I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it.
Brevity is the soul of wit. The King's a beggar, now the play is done. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand crowns, and, as thou say'st, charged my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well; and there begins my sadness. This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit of my father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny against this servitude. Hisperia, the Princess' gentlewoman, Confesses that she secretly o'erheard Your daughter and her cousin much commend The parts and graces of the wrestler That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles; And she believes, wherever they are gone, That youth is surely in their company. Why, who cries out on pride That can therein tax any private party? Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, Till that the wearer's very means do ebb? What woman in the city do I name When that I say the city-woman bears 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 on my cost, 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, Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies, Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes here? 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. 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. You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first; 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's size. To say ay and no to these particulars is more than to answer in a catechism.
It beggared all description. What's mine is yours and what is yours is mine. The King's a beggar, now the play is done. To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself Did steal behind him as he lay along Under an oak whose antique root peeps out Upon the brook that brawls along this wood! To the which place a poor sequest'red stag, That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord, The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat Almost to bursting; and the big round tears Cours'd one another down his innocent nose In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool, Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, Stood on th' extremest verge of the swift brook, Augmenting it with tears. 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. It is my only suit, Provided that you weed your better judgments Of all opinion that grows rank in them That I am wise. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lin'd, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life.