JAQUES. I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, 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 _stanzo_. Call you ’em _stanzos?_ 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 th’ encounter of two dog-apes. And when a man thanks me heartily, methinks I 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. AMIENS. [_Sings_.] Who doth ambition shun And loves to live i’ th’ sun, Seeking the food he eats And pleased 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: If it do come to pass That any man turn ass, Leaving his wealth and ease A stubborn will to please, Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame; Here shall he see Gross fools as he, An if he will come to me. AMIENS. What’s that “ducdame?” JAQUES. ’Tis a Greek invocation to call fools into a circle. I’ll go sleep if I can; if I cannot, I’ll rail against all the first-born of Egypt. AMIENS. And I’ll go seek the Duke; his banquet is prepared. [_Exeunt severally._] SCENE VI. Another part of the Forest Enter Orlando and Adam. ADAM. Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food! Here lie I down and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master. 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’ll 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._]