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ORLANDO
Thus must I from the smoke into the smother;
From tyrant duke unto a tyrant brother:
But heavenly Rosalind!
TOUCHSTONE
The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely what
wise men do foolishly.
[...] Are not these woods
More free from peril than the envious court?
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
The season's difference, as the icy fang
And churlish chiding of the winter wind.
The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;