle. I’m going to take a nap, if I can—if I can’t, I’ll curse all the first-born children of Egypt. | | AMIENS And I’ll go seek the duke. His banquet is prepared. | AMIENS And I’ll go find the duke; his banquet is ready. | | Exeunt severally | They all exit in separate directions. |

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Act 2, Scene 6 | Original Text | Modern Text | | Enter ORLANDO and ADAM | ORLANDO and ADAM enter. | | ADAM Dear master, I can go no further. Oh, I die for food. Here lieI down and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master. | ADAM Dear master, I can’t go any farther. Oh, I’m dying of hunger. I’ll lie down here and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master. | | ORLANDO Why, how now, Adam? No greater heart in thee? Live a little, comfort a little, cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth forest yield anything 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 labor. Well said. Thou look’st 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 anything in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam. | ORLANDO Hey, what’s this, Adam? No braver than this? Live a little, be comforted a little, cheer up a little. If I can find any animal in this wild forest, I’ll either be food for it or bring it as food for you. You’re not as close to death as you think you are. For my sake, make yourself comfortable; keep death at arm’s length for a while. I’ll be back soon, and if I haven’t brought you anything to eat, I will give you permission to die. But if you die before I return, you’ll have made a mockery of my efforts. There we go! You look happier already, and I’ll be back quickly. But you’re lying out in the cold. Come, I’ll carry you to shelter. And you won’t die for lack of dinner, if there’s anything at all to eat in this desert-like forest. Cheer up, good Adam. | | Exeunt | They exit |

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Act 2, Scene 7 | Original Text | Modern Text | | Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and LORDS like outlaws. | DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and LORDS enter, dressed like outlaws. | | DUKE SENIOR I think he be transformed into a beast,For I can nowhere find him like a man. | DUKE SENIOR I think he must have turned into an animal, because I can’t find him anywhere looking like a man. | | FIRST LORD My lord, he is but even now gone hence.Here was he merry, hearing of a song. | FIRST LORD My lord, he just left here. He was happy here, listening to a song. | 5 | DUKE SENIOR 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. | DUKE SENIOR If that man, who’s made up of conflicts, becomes musical, then there must be something wrong with the universe. Go find him. Tell him I want to speak with him. | | Enter JAQUES | JAQUES enters. | | FIRST LORD He saves my labor by his own approach. | FIRST LORD He saved me the trouble: here he comes. |

10 | DUKE SENIOR Why, how now, monsieur? What a life is thisThat your poor friends must woo your company?What, you look merrily. | DUKE SENIOR Well, what’s going on, mister? What kind of life do you lead that your poor friends must beg for your company? What, you look amused. |

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| JAQUES A fool, a fool, I met a fool i' th' forest,A motley fool. A miserable world!As I do live by food, I met a fool,Who laid him down and basked him in the sunAnd railed 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.” | JAQUES A fool, a fool! I met a fool in the forest, wearing motley. What a miserable world! As sure as I eat to stay alive, I met a fool who was lying in the sun and complaining about his fortune. He spoke smartly, though he was a fool. “Good morning, fool,” I said. “No, sir,” he said, “don’t call me a fool until heaven has sent me my fortune.” |
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| And then he drew a dial from his pokeAnd, looking on it with lackluster 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 hearThe motley fool thus moral on the time,My lungs began to crow like chanticleerThat fools should be so deep-contemplative,And I did laugh sans intermissionAn hour by his dial. O noble fool!A worthy fool! Motley’s the only wear. | Then he pulled a watch from his bag and, looking at it solemnly, said, “It’s ten o'clock. This way, we can see how the world moves. Only an hour ago it was nine, and in another hour it will be eleven. And so, from hour to hour we ripen, and from hour to hour we rot. And there’s a story behind that.” When I heard that motley fool moralizing on the subject of time, I began to crow like a rooster. Hearing a fool speaking so contemplatively made me laugh non-stop for an hour. Oh, noble fool! A worthy fool! Motley is the only thing to wear. | 35 | DUKE SENIOR What fool is this? | DUKE SENIOR Who is this fool? |

40 | JAQUES O worthy fool!—One that hath been a courtierAnd 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 biscuitAfter a voyage, he hath strange places crammedWith observation, the which he ventsIn mangled forms. Oh, that I were a fool!I am ambitious for a motley coat. | JAQUES A worthy fool! He’s been a courtier and says, “If ladies are young and pretty, they always know it.” His brain is dry as a sailor’s biscuit and crammed with all sorts of strange observations, which he presents in mangled fashion. Oh, I wish I were a fool! I’m ambitious for one of those motley coats. | | DUKE SENIOR Thou shalt have one. | DUKE SENIOR You shall have one. |

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60 | JAQUES It is my only suit,Provided that you weed your better judgmentsOf all opinion that grows rank in themThat I am wise. I must have libertyWithal, as large a charter as the wind,To blow on whom I please, for so fools have.And they that are most gallèd 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 hitDoth very foolishly, although he smart,Not to seem senseless of the bob. If not,The wise man’s folly is anatomizedEven by the squand'ring glances of the fool.Invest me in my motley. Give me leaveTo speak my mind, and I will through and throughCleanse the foul body of th' infected world,If they will patiently receive my medicine. | JAQUES That’s all I ask from you, as long as you promise to rid yourself of any rotten idea that I am wise. Like the wind, I must have the freedom to blast anyone I please, as fools do. And whoever is most irritated by my foolishness has to laugh the hardest. Why, sir, must he? Well, it’s as plain as the beaten path to a parish church. Any person who thinks I’m satirizing them would be stupid if they didn’t pretend not to be hurt by my joke. Otherwise, they’d be admitting I was talking about them, and the fool would expose the wise man’s foolishness with a joke that wasn’t even meant for him. Dress me up in motley. Let me speak my mind, and I’ll rid the world of its sickness—if it will only tolerate my medicine. | | DUKE SENIOR Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do. | DUKE SENIOR To hell with you! I know what you’d do. | | JAQUES What, for a counter, would I do but good? | JAQUES What would I do besides good? | 65

70 | DUKE SENIOR 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 evilsThat thou with license of free foot hast caughtWouldst thou disgorge into the general world. | DUKE SENIOR You would be committing a wicked sin by chiding other people for sinning, because you yourself have been a terrible sinner, as carnal in your appetites as lust itself, and all the swollen pustules of sin that you acquired in your freedom you now want to burst and shoot back into the world at large. |

| JAQUES Why, who cries out on prideThat can therein tax any private party?Doth it not flow as hugely as the seaTill that the weary very means do ebb? | JAQUES But if I cry out against pride in general, how can anyone say I’m accusing a particular person? Aren’t we talking about a problem as vast as the sea, that keeps flowing until all the wealth in the world is almost used up by everyone showing off? |

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85 | What woman in the city do I name,When that I say the city-woman bearsThe 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 neighbor?Or what is he of basest functionThat says his bravery is not of my cost,Thinking that I mean him, but therein suitsHis folly to the mettle of my speech?There then. How then, what then? Let me see whereinMy tongue hath wronged him. If it do him right,Then he hath wronged himself. If he be free,Why then my taxing like a wild goose fliesUnclaimed of any man. But who comes here? | What woman in the city am I talking about when I say that the clothes on a city-woman’s unworthy back are rich enough to suit a prince? Who can say I mean just her when all her neighbors are exactly like her? And when some lowlife protests that his fancy clothes aren’t my problem, isn’t he basically admitting that I’m talking about him? Well, then. Tell me how I’ve wronged him. If I was right about him, he’s the one who’s done wrong. If he isn’t guilty of the faults I’m talking about, well then, my accusations fly by like wild geese, whom no one owns, since they don’t apply to any man. But who is this? | | Enter ORLANDO, with his sword drawn | ORLANDO enters with his sword drawn. | | ORLANDO Forbear, and eat no more. | ORLANDO Stop, and eat no more. | 90 | JAQUES Why, I have eat none yet. | JAQUES But I haven’t eaten anything yet. | | ORLANDO Nor shalt not till necessity be served. | ORLANDO And you won’t until the needy eat. | | JAQUES Of what kind should this cock come of? | JAQUES What kind of fighting cock is this? |

95 | DUKE SENIOR Art thou thus boldened, man, by thy distressOr else a rude despiser of good manners,That in civility thou seem’st so empty? | DUKE SENIOR Are you acting so boldly from hardship or because you despise good manners? Why do you seem so lacking in civility? |

100 | ORLANDO You touched my vein at first. The thorny pointOf bare distress hath ta'en from me the showOf smooth civility, yet am I inland bredAnd know some nurture. But forbear, I say.He dies that touches any of this fruitTill I and my affairs are answerèd. | ORLANDO You were right the first time. My piercing distress has stripped me of smooth manners. But I wasn’t raised in the forest, and I was somewhat well-bred. But stop, I say. Whoever eats this fruit before I’ve been taken care of dies. |

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Act 2, Scene 7, Page 5 | Original Text | Modern Text | | JAQUES An you will not be answered with reason, I must die. | JAQUES If you won’t listen to reason, I’ll have to die. | | DUKE SENIOR What would you have? Your gentleness shall forceMore than your force move us to gentleness. | DUKE SENIOR What would you like? Gentlemanly manners have more sway around here than force does. | 105 | ORLANDO I almost die for food, and let me have it. | ORLANDO I’m dying for food, so let me have some. | | DUKE SENIOR Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table. | DUKE SENIOR Sit down and eat, and welcome to our table. |

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120 | ORLANDO Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you.I thought that all things had been savage here,And therefore put I on the countenanceOf stern commandment. But whate'er you areThat in this desert inaccessible,Under the shade of melancholy boughs,Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time,If ever you have looked on better days,If ever been where bells have knolled to church,If ever sat at any good man’s feast,If ever from your eyelids wiped a tearAnd know what ’tis to pity and be pitied,Let gentleness my strong enforcement be,In the which hope I blush and hide my sword. | ORLANDO Do you really speak like such a gentleman? I beg your pardon. I thought everything out here was wild, which is why I acted so stern and commanding. But whoever you are—you who sit in the dark shade, losing track of time in this remote forest—if you have ever seen better days or been to church or sat at a man’s table for a feast or wiped a tear from your eye, if you know what it is to pity and be pitied, let my kindness and nobility persuade you. With that hope, I’ll blush at my rudeness and put away my sword. |

125 | DUKE SENIOR True is it that we have seen better daysAnd have with holy bell been knolled to church,And sat at good men’s feasts and wiped our eyesOf drops that sacred pity hath engendered.And therefore sit you down in gentleness,And take upon command what help we haveThat to your wanting may be ministered. | DUKE SENIOR We have in fact seen better days and been summoned to church by the ringing of the holy bell and sat at good men’s feasts and cried tears of pity—therefore, sit down and take whatever will satisfy your needs. |
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| ORLANDO Then but forbear your food a little whileWhiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawnAnd give it food. There is an old poor manWho after me hath many a weary stepLimped in pure love. Till he be first sufficed,Oppressed with two weak evils, age and hunger,I will not touch a bit. | ORLANDO Then please, put off your eating for a little while I, like a mother doe, find my fawn and bring it food. There is a poor old man who, purely out of love, has limped after me for miles. He’s burdened by two debilitating evils—age and hunger. Until he’s fed, I won’t eat a thing. | 135 | DUKE SENIOR Go find him out,And we will nothing waste till you return. | DUKE SENIOR Go find him. We won’t touch a thing till you return. | | ORLANDO I thank you; and be blessed for your good comfort. | ORLANDO Thank you, and God bless you for your hospitality. | | Exit | He exits. |

140 | DUKE SENIOR Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy.This wide and universal theaterPresents more woeful pageants than the sceneWherein we play in. | DUKE SENIOR You see, we’re not alone in our unhappiness. This wide, universal theater has more sad plays than our own little scene. |

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| JAQUES All the world’s a stage,And all the men and women merely players.They have their exits and their entrances,And one man in his time plays many parts,His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.Then the whining schoolboy with his satchelAnd shining morning face, creeping like snailUnwillingly to school. And then the lover,Sighing like furnace, with a woeful balladMade to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, | JAQUES The whole world is a stage, and all the men and women merely actors. They have their exits and their entrances, and in his lifetime a man will play many parts, his life separated into seven acts. In the first act he is an infant, whimpering and puking in his nurse’s arms. Then he’s the whining schoolboy, with a book bag and a bright, young face, creeping like a snail unwillingly to school. Then he becomes a lover, huffing and puffing like a furnace as he writes sad poems about his mistress’s eyebrows. In the fourth act, he’s a soldier, full of foreign curses, with a beard like a panther, eager to defend his honor and quick to fight. |
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| Seeking the bubble reputationEven in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,In fair round belly with good capon lined,With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,Full of wise saws and modern instances;And so he plays his part. The sixth age shiftsInto the lean and slippered pantaloonWith spectacles on nose and pouch on side,His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wideFor his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,Turning again toward childish treble, pipesAnd whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,That ends this strange eventful history,Is second childishness and mere oblivion,Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. | On the battlefield, he puts himself in front of the cannon’s mouth, risking his life to seek fame that is as fleeting as a soap bubble. In the fifth act, he is a judge, with a nice fat belly from all the bribes he’s taken. His eyes are stern, and he’s given his beard a respectable cut. He’s full of wise sayings and up-to-the-minute anecdotes: that’s the way he plays his part. In the sixth act, the curtain rises on a skinny old man in slippers, glasses on his nose and a money bag at his side. The stockings he wore in his youth hang loosely on his shriveled legs now, and his bellowing voice has shrunk back down to a childish squeak. In the last scene of our play—the end of this strange, eventful history—our hero, full of forgetfulness, enters his second childhood: without teeth, without eyes, without taste, without everything. | | Enter ORLANDO bearing ADAM | ORLANDO enters carrying ADAM. | 170 | DUKE SENIOR Welcome. Set down your venerable burden,And let him feed. | DUKE SENIOR Welcome. Set the honorable old man down and let him eat. | | ORLANDO I thank you most for him. | ORLANDO I thank you very much on his behalf. | | ADAM So had you need.—I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. | ADAM You had better do that. I can barely speak to thank you myself. | 175 | DUKE SENIOR Welcome. Fall to. I will not trouble youAs yet to question you about your fortunes.—Give us some music, and, good cousin, sing. | DUKE SENIOR Welcome. Eat. I won’t trouble you yet with questions about your situation.—Some music, please, and, good friend, sing. |

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195 | AMIENS (sings) 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 remembered not. 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. | AMIENS (singing) Blow, blow, winter wind. You aren’t as harsh As men’s ingratitude.Your teeth aren’t as sharp, As you are invisible, Even though your breath is an assault. Heigh-ho! Sing, heigh-ho! Sing to the green holly. Most friendship is false, most love simply foolishness. Then heigh-ho, to the holly. This life is really jolly. Freeze, freeze, you bitter sky, Your bite isn’t as painful As when good deeds are forgotten. Even though you can freeze water Your sting is not as sharp As the friend who is forgotten. Heigh-ho! Sing, heigh-ho! Sing to the green holly. Most friendship is false, most love simply foolishness. Then heigh-ho, to the holly. This life is really jolly. |

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205 | DUKE SENIOR If that you were the good Sir Rowland’s son,As you have whispered faithfully you were,And as mine eye doth his effigies witnessMost truly limned and living in your face,Be truly welcome hither. I am the dukeThat loved your father. The residue of your fortuneGo 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. | DUKE SENIOR If you really are Sir Rowland’s son, as you’ve just whispered to me—and I can absolutely see the likeness in your face— you are truly welcome here. I am the duke who loved your father. Come to my cave and tell me the rest of your story.—Good old man, you are as welcome here as your master is. Give him your arm. Give me your hand, and explain your situation to me. | | Exeunt | They all exit. |