Speeches (Lines) for Jaques (lord)
in "As You Like It"

Total: 57

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# Act, Scene, Line
(Click to see in context)
Speech text

1

II,5,828

More, more, I prithee, more.

2

II,5,830

I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy
out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more.

3

II,5,833

I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to sing.
Come, more; another stanzo. Call you 'em stanzos?

4

II,5,836

Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing. Will
you sing?

5

II,5,839

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. Come, sing; and you
that will not, hold your tongues.

6

II,5,847

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.
SONG
[All together here]
Who doth ambition shun,
And loves to live i' th' sun,
Seeking the food he eats,
And pleas'd with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither.
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.

7

II,5,860

I'll give you a verse to this note that I made yesterday in
despite of my invention.

8

II,5,863

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.

9

II,5,873

'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.

10

II,7,906

A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' th' forest,
A motley fool. 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.
'Good morrow, fool,' quoth I; 'No, sir,' quoth he,
'Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune.'
And then he drew a dial from his poke,
And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock;
Thus we may see,' quoth he, 'how the world wags;
'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine;
And after one hour more 'twill be eleven;
And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,
And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot;
And thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear
The motley fool thus moral on the time,
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer
That fools should be so deep contemplative;
And I did laugh sans intermission
An hour by his dial. O noble fool!
A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear.

11

II,7,930

O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier,
And says, if ladies be but young and fair,
They have the gift to know it; and in his brain,
Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit
After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd
With observation, the which he vents
In mangled forms. O that I were a fool!
I am ambitious for a motley coat.

12

II,7,939

It is my only suit,
Provided that you weed your better judgments
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,
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,
The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd
Even by the squand'ring 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 th' infected world,
If they will patiently receive my medicine.

13

II,7,958

What, for a counter, would I do but good?

14

II,7,965

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?

15

II,7,985

Why, I have eat none yet.

16

II,7,987

Of what kind should this cock come of?

17

II,7,997

An you will not be answer'd with reason, I must die.

18

II,7,1037

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. 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. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. 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. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.

19

III,2,1353

I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as
lief have been myself alone.

20

III,2,1357

God buy you; let's meet as little as we can.

21

III,2,1359

I pray you mar no more trees with writing love songs in
their barks.

22

III,2,1363

Rosalind is your love's name?

23

III,2,1365

I do not like her name.

24

III,2,1368

What stature is she of?

25

III,2,1370

You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been
acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conn'd them out of rings?

26

III,2,1374

You have a nimble wit; I think 'twas made of Atalanta's
heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two will rail against
our mistress the world, and all our misery.

27

III,2,1379

The worst fault you have is to be in love.

28

III,2,1382

By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found you.

29

III,2,1385

There I shall see mine own figure.

30

III,2,1387

I'll tarry no longer with you; farewell, good Signior Love.

31

III,3,1512

[Aside] O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove in a
thatch'd house!

32

III,3,1530

[Aside] A material fool!

33

III,3,1541

[Aside] I would fain see this meeting.

34

III,3,1562

[Discovering himself] Proceed, proceed; I'll give her.

35

III,3,1567

Will you be married, motley?

36

III,3,1571

And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married
under a bush, like a beggar? Get you to church and have a good
priest that can tell you what marriage is; this fellow will but
join you together as they join wainscot; then one of you will
prove a shrunk panel, and like green timber warp, warp.

37

III,3,1580

Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.

38

IV,1,1797

I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with
thee.

39

IV,1,1800

I am so; I do love it better than laughing.

40

IV,1,1804

Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.

41

IV,1,1806

I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is
emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the
courtier's, which is proud; nor the soldier's, which is
ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politic; nor the lady's,
which is nice; nor the lover's, which is all these; but it is a
melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted
from many objects, and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my
travels; in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous
sadness.

42

IV,1,1819

Yes, I have gain'd my experience.

43

IV,1,1825

Nay, then, God buy you, an you talk in blank verse.

44

IV,2,1981

Which is he that killed the deer?

45

IV,2,1983

Let's present him to the Duke, like a Roman conqueror; and
it would do well to set the deer's horns upon his head for a
branch of victory. Have you no song, forester, for this purpose?

46

IV,2,1987

Sing it; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise
enough.
SONG.
What shall he have that kill'd the deer?
His leather skin and horns to wear.
[The rest shall hear this burden:]
Then sing him home.
Take thou no scorn to wear the horn;
It was a crest ere thou wast born.
Thy father's father wore it;
And thy father bore it.
The horn, the horn, the lusty horn,
Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. Exeunt

47

V,4,2439

There is, sure, another flood toward, and these couples are
coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of very strange beasts which
in all tongues are call'd fools.

48

V,4,2443

Good my lord, bid him welcome. This is the motley-minded
gentleman that I have so often met in the forest. He hath been a
courtier, he swears.

49

V,4,2451

And how was that ta'en up?

50

V,4,2454

How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this fellow.

51

V,4,2466

But, for the seventh cause: how did you find the quarrel on
the seventh cause?

52

V,4,2480

And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut?

53

V,4,2484

Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie?

54

V,4,2496

Is not this a rare fellow, my lord?
He's as good at any thing, and yet a fool.

55

V,4,2576

Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly,
The Duke hath put on a religious life,
And thrown into neglect the pompous court.

56

V,4,2580

To him will I. Out of these convertites
There is much matter to be heard and learn'd.
[To DUKE] You to your former honour I bequeath;
Your patience and your virtue well deserves it.
[To ORLANDO] You to a love that your true faith doth merit;
[To OLIVER] You to your land, and love, and great allies
[To SILVIUS] You to a long and well-deserved bed;
[To TOUCHSTONE] And you to wrangling; for thy loving voyage
Is but for two months victuall'd.- So to your pleasures;
I am for other than for dancing measures.

57

V,4,2591

To see no pastime I. What you would have
I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. Exit

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