Название: The Complete Works of William Shakespeare
Автор: Уильям Шекспир
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Языкознание
isbn: 9788075834447
isbn:
Your betters, sir.
CORIN
Else are they very wretched.
ROSALIND
Peace, I say.—
Good even to you, friend.
CORIN
And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.
ROSALIND
I pr’ythee, shepherd, if that love or gold
Can in this desert place buy entertainment,
Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed:
Here’s a young maid with travel much oppress’d,
And faints for succour.
CORIN
Fair sir, I pity her,
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.
ROSALIND
What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture?
CORIN
That young swain that you saw here but erewhile,
That little cares for buying anything.
ROSALIND
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.
CELIA
And we will mend thy wages. I like this place,
And willingly could waste my time in it.
CORIN
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.]
AMIENS
[SONG]
Under the greenwood tree,
Who loves to lie with me,
And turn 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.
JAQUES
More, more, I pr’ythee, more.
AMIENS
It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.
JAQUES
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.
AMIENS
My voice is ragged; I know I cannot please you.
JAQUES
I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to sing. Come, more: another stanza. Call you them stanzas?
AMIENS
What you will, Monsieur Jaques.
JAQUES
Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing. Will you sing?
AMIENS
More at your request than to please myself.
JAQUES
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 have given him a penny, and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues.
AMIENS
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.
JAQUES
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.
[SONG. All together here.]
Who doth ambition shun,
And loves to live i’ the sun,
Seeking the food he eats,
And pleas’d with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither.
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.
JAQUES
I’ll give you a verse to this note that I made yesterday in despite of my invention.
AMIENS
And I’ll sing it.
JAQUES
Thus it goes: