As You Like It, Act 2, Scene 7

Duke Senior

I think he be transformed into a beast,For I can nowhere find him like a man.

I think he must have turned into an animal, since I can't find him anywhere in human form.

First Lord

My lord, he is but even now gone hence;Here was he merry, hearing of a song.

My lord, he left here just now. He was cheerful here, listening to 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.

If a man made entirely of disagreements is becoming musical, we will soon hear the heavens singing out of tune. Go find him and tell him I want to speak with him.

First Lord

He saves my labour by his own approach.

He saves me the trouble by coming here himself.

Duke Senior

Why, how now, monsieur? What a life is thisThat your poor friends must woo your company?What, you look merrily.

Well, how are you, monsieur? What sort of life is this, when your poor friends have to beg for your company? Why, you look cheerful.

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 sun,And 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.”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 hearThe 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 intermissionAn hour by his dial. O noble fool!A worthy fool! Motley’s the only wear.

A fool, a fool! I met a fool in the forest, a jester in a multicolored coat. What a miserable world! As surely as I live on food, I met a fool who lay down and basked in the sun, and criticized Lady Fortune in fine language, carefully chosen language, though he was only a jester. “Good morning, fool,” I said. “No, sir,” he said, “don't call me a fool until heaven has given me good fortune.” Then he pulled a sundial from his pocket and, looking at it with a dull eye, said very wisely, “It is ten o'clock. This shows us,” he said, “how the world goes along. Just an hour ago it was nine, and in another hour it will be eleven. And so, hour by hour, we grow and grow, and then, hour by hour, we rot and rot. And there's a story in that.” When I heard the jester reflecting on time like this, my lungs began to crow like a rooster, to think that fools could be such deep thinkers. I laughed without stopping for a whole hour by his sundial. What a noble fool! A worthy fool! A jester's coat is the only thing to wear.

Duke Senior

What fool is this?

Who is this fool?

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 biscuitAfter a voyage, he hath strange places crammedWith observation, the which he ventsIn mangled forms. O that I were a fool!I am ambitious for a motley coat.

Oh, what a worthy fool! Someone who has been a courtier and says that if ladies are young and beautiful, they have a gift for knowing it. His brain is as dry as the last biscuit left after a sea voyage, but its odd corners are crammed with observations, which he expresses in jumbled forms. Oh, I wish I were a fool! My ambition is to wear a jester's multicolored coat.

Duke Senior

Thou shalt have one.

You will have one.

Jaques

It is my only suit,Provided that you weed your better judgementsOf 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 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 hitDoth very foolishly, although he smart,Not to seem senseless of the bob. If not,The wise man’s folly is anatomizedEven by the squandering 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.

It's the only suit I ask for, provided you clear your better judgment of any overgrown notion that I am wise. I must also have freedom as broad as the wind's, to blow at anyone I please, as fools are allowed to do. And those who are most stung by my foolishness must laugh the most. And why, sir, must they do that? The reason is as plain as the road to the parish church. Anyone a fool strikes with a well-aimed joke acts very foolishly if, however much it hurts, he doesn't pretend he felt nothing. Otherwise, the wise man's foolishness is laid bare even by the fool's random shots. Dress me in my jester's coat. Let me speak my mind, and I will thoroughly cleanse the filthy body of this diseased world, if people will patiently take my medicine.

Duke Senior

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

Shame on you! I know what you would do.

Jaques

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

I'll bet you a small coin: what 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 th’ embossed sores and headed evilsThat thou with license of free foot hast caughtWouldst thou disgorge into the general world.

Terribly harmful, filthy sin, while condemning sin. You yourself have led a loose life, driven by desires as lustful as an animal's. All the swollen sores and festering evils you have caught while roaming freely, you would vomit out 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?What woman in the city do I nameWhen 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 neighbour?Or what is he of basest functionThat says his bravery is not on 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?

Why, who can speak out against pride and be said to accuse any particular person? Doesn't it spread as widely as the sea, until people's exhausted means of paying for it run dry? What city woman do I name when I say that city women wear clothes fit for princes on shoulders unworthy of them? Who can step forward and say I mean her, when her neighbor is just as guilty? Or what man with the lowest sort of job complains that his fine clothes cost me nothing, thinking I mean him, without making his own foolishness fit the point of my speech? There, then. How, then? What, then? Let me see how my words have wronged him. If they describe him rightly, he has wronged himself. If he is innocent, then my criticism flies like a wild goose that no one claims to own. But who is coming here?

Orlando

Forbear, and eat no more.

Stop, and eat no more.

Jaques

Why, I have eat none yet.

Why, I haven't eaten anything yet.

Orlando

Nor shalt not till necessity be served.

And you won't until those in need have been fed.

Jaques

Of what kind should this cock come of?

What breed does this rooster belong to?

Duke Senior

Art thou thus boldened, man, by thy distress?Or else a rude despiser of good manners,That in civility thou seem’st so empty?

Has desperation made you so bold, man? Or are you a rude fellow who despises good manners, since you seem to have none?

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 answered.

Your first guess was right. The sharp pain of utter desperation has stripped away my outward courtesy. Yet I was brought up in civilized society and have some manners. But stop, I tell you! Anyone who touches any of this food will die until my needs have been met.

Jaques

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

If a reasonable answer won't satisfy you, I must die.

Duke Senior

What would you have? Your gentleness shall forceMore than your force move us to gentleness.

What do you want? Your courtesy will win more from us than your force can make us willingly give.

Orlando

I almost die for food, and let me have it.

I'm almost starving to death. Let me have some food.

Duke Senior

Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.

Sit down and eat. You are welcome at our table.

Orlando

Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you.I thought that all things had been savage hereAnd 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 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.

You speak so kindly? Please forgive me. I thought everything here was savage, so I put on a stern, commanding face. But whoever you are, passing the slow hours without a care in this unreachable wilderness, under the shade of gloomy branches, if you have ever known better days, if you have ever lived where bells called people to church, if you have ever sat at a good man's feast, if you have ever wiped a tear from your eyes and know what it means to feel pity and receive it, let kindness be the force that wins you over. In that hope, I blush with shame and put away my sword.

Duke Senior

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 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.

It is true that we have seen better days, and holy bells have called us to church. We have sat at good men's feasts and wiped from our eyes the tears that sacred compassion brought there. So sit down peacefully, and freely ask for whatever help we have that can meet your needs.

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 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.

Then please wait a little before you eat, while, like a doe, I go to find my fawn and feed it. There is a poor old man who has limped after me through many weary steps out of pure love. Until he has eaten enough, weighed down as he is by those two weakening troubles, age and hunger, I won't touch a bite.

Duke Senior

Go find him out,And we will nothing waste till you return.

Go and find him. We won't use up any of the food until you return.

Orlando

I thank ye, and be blest for your good comfort.

Thank you, and may you be blessed for your kind comfort.

Duke Senior

Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy.This wide and universal theatrePresents more woeful pageants than the sceneWherein we play in.

You see, we are not the only unhappy people. This vast theater of the world puts on sadder shows than the scene we are acting 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;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 honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,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 pantaloon,With 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.

The whole world is a stage, and all men and women are only actors. They make their entrances and their departures, and one man plays many roles in his lifetime. His acts are the seven stages of life. First comes the infant, whimpering and throwing up in the nurse's arms. Then the whining schoolboy, with his schoolbag and clean morning face, crawling like a snail unwillingly to school. Then the lover, sighing like a furnace, with a sorrowful song written about his sweetheart's eyebrow. Then a soldier, full of strange curses and bearded like a leopard, touchy about his honor, hotheaded and quick to fight, chasing the fragile bubble of fame even into the mouth of a cannon. Then the judge, with a fine round belly stuffed with fattened chicken, stern eyes and a neatly trimmed beard, full of wise sayings and examples from current life. And so he plays his part. The sixth stage turns him into a skinny, foolish old man in slippers, with glasses on his nose and a purse at his side. The stockings he carefully saved from his youth are far too loose for his shrunken legs. His deep, manly voice turns back toward a child's high pitch, piping and whistling as he speaks. The final scene, which ends this strange, eventful story, is a second childhood and complete forgetfulness, without teeth, without sight, without taste, without anything.

Duke Senior

Welcome. Set down your venerable burden,And let him feed.

Welcome. Set down the honored old man you are carrying, and let him eat.

Orlando

I thank you most for him.

I thank you especially on his behalf.

Adam

So had you need;I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.

And you need to. I can hardly speak to thank you for myself.

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.

You are welcome. Start eating. I won't trouble you just yet with questions about what has happened to you. Give us some music, and sing, my good cousin.

Amiens (sings)

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,Thou art not so unkindAs 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.

Blow, blow, winter wind. You are not as cruel as human ingratitude. Your bite is not as sharp because you are unseen, although your breath is harsh.
Hey-ho, sing hey-ho for the green holly. Most friendship is a pretense; most love is nothing but foolishness. Then hey-ho for the holly! This life is full of joy.

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. [To Orlando.] Give me your hand,And let me all your fortunes understand.

If you are good Sir Rowland's son, as you have quietly assured me you are, and as my eyes confirm by seeing his likeness so faithfully drawn and living 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 as your master. Support him by the arm. [To Orlando.] Give me your hand, and tell me everything that has happened to you.