Speeches (Lines) for Duke in "As You Like It"

Total: 32
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# Act / Scene Speech text
1 II / 1
  • Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,
    Hath not old custom made this life m...
  • 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; as 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, 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 everything.
    I would not change it.
  • Celia. 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. Exeunt

    Duke. 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; as 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, 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 everything.
    I would not change it.

2 II / 1
  • Come, shall we go and kill us venison?
    And yet it irks me the poor dappled f...
  • 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 gor'd.
  • Amiens. Happy is your Grace,
    That can translate the stubbornness of fortune
    Into so quiet and so sweet a style.

    Duke. 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 gor'd.

3 II / 1
  • But what said Jaques?
    Did he not moralize this spectacle?
  • But what said Jaques?
    Did he not moralize this spectacle?
  • First 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 sequest'red 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 th' extremest verge of the swift brook,
    Augmenting it with tears.

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

4 II / 1
  • And did you leave him in this contemplation?
  • And did you leave him in this contemplation?
  • First Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes.
    First, for his weeping into the needless stream:
    'Poor deer,' quoth he 'thou mak'st a testament
    As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
    To that which had too much.' Then, being there alone,
    Left and abandoned 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;
    'Tis just the fashion. Wherefore do you look
    Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?'
    Thus most invectively he pierceth through
    The body of the country, city, court,
    Yea, and of this our life; swearing that we
    Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse,
    To fright the animals, and to kill them up
    In their assign'd and native dwelling-place.

    Duke. And did you leave him in this contemplation?

5 II / 1
  • Show me the place;
    I love to cope him in these sullen fits,
    For then he'...
  • Show me the place;
    I love to cope him in these sullen fits,
    For then he's full of matter.
  • Second Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting
    Upon the sobbing deer.

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

6 II / 7
  • I think he be transform'd into a beast;
    For I can nowhere find him like a ma...
  • I think he be transform'd into a beast;
    For I can nowhere find him like a man.
  • Orlando. Why, how now, Adam! No greater heart in thee? Live a
    little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth
    forest yield anything 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 comfortable; 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 cheerly; 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
    anything in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam! Exeunt

    Duke. I think he be transform'd into a beast;
    For I can nowhere find him like a man.

7 II / 7
  • If he, compact of jars, grow musical,
    We shall have shortly discord in the 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.
  • First Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone hence;
    Here was he merry, hearing of a song.

    Duke. 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.

8 II / 7
  • Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this,
    That your poor friends must woo...
  • Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this,
    That your poor friends must woo your company?
    What, you look merrily!
  • First Lord. He saves my labour by his own approach.

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

9 II / 7
  • What fool is this?
  • What fool is this?
  • Jaques (lord). 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 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. What fool is this?

10 II / 7
  • Thou shalt have one.
  • Thou shalt have one.
  • Jaques (lord). 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. Thou shalt have one.

11 II / 7
  • Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do.
  • Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do.
  • Jaques (lord). 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 anatomiz'd
    Even by the squand'ring 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 th' infected world,
    If they will patiently receive my medicine.

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

12 II / 7
  • Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin;
    For thou thyself hast been a libe...
  • 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 evils
    That thou with license of free foot hast caught
    Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.
  • Jaques (lord). What, for a counter, would I do but good?

    Duke. 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 evils
    That thou with license of free foot hast caught
    Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.

13 II / 7
  • Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress?
    Or else a rude despiser of goo...
  • 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?
  • Jaques (lord). Of what kind should this cock come of?

    Duke. 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?

14 II / 7
  • What would you have? Your gentleness shall force
    More than your force move u...
  • What would you have? Your gentleness shall force
    More than your force move us to gentleness.
  • Jaques (lord). An you will not be answer'd with reason, I must die.

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

15 II / 7
  • Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.
  • Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.
  • Orlando. I almost die for food, and let me have it.

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

16 II / 7
  • True is it that we have seen better days,
    And have with holy bell been knoll...
  • 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 wip'd our eyes
    Of drops that sacred pity hath engend'red;
    And therefore sit you down in gentleness,
    And take upon command what help we have
    That to your wanting may be minist'red.
  • 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 wip'd 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. 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 wip'd our eyes
    Of drops that sacred pity hath engend'red;
    And therefore sit you down in gentleness,
    And take upon command what help we have
    That to your wanting may be minist'red.

17 II / 7
  • Go find him out.
    And we will nothing waste till you return.
  • Go find him out.
    And we will nothing waste till you return.
  • 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 suffic'd,
    Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,
    I will not touch a bit.

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

18 II / 7
  • Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy:
    This wide and universal theatre
  • Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy:
    This wide and universal theatre
    Presents more woeful pageants than the scene
    Wherein we play in.
  • Orlando. I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort! Exit

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

19 II / 7
  • Welcome. Set down your venerable burden,
    And let him feed.
  • Welcome. Set down your venerable burden,
    And let him feed.
  • Jaques (lord). 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 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 sav'd, 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 every thing.

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

20 II / 7
  • Welcome; fall to. I will not trouble you
    As yet to question you about your f...
  • 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
    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 rememb'red not.
    Heigh-ho! sing, &c.
  • Adam. So had you need;
    I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.

    Duke. 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
    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 rememb'red not.
    Heigh-ho! sing, &c.

21 II / 7
  • If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son,
    As you have whisper'd faithfull...
  • 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 lov'd 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. Exeunt
  • Duke. 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
    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 rememb'red not.
    Heigh-ho! sing, &c.

    Duke. 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 lov'd 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. Exeunt

22 V / 4
  • Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy
    Can do all this that he hath promis...
  • Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy
    Can do all this that he hath promised?
  • Touchstone. By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear such
    a foolish song. God buy you; and God mend your voices. Come,
    Audrey. Exeunt

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

23 V / 4
  • That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her.
  • That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her.
  • Rosalind. Patience once more, whiles our compact is urg'd:
    You say, if I bring in your Rosalind,
    You will bestow her on Orlando here?

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

24 V / 4
  • I do remember in this shepherd boy
    Some lively touches of my daughter's favo...
  • I do remember in this shepherd boy
    Some lively touches of my daughter's favour.
  • Rosalind. I have promis'd to make all this matter even.
    Keep you your word, O Duke, to give your daughter;
    You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter;
    Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me,
    Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd;
    Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her
    If she refuse me; and from hence I go,
    To make these doubts all even.

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

25 V / 4
  • I like him very well.
  • I like him very well.
  • Jaques (lord). How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this fellow.

    Duke. I like him very well.

26 V / 4
  • By my faith, he is very swift and sententious.
  • By my faith, he is very swift and sententious.
  • Touchstone. God 'ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I press in
    here, sir, amongst the rest of the country copulatives, to swear
    and to forswear, according as marriage binds and blood breaks. A
    poor virgin, sir, an ill-favour'd thing, sir, but mine own; a
    poor humour of mine, sir, to take that that man else will. Rich
    honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor house; as your pearl
    in your foul oyster.

    Duke. By my faith, he is very swift and sententious.

27 V / 4
  • He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the
    presentation of that...
  • He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the
    presentation of that he shoots his wit.
    [Enter HYMEN, ROSALIND, and CELIA. Still MUSIC]
    HYMEN. Then is there mirth in heaven,
    When earthly things made even
    Atone together.
    Good Duke, receive thy daughter;
    Hymen from heaven brought her,
    Yea, brought her hither,
    That thou mightst join her hand with his,
    Whose heart within his bosom is.
  • Jaques (lord). Is not this a rare fellow, my lord?
    He's as good at any thing, and yet a fool.

    Duke. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the
    presentation of that he shoots his wit.
    [Enter HYMEN, ROSALIND, and CELIA. Still MUSIC]
    HYMEN. Then is there mirth in heaven,
    When earthly things made even
    Atone together.
    Good Duke, receive thy daughter;
    Hymen from heaven brought her,
    Yea, brought her hither,
    That thou mightst join her hand with his,
    Whose heart within his bosom is.

28 V / 4
  • If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter.
  • If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter.
  • Rosalind. [To DUKE] To you I give myself, for I am yours.
    [To ORLANDO] To you I give myself, for I am yours.

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

29 V / 4
  • O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me!
    Even daughter, welcome in no less d...
  • O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me!
    Even daughter, welcome in no less degree.
  • Hymen. Peace, ho! I bar confusion;
    'Tis I must make conclusion
    Of these most strange events.
    Here's eight that must take hands
    To join in Hymen's bands,
    If truth holds true contents.
    You and you no cross shall part;
    You and you are heart in heart;
    You to his love must accord,
    Or have a woman to your lord;
    You and you are sure together,
    As the winter to foul weather.
    Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing,
    Feed yourselves with questioning,
    That reason wonder may diminish,
    How thus we met, and these things finish.
    SONG
    Wedding is great Juno's crown;
    O blessed bond of board and bed!
    'Tis Hymen peoples every town;
    High wedlock then be honoured.
    Honour, high honour, and renown,
    To Hymen, god of every town!

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

30 V / 4
  • Welcome, young man.
    Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding:
    To on...
  • 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 happy number,
    That have endur'd shrewd days and nights with us,
    Shall share the good of our returned fortune,
    According to the measure of their states.
    Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity,
    And fall into our rustic revelry.
    Play, music; and you brides and bridegrooms all,
    With measure heap'd in joy, to th' measures fall.
  • Jaques (son). Let me have audience for a word or two.
    I am the second son of old Sir Rowland,
    That bring these tidings to this fair assembly.
    Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day
    Men of great worth resorted to this forest,
    Address'd a mighty power; which were on foot,
    In his own conduct, purposely to take
    His brother here, and put him to the sword;
    And to the skirts of this wild wood he came,
    Where, meeting with an old religious man,
    After some question with him, was converted
    Both from his enterprise and from the world;
    His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother,
    And all their lands restor'd to them again
    That were with him exil'd. This to be true
    I do engage my life.

    Duke. 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 happy number,
    That have endur'd shrewd days and nights with us,
    Shall share the good of our returned fortune,
    According to the measure of their states.
    Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity,
    And fall into our rustic revelry.
    Play, music; and you brides and bridegrooms all,
    With measure heap'd in joy, to th' measures fall.

31 V / 4
  • Stay, Jaques, stay.
  • Stay, Jaques, stay.
  • Jaques (lord). To him will I. Out of these convertites
    There is much matter to be heard and learn'd.
    [To DUKE] You to your former honour I bequeath;
    Your patience and your virtue well deserves it.
    [To ORLANDO] You to a love that your true faith doth merit;
    [To OLIVER] You to your land, and love, and great allies
    [To SILVIUS] You to a long and well-deserved bed;
    [To TOUCHSTONE] And you to wrangling; for thy loving voyage
    Is but for two months victuall'd.- So to your pleasures;
    I am for other than for dancing measures.

    Duke. Stay, Jaques, stay.

32 V / 4
  • Proceed, proceed. We will begin these rites,
    As we do trust they'll end, in...
  • Proceed, proceed. We will begin these rites,
    As we do trust they'll end, in true delights. [A dance] Exeunt EPILOGUE
  • Jaques (lord). To see no pastime I. What you would have
    I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. Exit

    Duke. Proceed, proceed. We will begin these rites,
    As we do trust they'll end, in true delights. [A dance] Exeunt EPILOGUE

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© Copyright 2017-2022 Shakespeare Network - Maximianno Cobra - All rights reserved.