And take upon command what help we have,
That to your wanting may be ministered.

Orlando. Then but forbear your food a little while,
Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn,
And give it food. There is an old poor man,
Who after me hath many a weary step
Limped in pure love; 'till be be first jufficed,
Oppressed with two weak evils, age and hunger,
I will not touch a bit.

Duke. Go, find him out,

And we will nothing waste, till your return. Orlando. I thank ye; and be blessed for your comfort. [Exit.

On Orlando's going out, the Duke says,

Thou seest, we are not all alone unhappy

This wide and universal theatre

Presents more woeful pageants, than the scene
Wherein we play.

Upon which allusion, Jaques gives a fine picturesque and dramatic description of life and character, in the following speech :

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 :
And then, the whining school-boy with his fatchel,
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then, the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eye-brow. Then, a foldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the Pard;
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel;
Seeking the bubble reputation,

Even 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 fixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered Pantaloon t,

• The old plays were divided into seven Acts. Warburton, ↑ Alluding to that general character in the Italian Comedy.

With spectacles on nofe, and pouch on fide;
His youthful hose well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again towards chilaish tremble, pipes,
And whiftles in his found. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childisiness, and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans tafte, sans every thing.

SCENE Χ.

Some melancholy reflections on the base vice and most heinous fin of ingratitude, are sweetly comprized in the following Air:

Blow, blow, the winter wind,
That'art not so unkind

As man's ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not fo keen,
Because thou art not feen;

Altho' thy breath be rude.
Heigh ho! heigh ho! unto the green holly;
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly';

Then heigh ho, the holly!
This life is moft jolly*,

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,

That doft not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot;
Tho' thou the waters warp,
Thy fting is not so sharp

As friend remembered not.

Heigh ho! &c.

No fituation of life is fatisfactory to us, there is something we like, in all, but none that we would chuse to take up with for better for worse. This impatience, this dissatisfaction, in the mind of man, proclaims aloud that this world was never designed as our place of reft; and to refer us for it to the grave, is but infidel mockery, surely...

• This line is left without a comment, in all the editions; nor am I able to fupply one upon it. Such a life as is here described, appears rather to be a fad, than a jolly one. I am as much at a loss, also, to guess why the holly is particularly in!

I am well aware, that after so serious a reflection, the following passage may be deemed too flight an illustration of the remark; but as it gave rise to it, I think in justice that I ought to quote it here; for even a straw is an argument of Providence, to the contemplative mind.

Corin and Touchstone.

Corin. And how like you this shepherd's life, Mr. Touch

ftone ?

Touchstone. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is naught. In refpect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life Now, in refpect that it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a fpare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my flomach.

The common fing fong of poetry is well observed upon, here; fuch verses, as Horace fays, a perfon may compose two hundred of, standing on one leg *,

..

without one thought to interrupt the fong." Rofalind, reading a paper written in her praise :

From the East to Western Inde,

No jewel is like Rosalind.

Her worth, being mounted on the wind,
Thro' all the world bears Rofalind.

All the pictures, fairest limned,

Are but black to Rofalind.

Let no face be kept in mind,

But the face of Rosalind.

Upon which Touchstone says,

11

:

:

I'll rhime you so, eight years together; dinners, and foppers, and fleeping hours, excepted. It is the right butter-woman's rate to market. This is the very false gallop of verses! Why do you infect yourself with them?

The different computations of time which are made by persons variously interested in its progref

• Stani pede in uno,

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fion,

fion, are well and humorously described in this place.

Rosalind and Orlando.

Rosalind. I pray you, what is't a clock ?

Orlando. You should ask me, what time o'day-there's no clock in the foreft.

Rosalind. Then there's no true lover in the forest; else, sighing every minute, and groaning every hour, would detect the lazy foot of time, as well as a clock.

Orlando. And why not the swift foot of time? Had not that been as proper ?

Rafalind. By no means, Sir. Time travels in divers paces, with divers perfons.-I'll tell you whom time trots withal, whom time ambles withal, whom time gallops withal, and whom he stands still withal.

Orlando. I prithee, whom doth he trot withal?

Rosalind. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, between the contract of her marriage, and the day it is folemnized. If the interim be but a se'nnight, time's pace is so hard, that it seems the length of seven years.

Orlando. Whom ambles time withal ?

Rosalind. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich man that hath not the gout; for the one fleeps easily, because he cannot study; and the other lives merrily, because he feels no pain: the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning; and the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury. These time ambles withal.

Orlando. Whom doth he gallop withal ?

Rosalind. With a thief to the gallows; for though he go softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too foon there.

Orlando. Who stays it withal ?

Rosalind. With lawyers in the vacation; for they sleep between. term and term; and then they perceive not how time moves.

Enter Rosalind and Celia.

Rofulind. Never talk to me I will weep.

Ceiña. Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to confider that tears do not become a man t.

Rosalind. But have I not cause to weep?

Celia. As good cause as one would defire; therefore, weep.

• By bard is meant bigb, which is the most fatiguing rate to a traveller. † She was then dressed in a male habit,

Rosalind.

Rofalind. His very hair is of the dissembling colour. Celia. Something browner than Judas's-Marry, his kisses are Judas's own children.

Rosalind. No, faith, his hair is of a good colour.

Celia. An excellent colour. Your chesnut was ever the only colour.

Rosalind. And his kising is as full of sanctity, as the touch of ho'y beard.

Celia. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana; a Nun of Winter's fisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them.

The abrupt commencement of this dialogue leads us to suppose, that it is but the continuation of one they had engaged in before their appearance in this scene, in which Celia had been endeavouring to quiet Rosalind's fears, upon her lover's having broke his promise of meeting her; and whether from being tired with her obstinacy, or refolving to try her fincerity, she here seems to join in her resentment, by agreeing with her in every thing; which has an effect very natural in all such cases, that the plaintiff immediately becomes defendant, whenever the person beloved happens to be censured by any one else but them, selves.

Hermione says,

My heart, tho' full of rage, was free from malice,
And all my anger but excess of love *.

And the danger of interfering between man and wife, I should hope arises from this principle. Resentments may interrupt affection; but they must rife to something more, to cancel one that ever has been tho roughly conceived.

SCENE XI.

Rosalind. Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.

This is a just thought, and it would be well if it were more attended to. No persons have a right to censure others, who are not free from blame themselves. This maxim, if extended to the strictness of

it, would filence all scandal, detraction, and re

Diftreft Mother.

:

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proach