TOUCHSTONE. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life; but in respect that it is a shepherd’s life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd? CORIN. No more but that I know the more one sickens, the worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money, means, and content is without three good friends; that the property of rain is to wet, and fire to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep; and that a great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art may complain of good breeding or comes of a very dull kindred. TOUCHSTONE. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court, shepherd? CORIN. No, truly. TOUCHSTONE. Then thou art damned. CORIN. Nay, I hope. TOUCHSTONE. Truly, thou art damned, like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side. CORIN. For not being at court? Your reason. TOUCHSTONE. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never saw’st good manners; if thou never saw’st good manners, then thy manners must be wicked, and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd. CORIN. Not a whit, Touchstone. Those that are good manners at the court are as ridiculous in the country as the behaviour of the country is most mockable at the court. You told me you salute not at the court but you kiss your hands. That courtesy would be uncleanly if courtiers were shepherds. TOUCHSTONE. Instance, briefly. Come, instance. CORIN. Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their fells, you know, are greasy. TOUCHSTONE. Why, do not your courtier’s hands sweat? And is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say. Come. CORIN. Besides, our hands are hard. TOUCHSTONE. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again. A more sounder instance, come. CORIN. And they are often tarred over with the surgery of our sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier’s hands are perfumed with civet. TOUCHSTONE. Most shallow man! Thou worm’s meat in respect of a good piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise and perpend. Civet is of a baser birth than tar, the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd. CORIN. You have too courtly a wit for me. I’ll rest. TOUCHSTONE. Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee, shallow man! God make incision in thee, thou art raw. CORIN. Sir, I am a true labourer. I earn that I eat, get that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man’s happiness, glad of other men’s good, content with my harm; and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck.