AMIENS.
[Sings.]
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.
JAQUES.
More, more, I prithee, more.
AMIENS.
It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.
JAQUES.
I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more.
AMIENS.
My voice is ragged. I know I cannot please you.
JAQUES.
I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to sing. Come, more, another stanzo. Call you ’em stanzos?
AMIENS.
What you will, Monsieur Jaques.
JAQUES.
Nay, I care not for their names. They owe me nothing. Will you sing?
AMIENS.
More at your request than to please myself.