An hour by his dial. O noble fool!
A worthy fool! Motley’s the only wear.
A Cold Rendering.
The open-air performances of As You Like it at Combe are all very well, but under the influences of an east wind and damp ground, colds in the head come on very rapidly, just imagine the melancholy Jaques speaking thus:—
A fool, a fool!—I bet a fool i’ the forest,
A botley fool;—a biserable world!
As I do live by—attishu—food, I bet a fool;
Who laid hib dowd ad bask’d hib id the sud,
Ad rail’d od Lady Fortude id good terbs,