SCENE VII. The forest. As You Like It  Shakespeare homepage  |  As You Like It  | Act 2, Scene 7 

 Previous scene  |  Next scene  SCENE VII. The forest. 

 A table set out. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and Lords like outlaws  DUKE SENIOR  I think he be transform'd into a beast; 

 For I can no where find him like a man. 

 First Lord  My lord, he is but even now gone hence: 

 Here was he merry, hearing of a song. 

 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. 



 Enter JAQUES  First Lord  He saves my labour by his own approach. 

 DUKE SENIOR  Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this, 

 That your poor friends must woo your company? 

 What, you look merrily! 

 JAQUES  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. 

 DUKE SENIOR  What fool is this? 

 JAQUES  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. 

 DUKE SENIOR  Thou shalt have one. 

 JAQUES  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. 

 DUKE SENIOR  Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do. 

 JAQUES  What, for a counter, would I do but good? 

 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 the embossed sores and headed evils, 

 That thou with licence of free foot hast caught, 

 Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world. 

 JAQUES  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  ORLANDO  Forbear, and eat no more. 

 JAQUES  Why, I have eat none yet. 

 ORLANDO  Nor shalt not, till necessity be served. 

 JAQUES  Of what kind should this cock come of? 

 DUKE SENIOR  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? 

 ORLANDO  You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny point 

 Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show 

 Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred 

 And know some nurture. But forbear, I say: 

 He dies that touches any of this fruit 

 Till I and my affairs are answered. 

 JAQUES  An you will not be answered with reason, I must die. 

 DUKE SENIOR  What would you have? Your gentleness shall force 

 More than your force move us to gentleness. 

 ORLANDO  I almost die for food; and let me have it. 

 DUKE SENIOR  Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table. 

 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 countenance 

 Of stern commandment. But whate'er you are 

 That in this desert inaccessible, 

 Under the shade of melancholy boughs, 

 Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time 

 If ever you have look'd on better days, 

 If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church, 

 If ever sat at any good man's feast, 

 If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear 

 And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied, 

 Let gentleness my strong enforcement be: 

 In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword. 

 DUKE SENIOR  True is it that we have seen better days, 

 And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church 

 And sat at good men's feasts and wiped our eyes 

 Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd: 

 And therefore sit you down in gentleness 

 And take upon command what help we have 

 That to your wanting may be minister'd. 

 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 

 Limp'd in pure love: till he be first sufficed, 

 Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger, 

 I will not touch a bit. 

 DUKE SENIOR  Go find him out, 

 And we will nothing waste till you return. 

 ORLANDO  I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort! 



 Exit  DUKE SENIOR  Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy: 

 This wide and universal theatre 

 Presents more woeful pageants than the scene 

 Wherein we play in. 

 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. 

 And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel 

 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' eyebrow. Then a soldier, 

 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 sixth age shifts 

 Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, 

 With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, 

 His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide 

 For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, 

 Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 

 And 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. 



 Re-enter ORLANDO, with ADAM  DUKE SENIOR  Welcome. Set down your venerable burthen, 

 And let him feed. 

 ORLANDO  I thank you most for him. 

 ADAM  So had you need: 

 I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. 

 DUKE SENIOR  Welcome; fall to: I will not trouble you 

 As yet, to question you about your fortunes. 

 Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing. 

 SONG. 

 AMIENS  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 remember'd not. 

 Heigh-ho! sing,  & c. 

 DUKE SENIOR  If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son, 

 As you have whisper'd faithfully you were, 

 And as mine eye doth his effigies witness 

 Most truly limn'd and living in your face, 

 Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke 

 That loved your father: the residue of your fortune, 

 Go 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. 



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