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And in my voice most welcome shall you be.

Ros.

What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture?

Cor.

That young swain that you saw here but erewhile,

That little cares for buying any thing.

Ros.

I pray thee, if it stand with honesty,

Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock,

And thou shalt have to pay for it of us.

Cel.

And we will mend thy wages. I like this place,

And willingly could waste my time in it.

Cor.

Assuredly the thing is to be sold.

Go with me; if you like upon report

The soil, the profit, and this kind of life,

I will your very faithful feeder be,

And buy it with your gold right suddenly.

Exeunt.

¶

Enter Amiens, Jaques, and others.

Song

[Ami.]

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.

Jaq. More, more, I prithee more.

Ami. It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.

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