_Jaq._ It is my only suit; Provided that you weed your better judgements 45 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, 50 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, 55 The wise man’s folly is anatomized Even by the squandering 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 the infected world, 60 If they will patiently receive my medicine. _Duke S._ Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do. _Jaq._ What, for a counter, would I do but good? _Duke S._ Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin: For thou thyself hast been a libertine, 65 As sensual as the brutish sting itself; And all the embossed sores and headed evils, That thou with license of free foot hast caught, Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world. _Jaq._ Why, who cries out on pride, 70 That can therein tax any private party? Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, Till that the weary very means do ebb? What woman in the city do I name, When that I say the city-woman bears 75 The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders? Who can come in and say that I mean her, When such a one as she such is her neighbour? Or what is he of basest function, That says his bravery is not of my cost, 80 Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits His folly to the mettle of my speech? There then; how then? what then? Let me see wherein My tongue hath wrong’d him: if it do him right, Then he hath wrong’d himself; if he be free, 85 Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies, Unclaim’d of any man. But who comes here? _Enter_ ORLANDO, _with his sword drawn_. _Orl._ Forbear, and eat no more. _Jaq._ Why, I have eat none yet. _Orl._ Nor shalt not, till necessity be served. _Jaq._ Of what kind should this cock come of? 90 _Duke S._ 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? _Orl._ You touch’d my vein at first: the thorny point Of bare distress hath ta’en from me the show 95 Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred And know some nurture. But forbear, I say: He dies that touches any of this fruit Till I and my affairs are answered. _Jaq._ An you will not be answered with reason, I 100 must die.