ORLANDO. O good old man, how well in thee appears The constant service 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 as Ganymede, Celia as Aliena, and Touchstone. ROSALIND. O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits! TOUCHSTONE. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary. ROSALIND. 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 itself courageous to petticoat. Therefore, courage, good Aliena. CELIA. I pray you bear with me, I cannot go no further. TOUCHSTONE. 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. ROSALIND. Well, this is the forest of Arden. TOUCHSTONE. 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. Enter Corin and Silvius. ROSALIND. Ay, be so, good Touchstone. Look you, who comes here? A young man and an old in solemn talk. CORIN. That is the way to make her scorn you still. SILVIUS. O Corin, that thou knew’st how I do love her! CORIN. I partly guess, for I have loved ere now. SILVIUS. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess, Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover As ever sighed upon a midnight pillow. 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? CORIN. Into a thousand that I have forgotten. SILVIUS. O, thou didst then never love so heartily! If thou rememb’rest not the slightest folly That ever love did make thee run into, Thou hast not loved. Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, Wearing thy hearer in thy mistress’ praise, Thou hast not loved. Or if thou hast not broke from company Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, Thou hast not loved. O Phoebe, Phoebe, Phoebe! [_Exit Silvius._] ROSALIND. Alas, poor shepherd, searching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found mine own.