The Works of Shakespeare

pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own safety, and give over this attempt.

Ros. Do, young sir: your reputation shall not therefore be misprised. We will make it our suit to the duke, that the wrestling might not go forward.

Orl. I beseech you, punish me not with your hard thoughts, wherein I confess me much guilty, to deny so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let your fair eyes, and gentle wishes, go with me to my trial: wherein if I be foiled, there is but one shamed that was never gracious; if killed, but one dead that is willing to be so. I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me; the world no injury, for in it I have nothing; only in the world I fill up a place, which may be better supplied when I have made it empty.

Ros. The little strength that I have, I would it were with you.

Cel. And mine, to eke out hers.

Ros. Fare you well. Pray heaven, I be deceived in you!

Cel. Your heart's desires be with you.

Cha. Come; where is this young gallant, that is so desirous to lie with his mother earth?

Orl. Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working.

Duke F. You shall try but one fall.

Cha. No, I warrant your grace, you shall not entreat him to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him from a first.

Orl. You mean to mock me after you should not have mocked me before but come your ways.

Ros. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man! Cel. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the leg. [CHARLES and ORLANDO wrestle. Ros. O, excellent young man!

Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should down. [CHARLES is thrown. Shout.

Duke F. No more, no more. Orl. Yes, I beseech your grace: I am not yet well breathed.

Duke F. How dost thou, Charles ?

Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord. Duke F. Bear him away. [CHARLES is borne out. What is thy name, young man?

Orl. Orlando, my liege: the youngest son of sir Rowland de Bois.

Duke F. I would, thou hadst been son to some man else.

The world esteem'd thy father honourable,
But I did find him still mine enemy:

Thou shouldst have better pleas'd me with this deed,
Hadst thou descended from another house.
But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth.
I would thou hadst told me of another father.

[Exeunt Duke FRED. Train, and LE BEAU.
Cel. Were I my father, coz, would I do this?
Orl. I am more proud to be sir Rowland's son,
His youngest son, and would not change that calling,
To be adopted heir to Frederick.

Ros. My father lov'd sir Rowland as his soul,
And all the world was of my father's mind.
Had I before known this young man his son,
I should have given him tears unto entreaties,
Ere he should thus have ventur'd.

If you do keep your promises in love
But justly, as you have exceeded all promise,
Your mistress shall be happy.
Ros.
Gentleman,

[Giving him a chain.

Wear this for me, one out of suits with fortune,
That could give more, but that her hand lacks means.—
Shall we go, coz?
Cel.
Ay.-Fare you well, fair gentleman.
Orl. Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts
Are all thrown down, and that which here stands up
Is but a quintaine1, a mere lifeless block.

Ros. He calls us back. My pride fell with my fortunes;
I'll ask him what he would.—Did you call, sir?—
Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown
More than your enemies.
Will you go, coz ?

Cel.

Ros. Have with you.-Fare you well.

[Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA. Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue ?

I cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference.
Re-enter LE BEAU.

O, poor Orlando! thou art overthrown.
Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee.
Le Beau. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you
To leave this place. Albeit you have deserv'd
High commendation, true applause, and love,
Yet such is now the duke's condition,
That he misconstrues all that you have done.
The duke is humorous: what he is, indeed,
More suits you to conceive, than me to speak of.

Orl. I thank you, sir; and, pray you, tell me this:
Which of the two was daughter of the duke,
That here was at the wrestling?

Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners;

But yet, indeed, the shorter is his daughter:
The other is daughter to the banish'd duke,
And here detain'd by her usurping uncle,
To keep his daughter company; whose loves
Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters.
But I can tell you, that of late this duke
Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece,
Grounded upon no other argument,
But that the people praise her for her virtues,
And pity her for her good father's sake;
And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady
Will suddenly break forth.-Sir, fare you well :
Hereafter, in a better world than this,

I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.
Orl. I rest much bounden to you: fare you well.
[Exit LE BEAU.

Thus must I from the smoke into the smother;
From tyrant duke, unto a tyrant brother.—
But heavenly Rosalind !

SCENE III.-A Room in the Palace.
Enter CELIA and ROSALIND.

[Exit.

Cel. Why, cousin; why, Rosalind.-Cupid have mercy!-Not a word?

Ros. Not one to throw at a dog.

Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs; throw some of them at me: come, lame me with reasons.

Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up, when the one should be lamed with reasons, and the other mad without any.

Cel. But is all this for your father?

1 A shield fastened to a pole, or a puppet, used as a mark in tilting. 2 smaller in f. e. Pope also made the correction.

Ros. No, some of it for my father's child. O, how | And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, full of briars is this working-day world!

Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery: if we walk not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats will catch them.

Ros. I could shake them off my coat: these burs are in my heart.

Cel. Hem them away.

Ros. I would try, if I could cry hem, and have him.
Cel. Come, come; wrestle with thy affections.
Ros. O they take the part of a better wrestler than
myself.

Cel. O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in despite of a fall.-But, turning these jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest. Is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so strong a liking with old sir Rowland's youngest son?

Ros. The duke my father lov'd his father dearly. Cel. Doth it therefore ensue, that you should love his son dearly? By this kind of chase, I should hate him, for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando.

Ros. No 'faith, hate him not, for my sake.

Cel. Why should I not? doth he not deserve well? Ros. Let me love him for that; and do you love him, because I do.

Enter Duke FREDERICK, with Lords.

Look, here comes the duke.

Cel. With his eyes full of anger.

Still we went coupled, and inseparate.3

[ness,

Duke F. She is too subtle for thee; and her smooth-
Her very silence, and her patience,
Speak to the people, and they pity her.
Thou art a fool; she robs thee of thy name
And thou wilt show more bright, and seem more virtu-
When she is gone. Then, open not thy lips :
Firm and irrevocable is my doom

[ous,

Which I have pass'd upon her. She is banish'd.
Cel. Pronounce that sentence, then, on me, my liege:
I cannot live out of her company.
[self:
Duke F. You are a fool.-You, niece, provide your-
If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour,
And in the greatness of my word, you die.

[Exeunt Duke FREDERICK and Lords.
Cel. O, my poor Rosalind! whither wilt thou go?
Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine.
I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than I am.
Ros. I have more cause.

Cel.
Thou hast not, cousin.
Pr'ythee, be cheerful: know'st thou not, the duke
Hath banish'd me, his daughter?
Ros.
That he hath not.
Cel. No? hath not? Rosalind lacks, then, the love,
Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one.
Shall we be sunder'd? shall we part, sweet girl?
No: let my father seek another heir.
Therefore, devise with me how we may fly,

Duke F. Mistress, dispatch you with your fastest Whither to go, and what to bear with us:
haste,

I do beseech your grace,

Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me.
If with myself I hold intelligence,

Or have acquaintance with mine own desires,
If that I do not dream, or be not frantic,

(As I do trust I am not) then, dear uncle,
Never so much as in a thought unborn
Did I offend your highness.
Duke F.

Thus do all traitors:
If their purgation did consist in words,
They are as innocent as grace itself.
Let it suffice thee, that I trust thee not.

Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor.
Tell me, whereon the likelihood depends.

Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter; there's
enough.

Ros. So was I when your highness took his dukedom;
So was I when your highness banish'd him.
Treason is not inherited, my lord ;

Or if we did derive it from our friends,
What's that to me? my father was no traitor.
Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much,
To think my poverty is treacherous.

Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak.

Duke F. Ay, Celia we stay'd her for your sake;
Else had she with her father rang'd along.

Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay:
It was your pleasure, and your own remorse.
I was too young that time to value her,
But now I know her. If she be a traitor,
Why so am I; we still have slept together,
Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together;

1 child's father; in f. e. 2 safest in f. e. 3 inseparable in f. e.

And do not seek to take your change upon you,
To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out;
For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale,
Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee.
Ros. Why, whither shall we go?
Cel.

In the forest of Arden.

To seek my uncle

Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to us,
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far!
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.

Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire,
And with a kind of umber smirch my face.
The like do you so shall we pass along,
And never stir assailants.

Ros.
Were it not better,
Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did suit me all points like a man?
A gallant curtle-ax* upon my thigh,

A boar-spear in my hand; and, in my heart
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will,
We'll have a swashing and a martial outside,
As many other mannish cowards have,
That do outface it with their semblances.

Cel. What shall I call thee, when thou art a man?
Ros. I'll have no worser name than Jove's own page,
And therefore look you call me Ganymede.
But what will you be call'd?

Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state:
No longer Celia, but Aliena.

Ros. But, cousin, what if we essay'd to steal
The clownish fool out of your father's court?
Would he not be a comfort to our travel?

Cel. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me;
Leave me alone to woo him. Let's away,
And get our jewels and our wealth together,
Devise the fittest time, and safest way
To hide us from pursuit that will be made
After my flight. Now go we in content
To liberty, and not to banishment.

4 Cutlass. 5 worse a: in f. e.

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I.-The Forest of Arden. Enter DUKE, Senior, AMIENS, and other Lords, like Foresters.

Duke S. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile,
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet,
Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these woods
More free from peril than the envious court?
Here feel we not the penalty of Adam,
The seasons' difference, or1 the icy fang,
And 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 counsellors
That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Sweet are the uses of adversity,

Which, like the toad,2 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 every thing.
Ami. I would not change it. Happy is your grace,
That can translate the stubbornness of fortune
Into so quiet and so sweet a style.

Duke S. 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 heads3
Have their round haunches gor'd.

1 Lord.

Indeed, my lord, The melancholy Jaques grieves at that : And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. To-day, 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 sequester'd stag, That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, Did come to languish and, indeed, my lord, The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans, That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat Almost to bursting; and the big round tears Cours'd one another down his innocent nose In piteous chase: and thus the hairy fool, Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, Augmenting it with tears.

Duke S.

But what said Jaques ?
Did he not moralize this spectacle ?

1 Lord. O! yes, into a thousand similes.
First, for his weeping in the needless stream;
Poor deer," quoth he, "thou mak'st a testament
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more

To that which hath too much." Then, being there alone,

Left and abandon'd 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: "Ay," quoth Jaques, (: Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens 'T is just the fashion: wherefore do you look

2 Lord. My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft
Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.
Hesperia, the princess' gentlewoman,
Confesses that she secretly o'er-heard
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.
Duke F. 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 quail
To bring again these foolish runaways.

SCENE III.-Before OLIVER'S House.
Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting.
Orl. Who's there?

[Exeunt.

Adam. What, my young master ?-0, my gentle master!

O, my sweet master! O, you memory

Of 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 overcome
The bony priser of the humorous duke?
Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.
Know you not, master, to some kind of men
Their graces serve them but as enemies?
No more do yours: your virtues, gentle master,
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.

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

Orl. Why, what's the matter?
Adam.
O, unhappy youth!
Come not within these doors: beneath this roof
The enemy of all your graces lives.

Your brother-(no, no brother; yet the son

1 as: in f. e. 2 Fenton, in 1569, tells us "there is found in heads of old and great toads, a stone which they call borax or steton: it is most commonly found in the head of a he-toad."—Knight.

3 Barbed arrows. 4 had in f. e. 5 Scurvy. 6 Foolish. 7 within: in f. e.

Yet not the son-I will not call him son-
Of him I was about to call his father,)-
Hath heard your praises, and this night he means
To 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.

Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go?
Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here.
Orl. What! wouldst thou have me go and beg my
food,

Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce

A 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 malice

Of a diverted, proud,' and bloody brother.

itself courageous to petticoat: therefore, courage, good Aliena.

Cel. I pray you, bear with me: I can go no farther. Touch. 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.

Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden.

Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden; the more fool I: when I was at home I was in a better place, but travellers must be content.

Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone.-Look you; who comes here? a young man, and an old, in solemn talk. Enter CORIN and SILVIUS.

Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still.
Sil. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her!
Cor. I partly guess, for I have lov'd ere now.
Sil. No, Corin; being old, thou canst not guess,
Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover

Adam. But do not so. I have five hundred crowns, As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow :

The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father,
Which I did store, to be my foster-nurse

When service should in my old limbs lie lame,
And 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 apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood;
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo
The 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 man
In all your business and necessities.

Orl. O, good old man! how well in thee appears
The constant favour 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 up
Even with the having: it is not so with thee.
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 come thy ways: we'll go along together,
And ere we have thy youthful wages spent,
We'll light upon some settled low content.

Adam. Master, go on, and I will follow thee
To the last gasp with truth and loyalty.
From seventeen years, till now almost fourscore,
Here lived 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 better,

Than to die well, and not my master's debtor. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-The Forest of Arden.

Enter ROSALIND for Ganymede, CELIA for Aliena, and
Clown, alias ToUCHSTONE.

Ros. O Jupiter! how weary3 are my spirits!
Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not

weary.

Ros. 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

1 diverted blood : in f. e. 2 service washing linen. 6 Jove, Jove: in f. e.

But if thy love were ever like to mine,
As sure I think did never man love so,
How many actions most ridiculous
Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?

Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.
Sil. O! thou didst then ne'er love so heartily.
If thou remember'st not the slightest folly
That ever love did make thee run into,
Thou hast not lov'd:

Or if thou hast not spake1, as I do now,
Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
Thou hast not lov'd:

Or if thou hast not broke from company,
Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,
Thou hast not lov'd.

O Phebe. Phebe, Phebe!

[Exit SILVIUS. Ros. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found mine own.

Touch. 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 chapped 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. Ros. Thou speakest wiser than thou art 'ware of. Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own wit, till I break my shins against it.

Ros. Love, love! this shepherd's passion
Is much upon my fashion.

Touch. And mine; but

It grows something stale with me,"

And begins to fail with me."

Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond' man,
If he for gold will give us any food:
I faint almost to death.

Touch. Holla, you clown!

Ros.

Cor. Who calls?

Peace, fool: he's not thy kinsman.

Touch. Your betters, sir.

Cor. Else are they very wretched.
Ros.

Good even to you, friend.

Peace, I say.

Cor. And to you, gentle sir; and to you all. Ros. I pr'ythee, shepherd, if that love, or gold, in f. e. 3 The old copies have "merry," which Knight retains. 4 sat in fe. 5 A bat used in 7 f. e. give these two lines as one. 8 This line not in f.e.

And wish, for her sake more than for mine own,
My fortunes were more able to relieve her;

But I am shepherd to another man,
And do not shear the fleeces that I graze:
My master is of churlish disposition,

And little recks to find the way to heaven

By doing deeds of hospitality.

Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed,
Are now on sale; and at our sheepcote now,
By reason of his absence, there is nothing
That you will feed on; but what is, come see,
And in my voice most welcome shall you be.

Ros. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture? Cor. That young swain that you saw here but erewhile,

That little cares for buying any thing.

Ros. 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.

Cel. And we will mend thy wages. I like this place, And willingly could waste my time in it.

Cor. Assuredly, the thing is to be sold.

Go with me if you like, upon report, The soil, the profit, and this kind of life,

I will your very faithful feeder be,
And buy it with your gold right suddenly.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.-Another Part of the Forest. Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others.

SONG.

Ami. Under the greenwood tree,
Who loves to lie with me,

And tune 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.

Jaq. More, more! I pr'ythee, more.
Ami. It will make you melancholy, monsieur Jaques.
Jaq. I thank it. More! I pr'ythee, more.
I can
suck melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs.
More! I pr'ythee, more.

Ami. My voice is ragged'; I know I cannot please you.

Jaq. I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to sing. Come, more; another stanza. Call you

१,

'em stanzas?

Ami. What you will, monsieur Jaques. Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing. Will you sing?

Ami. More at your request, than to please myself. Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you but that they call compliment is like the 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.

Ami. 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.

Jaq. 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.

Jaq. 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.

Ami. What's that ducdame2?

Jaq. '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.

Ami. And I'll go seek the duke: his banquet is prepared. [Exeunt severally.

SCENE VI.-The Same.

Enter ORLANDO and ADAM.

Adam. Dear master, I can go no farther: O! I die for food. Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master.

Orl. Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee? Live a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth forest yield any thing 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 comforted3; 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 labour. Well said! thou look'st cheerily; 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 any thing in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam. [Exeunt. SCENE VII.-The Same.

A Table set out.

Enter DUKE, Senior, AMIENS,
Lords, and others.

Duke S. I think he be transform'd into a beast,
For I can no where find him like a man.

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

Duke S. 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.

1 Lord. He saves my labour by his own approach. Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this, That your poor friends must woo your company! What, you look merrily.

Jaq. 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,

1 Rough. a duc-ad-me (come hither): says Hanmer. 3 comfortable: in f. e.

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