Proceed, proceed: we will begin these rites,
As we do trust they'll end, in true delights.

Stay, Jaques, stay.

Welcome, young man;
Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding:
To one his lands withheld, and to the other
A land itself at large, a potent dukedom.
First, in this forest, let us do those ends
That here were well begun and well begot:
And after, every of this ...

O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me!
Even daughter, welcome, in no less degree.

If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter.

He uses his folly like a stalking-horse and under
the presentation of that he shoots his wit.

By my faith, he is very swift and sententious.

I like him very well.

I do remember in this shepherd boy
Some lively touches of my daughter's favour.

That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her.

Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy
Can do all this that he hath promised?

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 ...

Welcome; fall to: I will not trouble you
As yet, to question you about your fortunes.
Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing.

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

Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy:
This wide and universal theatre
Presents more woeful pageants than the scene
Wherein we play in.

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

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 ...

Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.

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

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?

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.

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

Thou shalt have one.

What fool is this?

Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this,
That your poor friends must woo your company?
What, you look merrily!

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.

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

Show me the place:
I love to cope him in these sullen fits,
For then he's full of matter.

And did you leave him in this contemplation?

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

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 heads
Have their round haunches gored.

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 but the penalty of Adam,
The seasons' difference, as the icy fang
And churlish ...