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Duke S.

Art thou thus bolden’d, man, by thy distress?

Or else a rude despiser of good manners,

That in civility thou seem’st so empty?

Orl.

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.

Jaq.

And you will not be answer’d with reason,

I must die.

Duke S.

What would you have? Your gentleness shall force,

More than your force move us to gentleness.

Orl.

I almost die for food, and let me have it.

Duke S.

Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.

Orl.

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 command’ment. Bur what e’er you are

That in this desert inaccessible,

Under the shade of melancholy boughs,

Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time;

If ever you have look’d on better days,