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DUKE SENIOR. Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweetThan that of painted pomp? Are not these woodsMore free from peril than the envious court?Here feel we not the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference; as the icy fangAnd churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say'This is no flattery; these are counsellorsThat feelingly persuade me what I am.'Sweet are the uses of adversity, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in everything.I would not change it.AMIENS. Happy is your Grace, That can translate the stubbornness of fortuneInto so quiet and so sweet a style.DUKE SENIOR. Come, shall we go and kill us venison?And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools, Being native burghers of this desert city, Should, in their own confines, with forked heads26Have their round haun

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