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

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

5    If he, compact of jars, grow musical,
6    We shall have shortly discord in the spheres.
7    Go, seek him: tell him I would speak with him.

8    He saves my labour by his own approach.

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

12   A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' the forest,
13   A motley fool; a miserable world!
14   As I do live by food, I met a fool
15   Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun,
16   And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms,
17   In good set terms and yet a motley fool.
18   'Good morrow, fool,' quoth I. 'No, sir,' quoth he,
19   'Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune:'
20   And then he drew a dial from his poke,
21   And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
22   Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock:
23   Thus we may see,' quoth he, 'how the world wags:
24   'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine,
25   And after one hour more 'twill be eleven;
26   And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,
27   And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot;
28   And thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear
29   The motley fool thus moral on the time,
30   My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,
31   That fools should be so deep-contemplative,
32   And I did laugh sans intermission
33   An hour by his dial. O noble fool!
34   A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear.

35   What fool is this?

36   O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier,
37   And says, if ladies be but young and fair,
38   They have the gift to know it: and in his brain,
39   Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit
40   After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd
41   With observation, the which he vents
42   In mangled forms. O that I were a fool!
43   I am ambitious for a motley coat.

44   Thou shalt have one.

45   It is my only suit;
46   Provided that you weed your better judgments
47   Of all opinion that grows rank in them
48   That I am wise. I must have liberty
49   Withal, as large a charter as the wind,
50   To blow on whom I please; for so fools have;
51   And they that are most galled with my folly,
52   They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so?
53   The 'why' is plain as way to parish church:
54   He that a fool doth very wisely hit
55   Doth very foolishly, although he smart,
56   Not to seem senseless of the bob: if not,
57   The wise man's folly is anatomized
58   Even by the squandering glances of the fool.
59   Invest me in my motley; give me leave
60   To speak my mind, and I will through and through
61   Cleanse the foul body of the infected world,
62   If they will patiently receive my medicine.

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

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

65   Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin:
66   For thou thyself hast been a libertine,
67   As sensual as the brutish sting itself;
68   And all the embossed sores and headed evils,
69   That thou with licence of free foot hast caught,
70   Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.

71   Why, who cries out on pride,
72   That can therein tax any private party?
73   Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,
74   Till that the weary very means do ebb?
75   What woman in the city do I name,
76   When that I say the city-woman bears
77   The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders?
78   Who can come in and say that I mean her,
79   When such a one as she such is her neighbour?
80   Or what is he of basest function
81   That says his bravery is not of my cost,
82   Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits
83   His folly to the mettle of my speech?
84   There then; how then? what then? Let me see wherein
85   My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right,
86   Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free,
87   Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies,
88   Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes here?

89   Forbear, and eat no more.

90   Why, I have eat none yet.

91   Nor shalt not, till necessity be served.

92   Of what kind should this cock come of?

93   Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress,
94   Or else a rude despiser of good manners,
95   That in civility thou seem'st so empty?

96   You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny point
97   Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show
98   Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred
99   And know some nurture. But forbear, I say:
100  He dies that touches any of this fruit
101  Till I and my affairs are answered.

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

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

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

106  Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.

107  Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you:
108  I thought that all things had been savage here;
109  And therefore put I on the countenance
110  Of stern commandment. But whate'er you are
111  That in this desert inaccessible,
112  Under the shade of melancholy boughs,
113  Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time
114  If ever you have look'd on better days,
115  If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church,
116  If ever sat at any good man's feast,
117  If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear
118  And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied,
119  Let gentleness my strong enforcement be:
120  In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.

121  True is it that we have seen better days,
122  And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church
123  And sat at good men's feasts and wiped our eyes
124  Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd:
125  And therefore sit you down in gentleness
126  And take upon command what help we have
127  That to your wanting may be minister'd.

128  Then but forbear your food a little while,
129  Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn
130  And give it food. There is an old poor man,
131  Who after me hath many a weary step
132  Limp'd in pure love: till he be first sufficed,
133  Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,
134  I will not touch a bit.

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

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

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

142  All the world's a stage,
143  And all the men and women merely players:
144  They have their exits and their entrances;
145  And one man in his time plays many parts,
146  His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
147  Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
148  And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
149  And shining morning face, creeping like snail
150  Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
151  Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
152  Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
153  Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
154  Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
155  Seeking the bubble reputation
156  Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
157  In fair round belly with good capon lined,
158  With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
159  Full of wise saws and modern instances;
160  And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
161  Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
162  With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
163  His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
164  For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
165  Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
166  And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
167  That ends this strange eventful history,
168  Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
169  Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

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

172  I thank you most for him.

173  So had you need:
174  I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.

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

178  Blow, blow, thou winter wind.
179  Thou art not so unkind
180  As man's ingratitude;
181  Thy tooth is not so keen,
182  Because thou art not seen,
183  Although thy breath be rude.
184  Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
185  Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
186  Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
187  This life is most jolly.
188  Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
189  That dost not bite so nigh
190  As benefits forgot:
191  Though thou the waters warp,
192  Thy sting is not so sharp
193  As friend remember'd not.
194  Heigh-ho! sing, &c.

195  If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son,
196  As you have whisper'd faithfully you were,
197  And as mine eye doth his effigies witness
198  Most truly limn'd and living in your face,
199  Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke
200  That loved your father: the residue of your fortune,
201  Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man,
202  Thou art right welcome as thy master is.
203  Support him by the arm. Give me your hand,
204  And let me all your fortunes understand.