Enter ORLANDO and ADAM
As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion
bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand crowns, and, as
thou sayest, charged my brother on his blessing to breed me
well. And there begins my sadness. My brother Jaques he
keeps at school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit. For
my part, he keeps me rustically at home or, to speak more
properly, stays me here at home unkept; for call you that
“keeping” for a gentleman of my birth that differs not from
the stalling of an ox? His horses are bred better, for, besides
that they are fair with their feeding, they are taught their
manage and, to that end, riders dearly hired. But I, his
brother, gain nothing under him but growth, for the which
his animals on his dunghills are as much bound to him as I.
Besides this nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the
something that nature gave me his countenance seems to
take from me. He lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the
place of a brother, and, as much as in him lies, mines my
gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that grieves
me, and the spirit of my father, which I think is within me,
begins to mutiny against this servitude. I will no longer
endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid
Yonder comes my master, your brother.
Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up.