Well, this is the forest of Arden. Ay, now am I in Arden; the more fool I; when I was at home, I was in a better place: but travellers must be content. Ay, be so, good Touchstone. Look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in solemn talk. That is the way to make her scorn you still. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her! I partly guess; for I have loved ere now. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess, Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow: But if thy love were ever like to mine-- As sure I think did never man love so-- How many actions most ridiculous Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy? Into a thousand that I have forgotten. O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily! If thou remember'st not the slightest folly That ever love did make thee run into, Thou hast not loved: Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, Thou hast not loved: Or if thou hast not broke from company Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, Thou hast not loved. O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe! Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found mine own. And I mine. I remember, when I was in love I broke my sword upon a stone and bid him take that for coming a-night to Jane Smile; and I remember the kissing of her batlet and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopt hands had milked; and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her, from whom I took two cods and, giving her them again, said with weeping tears 'Wear these for my sake.' We that are true lovers run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly. Thou speakest wiser than thou art ware of. Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I break my shins against it. Jove, Jove! this shepherd's passion Is much upon my fashion. And mine; but it grows something stale with me. I pray you, one of you question yond man If he for gold will give us any food: I faint almost to death. Holla, you clown! Peace, fool: he's not thy kinsman. Who calls? Your betters, sir. Else are they very wretched. Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend. And to