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

Total: 57

# Act, Scene, Line
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Speech text



Amiens. Under the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me,
And turn his merry note
Unto the sweet bird's throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither.
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.

Jaques (lord). More, more, I prithee, more.



Amiens. It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.

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



Amiens. My voice is ragged; I know I cannot please you.

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



Amiens. What you will, Monsieur Jaques.

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



Amiens. More at your request than to please myself.

Jaques (lord). 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.



Amiens. Well, I'll end the song. Sirs, cover the while; the Duke
will drink under this tree. He hath been all this day to look

Jaques (lord). 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.
[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.



Jaques (lord). 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.
[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.

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



Amiens. And I'll sing it.

Jaques (lord). 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.



Amiens. What's that 'ducdame'?

Jaques (lord). '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.



Duke. Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this,
That your poor friends must woo your company?
What, you look merrily!

Jaques (lord). 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.



Duke. What fool is this?

Jaques (lord). 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.



Duke. Thou shalt have one.

Jaques (lord). 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.



Duke. Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do.

Jaques (lord). What, for a counter, would I do but good?



Duke. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin;
For thou thyself hast been a libertine,
As sensual as the brutish sting itself;
And all th' embossed sores and headed evils
That thou with license of free foot hast caught
Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.

Jaques (lord). 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?



Orlando. Forbear, and eat no more.

Jaques (lord). Why, I have eat none yet.



Orlando. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd.

Jaques (lord). Of what kind should this cock come of?



Orlando. You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny point
Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show
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.

Jaques (lord). An you will not be answer'd with reason, I must die.



Duke. Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy:
This wide and universal theatre
Presents more woeful pageants than the scene
Wherein we play in.

Jaques (lord). 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.



Rosalind. 'Tis he; slink by, and note him.

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



Orlando. And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you too
for your society.

Jaques (lord). God buy you; let's meet as little as we can.



Orlando. I do desire we may be better strangers.

Jaques (lord). I pray you mar no more trees with writing love songs in
their barks.



Orlando. I pray you mar no more of my verses with reading them

Jaques (lord). Rosalind is your love's name?



Orlando. Yes, just.

Jaques (lord). I do not like her name.



Orlando. There was no thought of pleasing you when she was

Jaques (lord). What stature is she of?



Orlando. Just as high as my heart.

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



Orlando. Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence
you have studied your questions.

Jaques (lord). 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.



Orlando. I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against
whom I know most faults.

Jaques (lord). The worst fault you have is to be in love.



Orlando. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am
weary of you.

Jaques (lord). By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found you.



Orlando. He is drown'd in the brook; look but in, and you shall see

Jaques (lord). There I shall see mine own figure.



Orlando. Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.

Jaques (lord). I'll tarry no longer with you; farewell, good Signior Love.



Touchstone. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most
capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.

Jaques (lord). [Aside] O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove in a
thatch'd house!



Touchstone. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favour'd; for honesty
coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar.

Jaques (lord). [Aside] A material fool!



Touchstone. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness;
sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will
marry thee; and to that end I have been with Sir Oliver Martext,
the vicar of the next village, who hath promis'd to meet me in
this place of the forest, and to couple us.

Jaques (lord). [Aside] I would fain see this meeting.



Sir Oliver Martext. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful.

Jaques (lord). [Discovering himself] Proceed, proceed; I'll give her.



Touchstone. Good even, good Master What-ye-call't; how do you, sir?
You are very well met. Goddild you for your last company. I am
very glad to see you. Even a toy in hand here, sir. Nay; pray be

Jaques (lord). Will you be married, motley?



Touchstone. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb, and
the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and as pigeons
bill, so wedlock would be nibbling.

Jaques (lord). 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.



Touchstone. [Aside] I am not in the mind but I were better to be
married of him than of another; for he is not like to marry me
well; and not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me
hereafter to leave my wife.

Jaques (lord). Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.



(stage directions). Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES

Jaques (lord). I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with



Rosalind. They say you are a melancholy fellow.

Jaques (lord). I am so; I do love it better than laughing.



Rosalind. Those that are in extremity of either are abominable
fellows, and betray themselves to every modern censure worse than

Jaques (lord). Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.



Rosalind. Why then, 'tis good to be a post.

Jaques (lord). 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



Rosalind. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be
sad. I fear you have sold your own lands to see other men's; then
to have seen much and to have nothing is to have rich eyes and
poor hands.

Jaques (lord). Yes, I have gain'd my experience.



Orlando. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind!

Jaques (lord). Nay, then, God buy you, an you talk in blank verse.



(stage directions). Enter JAQUES and LORDS, in the habit of foresters

Jaques (lord). Which is he that killed the deer?



Lord. Sir, it was I.

Jaques (lord). 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?



Lord. Yes, sir.

Jaques (lord). Sing it; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise
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



(stage directions). Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY

Jaques (lord). 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.



Touchstone. Salutation and greeting to you all!

Jaques (lord). 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.



Touchstone. If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation.
I have trod a measure; I have flatt'red a lady; I have been
politic with my friend, smooth with mine enemy; I have undone
three tailors; I have had four quarrels, and like to have fought

Jaques (lord). And how was that ta'en up?



Touchstone. Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the
seventh cause.

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



Touchstone. According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such dulcet

Jaques (lord). But, for the seventh cause: how did you find the quarrel on
the seventh cause?



Touchstone. Upon a lie seven times removed- bear your body more
seeming, Audrey- as thus, sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain
courtier's beard; he sent me word, if I said his beard was not
cut well, he was in the mind it was. This is call'd the Retort
Courteous. If I sent him word again it was not well cut, he would
send me word he cut it to please himself. This is call'd the Quip
Modest. If again it was not well cut, he disabled my judgment.
This is call'd the Reply Churlish. If again it was not well cut,
he would answer I spake not true. This is call'd the Reproof
Valiant. If again it was not well cut, he would say I lie. This
is call'd the Countercheck Quarrelsome. And so to the Lie
Circumstantial and the Lie Direct.

Jaques (lord). And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut?



Touchstone. I durst go no further than the Lie Circumstantial, nor
he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we measur'd swords
and parted.

Jaques (lord). Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie?



Touchstone. O, sir, we quarrel in print by the book, as you have
books for good manners. I will name you the degrees. The first,
the Retort Courteous; the second, the Quip Modest; the third, the
Reply Churlish; the fourth, the Reproof Valiant; the fifth, the
Countercheck Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with Circumstance;
the seventh, the Lie Direct. All these you may avoid but the Lie
Direct; and you may avoid that too with an If. I knew when seven
justices could not take up a quarrel; but when the parties were
met themselves, one of them thought but of an If, as: 'If you
said so, then I said so.' And they shook hands, and swore
brothers. Your If is the only peace-maker; much virtue in If.

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



Duke. Welcome, young man.
Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding:
To one, his lands withheld; and to the other,
A land itself at large, a potent dukedom.
First, in this forest let us do those ends
That here were well begun and well begot;
And after, every of this happy number,
That have endur'd shrewd days and nights with us,
Shall share the good of our returned fortune,
According to the measure of their states.
Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity,
And fall into our rustic revelry.
Play, music; and you brides and bridegrooms all,
With measure heap'd in joy, to th' measures fall.

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



Jaques (son). He hath.

Jaques (lord). 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.



Duke. Stay, Jaques, stay.

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

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