He has eaten me out of house and home. It was Greek to me. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit. More, more, I prithee, more. 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 have given him a penny, and he renders me the beggarly thanks. A miserable world! As I do live by food, I met a fool, Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms, In good set terms- and yet a motley fool. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you; I thought that all things had been savage here, And therefore put I on the countenance Of stern commandment. And they are often tarr'd over with the surgery of our sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are perfum'd with civet.
I must be cruel only to be kind. This woman's an easy glove, my lord; she goes of and on at pleasure. No, hath not? Rosalind lacks, then, the love Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one. Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master. 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, The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd Even by the squand'ring glances of the fool. All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages.
The wheel is come full circle. Nay, but this dotage of our general's O'erflows the measure. 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. Let me love him for that; and do you love him because I do. Look, here comes the Duke. Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master. Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this, That your poor friends must woo your company? What, you look merrily! At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms; Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. 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.