William Shakespeare
AS YOU LIKE IT
Dramatis
Personae
DUKE
SENIOR living in banishment.
DUKE
FREDERICK his brother, an usurper of his dominions.
AMIENS,
JAQUES } lords attending on the banished duke.
LE BEAU a
courtier attending upon Frederick.
CHARLES
wrestler to Frederick.
OLIVER,
JAQUES, ORLANDO } sons of Sir Rowland de Boys.
ADAM,
DENNIS } servants to Oliver.
TOUCHSTONE
a clown.
SIR OLIVER
MARTEXT a vicar.
CORIN,
SILVIUS } shepherds.
WILLIAM a
country fellow in love with Audrey.
A person
representing HYMEN.
ROSALIND
daughter to the banished duke.
CELIA
daughter to Frederick.
PHEBE a
shepherdess.
AUDREY a
country wench.
Lords,
pages, and attendants, &c.
[Scene: Oliver's house; Duke Frederick's court; and the Forest of
Arden.]
Act 1
Scene 1
[Orchard of Oliver's house.]
[Enter ORLANDO and ADAM]
ORLANDO
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 it.
ADAM
Yonder comes my master, your brother.
ORLANDO
Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will
shake me
up.
[Enter OLIVER]
OLIVER
Now, sir! what make you here?
ORLANDO
Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing.
OLIVER
What mar you then, sir?
ORLANDO
Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God
made, a
poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness.
OLIVER
Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile.
ORLANDO
Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks with them?
What
prodigal portion have I spent, that I should
come to
such penury?
OLIVER
Know you where your are, sir?
ORLANDO
O, sir, very well; here in your orchard.
OLIVER
Know you before whom, sir?
ORLANDO
Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I know
you are my
eldest brother; and, in the gentle
condition
of blood, you should so know me. The
courtesy
of nations allows you my better, in that
you are
the first-born; but the same tradition
takes not
away my blood, were there twenty brothers
betwixt
us: I have as much of my father in me as
you;
albeit, I confess, your coming before me is
nearer to
his reverence.
OLIVER
What, boy!
ORLANDO
Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this.
OLIVER
Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?
ORLANDO
I am no villain; I am the youngest son of Sir
Rowland de
Boys; he was my father, and he is thrice
a villain
that says such a father begot villains.
Wert thou
not my brother, I would not take this hand
from thy
throat till this other had pulled out thy
tongue for
saying so: thou hast railed on thyself.
ADAM
Sweet masters, be patient: for your father's
remembrance,
be at accord.
OLIVER
Let me go, I say.
ORLANDO
I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. My
father
charged you in his will to give me good
education:
you have trained me like a peasant,
obscuring
and hiding from me all gentleman-like
qualities.
The spirit of my father grows strong in
me, and I
will no longer endure it: therefore allow
me such
exercises as may become a gentleman, or
give me
the poor allottery my father left me by
testament;
with that I will go buy my fortunes.
OLIVER
And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent?
Well, sir,
get you in: I will not long be troubled
with you;
you shall have some part of your will: I
pray you,
leave me.
ORLANDO
I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good.
OLIVER
Get you with him, you old dog.
ADAM
Is 'old dog' my reward? Most true, I have lost my
teeth in
your service. God be with my old master!
he would
not have spoke such a word.
[Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM]
OLIVER
Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? I will
physic
your rankness, and yet give no thousand
crowns
neither. Holla, Dennis!
[Enter DENNIS]
DENNIS
Calls your worship?
OLIVER
Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, here to speak with me?
DENNIS
So please you, he is here at the door and importunes
access to
you.
OLIVER
Call him in.
[Exit DENNIS]
'Twill be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is.
[Enter CHARLES]
CHARLES
Good morrow to your worship.
OLIVER
Good Monsieur Charles, what's the new news at the
new court?
CHARLES
There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news:
that is,
the old duke is banished by his younger
brother
the new duke; and three or four loving lords
have put
themselves into voluntary exile with him,
whose
lands and revenues enrich the new duke;
therefore
he gives them good leave to wander.
OLIVER
Can you tell if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, be
banished
with her father?
CHARLES
O, no; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves
her, being
ever from their cradles bred together,
that she
would have followed her exile, or have died
to stay
behind her. She is at the court, and no
less
beloved of her uncle than his own daughter; and
never two
ladies loved as they do.
OLIVER
Where will the old duke live?
CHARLES
They say he is already in the forest of Arden, and
a many
merry men with him; and there they live like
the old
Robin Hood of England: they say many young
gentlemen
flock to him every day, and fleet the time
carelessly,
as they did in the golden world.
OLIVER
What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke?
CHARLES
Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a
matter. I
am given, sir, secretly to understand
that your
younger brother Orlando hath a disposition
to come in
disguised against me to try a fall.
To-morrow,
sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he that
escapes me
without some broken limb shall acquit him
well. Your
brother is but young and tender; and,
for your
love, I would be loath to foil him, as I
must, for
my own honour, if he come in: therefore,
out of my
love to you, I came hither to acquaint you
withal,
that either you might stay him from his
intendment
or brook such disgrace well as he shall
run into,
in that it is a thing of his own search
and
altogether against my will.
OLIVER
Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which
thou shalt
find I will most kindly requite. I had
myself
notice of my brother's purpose herein and
have by
underhand means laboured to dissuade him from
it, but he
is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles:
it is the
stubbornest young fellow of France, full
of
ambition, an envious emulator of every man's
good
parts, a secret and villanous contriver against
me his
natural brother: therefore use thy
discretion;
I had as lief thou didst break his neck
as his
finger. And thou wert best look to't; for if
thou dost
him any slight disgrace or if he do not
mightily
grace himself on thee, he will practise
against
thee by poison, entrap thee by some
treacherous
device and never leave thee till he
hath ta'en
thy life by some indirect means or other;
for, I
assure thee, and almost with tears I speak
it, there
is not one so young and so villanous this
day
living. I speak but brotherly of him; but
should I
anatomize him to thee as he is, I must
blush and
weep and thou must look pale and wonder.
CHARLES
I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come
to-morrow,
I'll give him his payment: if ever he go
alone
again, I'll never wrestle for prize more: and
so God
keep your worship!
OLIVER
Farewell, good Charles.
[Exit CHARLES]
Now will I stir this gamester: I hope I shall see
an end of
him; for my soul, yet I know not why,
hates
nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle, never
schooled
and yet learned, full of noble device, of
all sorts
enchantingly beloved, and indeed so much
in the
heart of the world, and especially of my own
people,
who best know him, that I am altogether
misprised:
but it shall not be so long; this
wrestler
shall clear all: nothing remains but that
I kindle
the boy thither; which now I'll go about.
[Exit]
Scene 2
[Lawn before the Duke's palace.]
[Enter CELIA and ROSALIND]
CELIA
I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.
ROSALIND
Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of;
and would
you yet I were merrier? Unless you could
teach me
to forget a banished father, you must not
learn me
how to remember any extraordinary pleasure.
CELIA
Herein I see thou lovest me not with the full weight
that I
love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father,
had
banished thy uncle, the duke my father, so thou
hadst been
still with me, I could have taught my
love to
take thy father for mine: so wouldst thou,
if the
truth of thy love to me were so righteously
tempered
as mine is to thee.
ROSALIND
Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to
rejoice in
yours.
CELIA
You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is
like to
have: and, truly, when he dies, thou shalt
be his
heir, for what he hath taken away from thy
father
perforce, I will render thee again in
affection;
by mine honour, I will; and when I break
that oath,
let me turn monster: therefore, my
sweet
Rose, my dear Rose, be merry.
ROSALIND
From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. Let
me see;
what think you of falling in love?
CELIA
Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport withal: but
love no
man in good earnest; nor no further in sport
neither
than with safety of a pure blush thou mayst
in honour
come off again.
ROSALIND
What shall be our sport, then?
CELIA
Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from
her wheel,
that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally.
ROSALIND
I would we could do so, for her benefits are
mightily
misplaced, and the bountiful blind woman
doth most
mistake in her gifts to women.
CELIA
'Tis true; for those that she makes fair she scarce
makes
honest, and those that she makes honest she
makes very
ill-favouredly.
ROSALIND
Nay, now thou goest from Fortune's office to
Nature's:
Fortune reigns in gifts of the world,
not in the
lineaments of Nature.
[Enter TOUCHSTONE]
CELIA
No? when Nature hath made a fair creature, may she
not by
Fortune fall into the fire? Though Nature
hath given
us wit to flout at Fortune, hath not
Fortune
sent in this fool to cut off the argument?
ROSALIND
Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when
Fortune
makes Nature's natural the cutter-off of
Nature's
wit.
CELIA
Peradventure this is not Fortune's work neither, but
Nature's;
who perceiveth our natural wits too dull
to reason
of such goddesses and hath sent this
natural
for our whetstone; for always the dulness of
the fool
is the whetstone of the wits. How now,
wit!
whither wander you?
TOUCHSTONE
Mistress, you must come away to your father.
CELIA
Were you made the messenger?
TOUCHSTONE
No, by mine honour, but I was bid to come for you.
ROSALIND
Where learned you that oath, fool?
TOUCHSTONE
Of a certain knight that swore by his honour they
were good
pancakes and swore by his honour the
mustard
was naught: now I'll stand to it, the
pancakes
were naught and the mustard was good, and
yet was
not the knight forsworn.
CELIA
How prove you that, in the great heap of your
knowledge?
ROSALIND
Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom.
TOUCHSTONE
Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and
swear by
your beards that I am a knave.
CELIA
By our beards, if we had them, thou art.
TOUCHSTONE
By my knavery, if I had it, then I were; but if you
swear by
that that is not, you are not forsworn: no
more was
this knight swearing by his honour, for he
never had
any; or if he had, he had sworn it away
before
ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard.
CELIA
Prithee, who is't that thou meanest?
TOUCHSTONE
One that old Frederick, your father, loves.
CELIA
My father's love is enough to honour him: enough!
speak no
more of him; you'll be whipped for taxation
one of
these days.
TOUCHSTONE
The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely what
wise men
do foolishly.
CELIA
By my troth, thou sayest true; for since the little
wit that
fools have was silenced, the little foolery
that wise
men have makes a great show. Here comes
Monsieur
Le Beau.
ROSALIND
With his mouth full of news.
CELIA
Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young.
ROSALIND
Then shall we be news-crammed.
CELIA
All the better; we shall be the more marketable.
[Enter LE BEAU]
Bon jour, Monsieur Le Beau: what's the news?
LE BEAU
Fair princess, you have lost much good sport.
CELIA
Sport! of what colour?
LE BEAU
What colour, madam! how shall I answer you?
ROSALIND
As wit and fortune will.
TOUCHSTONE
Or as the Destinies decree.
CELIA
Well said: that was laid on with a trowel.
TOUCHSTONE
Nay, if I keep not my rank, --
ROSALIND
Thou losest thy old smell.
LE BEAU
You amaze me, ladies: I would have told you of good
wrestling,
which you have lost the sight of.
ROSALIND
You tell us the manner of the wrestling.
LE BEAU
I will tell you the beginning; and, if it please
your
ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is
yet to do;
and here, where you are, they are coming
to perform
it.
CELIA
Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried.
LE BEAU
There comes an old man and his three sons, --
CELIA
I could match this beginning with an old tale.
LE BEAU
Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence.
ROSALIND
With bills on their necks, 'Be it known unto all men
by these
presents.'
LE BEAU
The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the
duke's
wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him
and broke
three of his ribs, that there is little
hope of
life in him: so he served the second, and
so the
third. Yonder they lie; the poor old man,
their
father, making such pitiful dole over them
that all
the beholders take his part with weeping.
ROSALIND
Alas!
TOUCHSTONE
But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies
have lost?
LE BEAU
Why, this that I speak of.
TOUCHSTONE
Thus men may grow wiser every day: it is the first
time that
ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport
for
ladies.
CELIA
Or I, I promise thee.
ROSALIND
But is there any else longs to see this broken music
in his
sides? is there yet another dotes upon
rib-breaking?
Shall we see this wrestling, cousin?
LE BEAU
You must, if you stay here; for here is the place
appointed
for the wrestling, and they are ready to
perform
it.
CELIA
Yonder, sure, they are coming: let us now stay and see it.
[Flourish. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, ORLANDO, CHARLES, and
Attendants]
DUKE
FREDERICK
Come on: since the youth will not be entreated, his
own peril
on his forwardness.
ROSALIND
Is yonder the man?
LE BEAU
Even he, madam.
CELIA
Alas, he is too young! yet he looks successfully.
DUKE
FREDERICK
How now, daughter and cousin! are you crept hither
to see the
wrestling?
ROSALIND
Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave.
DUKE
FREDERICK
You will take little delight in it, I can tell you;
there is
such odds in the man. In pity of the
challenger's
youth I would fain dissuade him, but he
will not
be entreated. Speak to him, ladies; see if
you can
move him.
CELIA
Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau.
DUKE
FREDERICK
Do so: I'll not be by.
LE BEAU
Monsieur the challenger, the princesses call for you.
ORLANDO
I attend them with all respect and duty.
ROSALIND
Young man, have you challenged Charles the wrestler?
ORLANDO
No, fair princess; he is the general challenger: I
come but
in, as others do, to try with him the
strength
of my youth.
CELIA
Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your
years. You
have seen cruel proof of this man's
strength:
if you saw yourself with your eyes or
knew
yourself with your judgment, the fear of your
adventure
would counsel you to a more equal
enterprise.
We pray you, for your own sake, to
embrace
your own safety and give over this attempt.
ROSALIND
Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore
be
misprised: we will make it our suit to the duke
that the
wrestling might not go forward.
ORLANDO
I beseech you, punish me not with your hard
thoughts;
wherein I confess me much guilty, to deny
so fair
and excellent ladies any thing. But let
your fair
eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my
trial:
wherein if I be foiled, there is but one
shamed
that was never gracious; if killed, but one
dead that
was willing to be so: I shall do my
friends no
wrong, for I have none to lament me, the
world no
injury, for in it I have nothing; only in
the world
I fill up a place, which may be better
supplied
when I have made it empty.
ROSALIND
The little strength that I have, I would it were with you.
CELIA
And mine, to eke out hers.
ROSALIND
Fare you well: pray heaven I be deceived in you!
CELIA
Your heart's desires be with you!
CHARLES
Come, where is this young gallant that is so
desirous
to lie with his mother earth?
ORLANDO
Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working.
DUKE
FREDERICK
You shall try but one fall.
CHARLES
No, I warrant your grace, you shall not entreat him
to a
second, that have so mightily persuaded him
from a
first.
ORLANDO
An you mean to mock me after, you should not have
mocked me
before: but come your ways.
ROSALIND
Now Hercules be thy speed, young man!
CELIA
I would I were invisible, to catch the strong
fellow by
the leg.
[They wrestle]
ROSALIND
O excellent young man!
CELIA
If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who
should
down.
[Shout. CHARLES is thrown]
DUKE
FREDERICK
No more, no more.
ORLANDO
Yes, I beseech your grace: I am not yet well breathed.
DUKE
FREDERICK
How dost thou, Charles?
LE BEAU
He cannot speak, my lord.
DUKE
FREDERICK
Bear him away. What is thy name, young man?
ORLANDO
Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys.
DUKE
FREDERICK
I would thou hadst been son to some man else:
The world
esteem'd thy father honourable,
But I did
find him still mine enemy:
Thou
shouldst have better pleased me with this deed,
Hadst thou
descended from another house.
But fare
thee well; thou art a gallant youth:
I would
thou hadst told me of another father.
[Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK, train, and LE BEAU]
CELIA
Were I my father, coz, would I do this?
ORLANDO
I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son,
His
youngest son; and would not change that calling,
To be
adopted heir to Frederick.
ROSALIND
My father loved Sir Rowland as his soul,
And all
the world was of my father's mind:
Had I
before known this young man his son,
I should
have given him tears unto entreaties,
Ere he
should thus have ventured.
CELIA
Gentle cousin,
Let us go
thank him and encourage him:
My
father's rough and envious disposition
Sticks me
at heart. Sir, you have well deserved:
If you do
keep your promises in love
But
justly, as you have exceeded all promise,
Your
mistress shall be happy.
ROSALIND
Gentleman,
[Giving him a chain from her neck]
Wear this for me, one out of suits with fortune,
That could
give more, but that her hand lacks means.
Shall we
go, coz?
CELIA
Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman.
ORLANDO
Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts
Are all
thrown down, and that which here stands up
Is but a
quintain, a mere lifeless block.
ROSALIND
He calls us back: my pride fell with my fortunes;
I'll ask
him what he would. Did you call, sir?
Sir, you
have wrestled well and overthrown
More than
your enemies.
CELIA
Will you go, coz?
ROSALIND
Have with you. Fare you well.
[Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA]
ORLANDO
What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue?
I cannot
speak to her, yet she urged conference.
O poor
Orlando, thou art overthrown!
Or Charles
or something weaker masters thee.
[Re-enter LE BEAU]
LE BEAU
Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you
To leave
this place. Albeit you have deserved
High
commendation, true applause and love,
Yet such
is now the duke's condition
That he
misconstrues all that you have done.
The duke
is humorous; what he is indeed,
More suits
you to conceive than I to speak of.
ORLANDO
I thank you, sir: and, pray you, tell me this:
Which of
the two was daughter of the duke
That here
was at the wrestling?
LE BEAU
Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners;
But yet
indeed the lesser is his daughter
The other
is daughter to the banish'd duke,
And here
detain'd by her usurping uncle,
To keep
his daughter company; whose loves
Are dearer
than the natural bond of sisters.
But I can
tell you that of late this duke
Hath ta'en
displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece,
Grounded
upon no other argument
But that
the people praise her for her virtues
And pity
her for her good father's sake;
And, on my
life, his malice 'gainst the lady
Will
suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well:
Hereafter,
in a better world than this,
I shall
desire more love and knowledge of you.
ORLANDO
I rest much bounden to you: fare you well.
[Exit LE BEAU]
Thus must I from the smoke into the smother;
From
tyrant duke unto a tyrant brother:
But
heavenly Rosalind!
[Exit]
Scene 3
[A room in the palace.]
[Enter CELIA and ROSALIND]
CELIA
Why, cousin! why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy! not a word?
ROSALIND
Not one to throw at a dog.
CELIA
No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon
curs;
throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons.
ROSALIND
Then there were two cousins laid up; when the one
should be
lamed with reasons and the other mad
without
any.
CELIA
But is all this for your father?
ROSALIND
No, some of it is for my child's father. O, how
full of
briers is this working-day world!
CELIA
They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in
holiday
foolery: if we walk not in the trodden
paths our
very petticoats will catch them.
ROSALIND
I could shake them off my coat: these burs are in my heart.
CELIA
Hem them away.
ROSALIND
I would try, if I could cry 'hem' and have him.
CELIA
Come, come, wrestle with thy affections.
ROSALIND
O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself!
CELIA
O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in
despite of
a fall. But, turning these jests out of
service,
let us talk in good earnest: is it
possible,
on such a sudden, you should fall into so
strong a
liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son?
ROSALIND
The duke my father loved his father dearly.
CELIA
Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his son
dearly? By
this kind of chase, I should hate him,
for my
father hated his father dearly; yet I hate
not
Orlando.
ROSALIND
No, faith, hate him not, for my sake.
CELIA
Why should I not? doth he not deserve well?
ROSALIND
Let me love him for that, and do you love him
because I
do. Look, here comes the duke.
CELIA
With his eyes full of anger.
[Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords]
DUKE
FREDERICK
Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste
And get
you from our court.
ROSALIND
Me, uncle?
DUKE
FREDERICK
You, cousin
Within
these ten days if that thou be'st found
So near
our public court as twenty miles,
Thou diest
for it.
ROSALIND
I do beseech your grace,
Let me the
knowledge of my fault bear with me:
If with
myself I hold intelligence
Or have
acquaintance with mine own desires,
If that I
do not dream or be not frantic, --
As I do
trust I am not -- then, dear uncle,
Never so
much as in a thought unborn
Did I
offend your highness.
DUKE
FREDERICK
Thus do all traitors:
If their
purgation did consist in words,
They are
as innocent as grace itself:
Let it
suffice thee that I trust thee not.
ROSALIND
Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor:
Tell me
whereon the likelihood depends.
DUKE
FREDERICK
Thou art thy father's daughter; there's enough.
ROSALIND
So was I when your highness took his dukedom;
So was I
when your highness banish'd him:
Treason is
not inherited, my lord;
Or, if we
did derive it from our friends,
What's
that to me? my father was no traitor:
Then, good
my liege, mistake me not so much
To think
my poverty is treacherous.
CELIA
Dear sovereign, hear me speak.
DUKE
FREDERICK
Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake,
Else had
she with her father ranged along.
CELIA
I did not then entreat to have her stay;
It was
your pleasure and your own remorse:
I was too
young that time to value her;
But now I
know her: if she be a traitor,
Why so am
I; we still have slept together,
Rose at an
instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together,
And
wheresoever we went, like Juno's swans,
Still we
went coupled and inseparable.
DUKE
FREDERICK
She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness,
Her very
silence and her patience
Speak to
the people, and they pity her.
Thou art a
fool: she robs thee of thy name;
And thou
wilt show more bright and seem more virtuous
When she
is gone. Then open not thy lips:
Firm and
irrevocable is my doom
Which I
have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd.
CELIA
Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege:
I cannot
live out of her company.
DUKE
FREDERICK
You are a fool. You, niece, provide yourself:
If you
outstay the time, upon mine honour,
And in the
greatness of my word, you die.
[Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK and Lords]
CELIA
O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt thou go?
Wilt thou
change fathers? I will give thee mine.
I charge
thee, be not thou more grieved than I am.
ROSALIND
I have more cause.
CELIA
Thou hast not, cousin;
Prithee be
cheerful: know'st thou not, the duke
Hath
banish'd me, his daughter?
ROSALIND
That he hath not.
CELIA
No, hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love
Which
teacheth thee that thou and I am one:
Shall we
be sunder'd? shall we part, sweet girl?
No: let my
father seek another heir.
Therefore
devise with me how we may fly,
Whither to
go and what to bear with us;
And do not
seek to take your change upon you,
To bear
your griefs yourself and leave me out;
For, by
this heaven, now at our sorrows pale,
Say what
thou canst, I'll go along with thee.
ROSALIND
Why, whither shall we go?
CELIA
To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden.
ROSALIND
Alas, what danger will it be to us,
Maids as
we are, to travel forth so far!
Beauty
provoketh thieves sooner than gold.
CELIA
I'll put myself in poor and mean attire
And with a
kind of umber smirch my face;
The like
do you: so shall we pass along
And never
stir assailants.
ROSALIND
Were it not better,
Because
that I am more than common tall,
That I did
suit me all points like a man?
A gallant
curtle-axe upon my thigh,
A
boar-spear in my hand; and -- in my heart
Lie there
what hidden woman's fear there will --
We'll have
a swashing and a martial outside,
As many
other mannish cowards have
That do
outface it with their semblances.
CELIA
What shall I call thee when thou art a man?
ROSALIND
I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page;
And
therefore look you call me Ganymede.
But what
will you be call'd?
CELIA
Something that hath a reference to my state
No longer
Celia, but Aliena.
ROSALIND
But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal
The
clownish fool out of your father's court?
Would he
not be a comfort to our travel?
CELIA
He'll go along o'er the wide world with me;
Leave me
alone to woo him. Let's away,
And get
our jewels and our wealth together,
Devise the
fittest time and safest way
To hide us
from pursuit that will be made
After my
flight. Now go we in content
To liberty
and not to banishment.
[Exeunt]
Act 2
Scene 1
[The Forest of Arden.]
[Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and two or three Lords, like
foresters]
DUKE
SENIOR
Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,
Hath not
old custom made this life more sweet
Than that
of painted pomp? Are not these woods
More free
from peril than the envious court?
Here feel
we but the penalty of Adam,
The
seasons' difference, as the icy fang
And
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 counsellors
That
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 every thing.
I would
not change it.
AMIENS
Happy is your grace,
That can
translate the stubbornness of fortune
Into 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 heads
Have their
round haunches gored.
First Lord
Indeed, my lord,
The
melancholy Jaques grieves at that,
And, in
that kind, swears you do more usurp
Than doth
your brother that hath banish'd you.
To-day my
Lord of Amiens and myself
Did steal
behind him as he lay along
Under an
oak whose antique root peeps out
Upon the
brook that brawls along this wood:
To the
which place a poor sequester'd stag,
That from
the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt,
Did come
to languish, and indeed, my lord,
The
wretched animal heaved forth such groans
That their
discharge did stretch his leathern coat
Almost to
bursting, and the big round tears
Coursed
one another down his innocent nose
In piteous
chase; and thus the hairy fool
Much
marked of the melancholy Jaques,
Stood on
the extremest verge of the swift brook,
Augmenting
it with tears.
DUKE
SENIOR
But what said Jaques?
Did he not
moralize this spectacle?
First Lord
O, yes, into a thousand similes.
First, for
his weeping into the needless stream;
'Poor
deer,' quoth he, 'thou makest a testament
As
worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
To that
which had too much:' then, being there alone,
Left and
abandon'd of his velvet friends,
''Tis
right:' quoth he; 'thus misery doth part
The flux
of company:' anon a careless herd,
Full of
the pasture, jumps along by him
And never
stays to greet him; 'Ay' quoth Jaques,
'Sweep on,
you fat and greasy citizens;
'Tis just
the fashion: wherefore do you look
Upon that
poor and broken bankrupt there?'
Thus most
invectively he pierceth through
The body
of the country, city, court,
Yea, and
of this our life, swearing that we
Are mere
usurpers, tyrants and what's worse,
To fright
the animals and to kill them up
In their
assign'd and native dwelling-place.
DUKE
SENIOR
And did you leave him in this contemplation?
Second
Lord
We did, my lord, weeping and commenting
Upon the
sobbing deer.
DUKE
SENIOR
Show me the place:
I love to
cope him in these sullen fits,
For then
he's full of matter.
First Lord
I'll bring you to him straight.
[Exeunt]
Scene 2
[A room in the palace.]
[Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords]
DUKE
FREDERICK
Can it be possible that no man saw them?
It cannot
be: some villains of my court
Are of
consent and sufferance in this.
First Lord
I cannot hear of any that did see her.
The
ladies, her attendants of her chamber,
Saw her
abed, and in the morning early
They found
the bed untreasured of their mistress.
Second
Lord
My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft
Your grace
was wont to laugh, is also missing.
Hisperia,
the princess' gentlewoman,
Confesses
that she secretly o'erheard
Your
daughter and her cousin much commend
The parts
and graces of the wrestler
That did
but lately foil the sinewy Charles;
And she
believes, wherever they are gone,
That youth
is surely in their company.
DUKE
FREDERICK
Send to his brother; fetch that gallant hither;
If he be
absent, bring his brother to me;
I'll make
him find him: do this suddenly,
And let
not search and inquisition quail
To bring
again these foolish runaways.
[Exeunt]
Scene 3
[Before OLIVER'S house.]
[Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting]
ORLANDO
Who's there?
ADAM
What, my young master? O, my gentle master!
O my sweet
master! O you memory
Of old Sir
Rowland! why, what make you here?
Why are
you virtuous? why do people love you?
And
wherefore are you gentle, strong and valiant?
Why would
you be so fond to overcome
The bonny
priser of the humorous duke?
Your
praise is come too swiftly home before you.
Know you
not, master, to some kind of men
Their
graces serve them but as enemies?
No more do
yours: your virtues, gentle master,
Are
sanctified and holy traitors to you.
O, what a
world is this, when what is comely
Envenoms
him that bears it!
ORLANDO
Why, what's the matter?
ADAM
O unhappy youth!
Come not
within these doors; within this roof
The enemy
of all your graces lives:
Your
brother -- no, no brother; yet the son --
Yet not
the son, I will not call him son
Of him I
was about to call his father --
Hath heard
your praises, and this night he means
To burn
the lodging where you use to lie
And you
within it: if he fail of that,
He will
have other means to cut you off.
I
overheard him and his practises.
This is no
place; this house is but a butchery:
Abhor it,
fear it, do not enter it.
ORLANDO
Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go?
ADAM
No matter whither, so you come not here.
ORLANDO
What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food?
Or with a
base and boisterous sword enforce
A thievish
living on the common road?
This I
must do, or know not what to do:
Yet this I
will not do, do how I can;
I rather
will subject me to the malice
Of a
diverted blood and bloody brother.
ADAM
But do not so. I have five hundred crowns,
The
thrifty hire I saved under your father,
Which I
did store to be my foster-nurse
When
service should in my old limbs lie lame
And
unregarded age in corners thrown:
Take that,
and He that doth the ravens feed,
Yea,
providently caters for the sparrow,
Be comfort
to my age! Here is the gold;
And all
this I give you. Let me be your servant:
Though I
look old, yet I am strong and lusty;
For in my
youth I never did apply
Hot and
rebellious liquors in my blood,
Nor did
not with unbashful forehead woo
The means
of weakness and debility;
Therefore
my age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty,
but kindly: let me go with you;
I'll do
the service of a younger man
In all
your business and necessities.
ORLANDO
O good old man, how well in thee appears
The
constant service of the antique world,
When
service sweat for duty, not for meed!
Thou art
not for the fashion of these times,
Where none
will sweat but for promotion,
And having
that, do choke their service up
Even with
the having: it is not so with thee.
But, poor
old man, thou prunest a rotten tree,
That
cannot so much as a blossom yield
In lieu of
all thy pains and husbandry
But come
thy ways; well go along together,
And ere we
have thy youthful wages spent,
We'll
light upon some settled low content.
ADAM
Master, go on, and I will follow thee,
To the
last gasp, with truth and loyalty.
From
seventeen years till now almost fourscore
Here lived
I, but now live here no more.
At
seventeen years many their fortunes seek;
But at
fourscore it is too late a week:
Yet
fortune cannot recompense me better
Than to
die well and not my master's debtor.
[Exeunt]
Scene 4
[The Forest of Arden.]
[Enter ROSALIND for Ganymede, CELIA for Aliena, and TOUCHSTONE]
ROSALIND
O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits!
TOUCHSTONE
I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary.
ROSALIND
I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's
apparel
and to cry like a woman; but I must comfort
the weaker
vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show
itself
courageous to petticoat: therefore courage,
good
Aliena!
CELIA
I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go no further.
TOUCHSTONE
For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear
you; yet I
should bear no cross if I did bear you,
for I
think you have no money in your purse.
ROSALIND
Well, this is the forest of Arden.
TOUCHSTONE
Ay, now am I in Arden; the more fool I; when I was
at home, I
was in a better place: but travellers
must be
content.
ROSALIND
Ay, be so, good Touchstone.
[Enter CORIN and SILVIUS]
Look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in
solemn
talk.
CORIN
That is the way to make her scorn you still.
SILVIUS
O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her!
CORIN
I partly guess; for I have loved ere now.
SILVIUS
No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess,
Though in
thy youth thou wast as true a lover
As ever
sigh'd upon a midnight pillow:
But if thy
love were ever like to mine --
As sure I
think did never man love so --
How many
actions most ridiculous
Hast thou
been drawn to by thy fantasy?
CORIN
Into a thousand that I have forgotten.
SILVIUS
O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily!
If thou
remember'st not the slightest folly
That ever
love did make thee run into,
Thou hast
not loved:
Or if thou
hast not sat as I do now,
Wearying
thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
Thou hast
not loved:
Or if thou
hast not broke from company
Abruptly,
as my passion now makes me,
Thou hast
not loved.
O Phebe,
Phebe, Phebe!
[Exit]
ROSALIND
Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound,
I have by
hard adventure found mine own.
TOUCHSTONE
And I mine. I remember, when I was in love I broke
my sword
upon a stone and bid him take that for
coming
a-night to Jane Smile; and I remember the
kissing of
her batlet and the cow's dugs that her
pretty
chopt hands had milked; and I remember the
wooing of
a peascod instead of her, from whom I took
two cods
and, giving her them again, said with
weeping
tears 'Wear these for my sake.' We that are
true
lovers run into strange capers; but as all is
mortal in
nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.
ROSALIND
Thou speakest wiser than thou art ware of.
TOUCHSTONE
Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I
break my
shins against it.
ROSALIND
Jove, Jove! this shepherd's passion
Is much
upon my fashion.
TOUCHSTONE
And mine; but it grows something stale with me.
CELIA
I pray you, one of you question yond man
If he for
gold will give us any food:
I faint
almost to death.
TOUCHSTONE
Holla, you clown!
ROSALIND
Peace, fool: he's not thy kinsman.
CORIN
Who calls?
TOUCHSTONE
Your betters, sir.
CORIN
Else are they very wretched.
ROSALIND
Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend.
CORIN
And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.
ROSALIND
I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold
Can in
this desert place buy entertainment,
Bring us
where we may rest ourselves and feed:
Here's a
young maid with travel much oppress'd
And faints
for succor.
CORIN
Fair sir, I pity her
And wish,
for her sake more than for mine own,
My
fortunes were more able to relieve her;
But I am
shepherd to another man
And do not
shear the fleeces that I graze:
My master
is of churlish disposition
And little
recks to find the way to heaven
By doing
deeds of hospitality:
Besides,
his cote, his flocks and bounds of feed
Are now on
sale, and at our sheepcote now,
By reason
of his absence, there is nothing
That you
will feed on; but what is, come see.
And in my
voice most welcome shall you be.
ROSALIND
What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture?
CORIN
That young swain that you saw here but erewhile,
That
little cares for buying any thing.
ROSALIND
I pray thee, if it stand with honesty,
Buy thou
the cottage, pasture and the flock,
And thou
shalt have to pay for it of us.
CELIA
And we will mend thy wages. I like this place.
And
willingly could waste my time in it.
CORIN
Assuredly the thing is to be sold:
Go with
me: if you like upon report
The soil,
the profit and this kind of life,
I will
your very faithful feeder be
And buy it
with your gold right suddenly.
[Exeunt]
Scene 5
[The Forest.]
[Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others]
[SONG.]
AMIENS
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.
JAQUES
Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you;
but that
they call compliment is like the encounter
of two
dog-apes, and when a man thanks me heartily,
methinks I
have given him a penny and he renders me
the
beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will
not, hold
your tongues.
AMIENS
Well, I'll end the song. Sirs, cover the while; the
duke will
drink under this tree. He hath been all
this day
to look you.
JAQUES
And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is
too
disputable for my company: I think of as many
matters as
he, but I give heaven thanks and make no
boast of
them. Come, warble, come.
SONG.
Who doth
ambition shun
[All together here]
And loves to live i' the sun,
Seeking
the food he eats
And
pleased with what he gets,
Come
hither, come hither, come hither:
Here shall
he see No enemy
But winter
and rough weather.
JAQUES
I'll give you a verse to this note that I made
yesterday
in despite of my invention.
AMIENS
And I'll sing it.
JAQUES
Thus it goes: --
If it do
come to pass
That any
man turn ass,
Leaving
his wealth and ease,
A stubborn
will to please,
Ducdame,
ducdame, ducdame:
Here shall
he see
Gross
fools as he,
An if he
will come to me.
AMIENS
What's that 'ducdame'?
JAQUES
'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a
circle.
I'll go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I'll
rail
against all the first-born of Egypt.
AMIENS
And I'll go seek the duke: his banquet is prepared.
[Exeunt severally]
Scene 6
[The forest.]
[Enter ORLANDO and ADAM]
ADAM
Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food!
Here lie I
down, and measure out my grave. Farewell,
kind
master.
ORLANDO
Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee? Live
a little;
comfort a little; cheer thyself a little.
If this
uncouth forest yield any thing savage, I
will
either be food for it or bring it for food to
thee. Thy
conceit is nearer death than thy powers.
For my
sake be comfortable; hold death awhile at
the arm's
end: I will here be with thee presently;
and if I
bring thee not something to eat, I will
give thee
leave to die: but if thou diest before I
come, thou
art a mocker of my labour. Well said!
thou
lookest cheerly, and I'll be with thee quickly.
Yet thou
liest in the bleak air: come, I will bear
thee to
some shelter; and thou shalt not die for
lack of a
dinner, if there live any thing in this
desert.
Cheerly, good Adam!
[Exeunt]
Scene 7
[The forest.]
[A table set out. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and Lords like
outlaws]
DUKE
SENIOR
I think he be transform'd into a beast;
For I can
no where find him like a man.
First Lord
My lord, he is but even now gone hence:
Here was
he merry, hearing of a song.
DUKE
SENIOR
If he, compact of jars, grow musical,
We shall
have shortly discord in the spheres.
Go, seek
him: tell him I would speak with him.
[Enter JAQUES]
First Lord
He saves my labour by his own approach.
DUKE
SENIOR
Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this,
That your
poor friends must woo your company?
What, you
look merrily!
JAQUES
A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' the forest,
A motley
fool; a miserable world!
As I do
live by food, I met a fool
Who laid
him down and bask'd him in the sun,
And rail'd
on Lady Fortune in good terms,
In good
set terms and yet a motley fool.
'Good
morrow, fool,' quoth I. 'No, sir,' quoth he,
'Call me
not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune:'
And then
he drew a dial from his poke,
And,
looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
Says very
wisely, 'It is ten o'clock:
Thus we
may see,' quoth he, 'how the world wags:
'Tis but
an hour ago since it was nine,
And after
one hour more 'twill be eleven;
And so,
from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,
And then,
from hour to hour, we rot and rot;
And
thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear
The motley
fool thus moral on the time,
My lungs
began to crow like chanticleer,
That fools
should be so deep-contemplative,
And I did
laugh sans intermission
An hour by
his dial. O noble fool!
A worthy
fool! Motley's the only wear.
DUKE
SENIOR
What fool is this?
JAQUES
O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier,
And says,
if ladies be but young and fair,
They have
the gift to know it: and in his brain,
Which is
as dry as the remainder biscuit
After a
voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd
With
observation, the which he vents
In mangled
forms. O that I were a fool!
I am
ambitious for a motley coat.
DUKE
SENIOR
Thou shalt have one.
JAQUES
It is my only suit;
Provided
that you weed your better judgments
Of all
opinion that grows rank in them
That I am
wise. I must have liberty
Withal, as
large a charter as the wind,
To blow on
whom I please; for so fools have;
And they
that are most galled with my folly,
They most
must laugh. And why, sir, must they so?
The 'why'
is plain as way to parish church:
He that a
fool doth very wisely hit
Doth very
foolishly, although he smart,
Not to
seem senseless of the bob: if not,
The wise
man's folly is anatomized
Even by
the squandering glances of the fool.
Invest me
in my motley; give me leave
To speak
my mind, and I will through and through
Cleanse
the foul body of the infected world,
If they
will patiently receive my medicine.
DUKE
SENIOR
Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do.
JAQUES
What, for a counter, would I do but good?
DUKE
SENIOR
Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin:
For thou
thyself hast been a libertine,
As sensual
as the brutish sting itself;
And all
the embossed sores and headed evils,
That thou
with licence of free foot hast caught,
Wouldst
thou disgorge into the general world.
JAQUES
Why, who cries out on pride,
That can
therein tax any private party?
Doth it
not flow as hugely as the sea,
Till that
the weary very means do ebb?
What woman
in the city do I name,
When that
I say the city-woman bears
The cost
of princes on unworthy shoulders?
Who can
come in and say that I mean her,
When such
a one as she such is her neighbour?
Or what is
he of basest function
That says
his bravery is not of my cost,
Thinking
that I mean him, but therein suits
His folly
to the mettle of my speech?
There
then; how then? what then? Let me see wherein
My tongue
hath wrong'd him: if it do him right,
Then he
hath wrong'd himself; if he be free,
Why then
my taxing like a wild-goose flies,
Unclaim'd
of any man. But who comes here?
[Enter ORLANDO, with his sword drawn]
ORLANDO
Forbear, and eat no more.
JAQUES
Why, I have eat none yet.
ORLANDO
Nor shalt not, till necessity be served.
JAQUES
Of what kind should this cock come of?
DUKE
SENIOR
Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress,
Or else a
rude despiser of good manners,
That in
civility thou seem'st so empty?
ORLANDO
You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny point
Of bare
distress hath ta'en from me the show
Of smooth
civility: yet am I inland bred
And know
some nurture. But forbear, I say:
He dies
that touches any of this fruit
Till I and
my affairs are answered.
JAQUES
An you will not be answered with reason, I must die.
DUKE
SENIOR
What would you have? Your gentleness shall force
More than
your force move us to gentleness.
ORLANDO
I almost die for food; and let me have it.
DUKE
SENIOR
Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.
ORLANDO
Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you:
I thought
that all things had been savage here;
And
therefore put I on the countenance
Of stern
commandment. But whate'er you are
That in
this desert inaccessible,
Under the
shade of melancholy boughs,
Lose and
neglect the creeping hours of time
If ever
you have look'd on better days,
If ever
been where bells have knoll'd to church,
If ever
sat at any good man's feast,
If ever
from your eyelids wiped a tear
And know
what 'tis to pity and be pitied,
Let
gentleness my strong enforcement be:
In the
which hope I blush, and hide my sword.
DUKE
SENIOR
True is it that we have seen better days,
And have
with holy bell been knoll'd to church
And sat at
good men's feasts and wiped our eyes
Of drops
that sacred pity hath engender'd:
And
therefore sit you down in gentleness
And take
upon command what help we have
That to
your wanting may be minister'd.
ORLANDO
Then but forbear your food a little while,
Whiles,
like a doe, I go to find my fawn
And give
it food. There is an old poor man,
Who after
me hath many a weary step
Limp'd in
pure love: till he be first sufficed,
Oppress'd
with two weak evils, age and hunger,
I will not
touch a bit.
DUKE
SENIOR
Go find him out,
And we
will nothing waste till you return.
ORLANDO
I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort!
[Exit]
DUKE
SENIOR
Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy:
This wide
and universal theatre
Presents
more woeful pageants than the scene
Wherein we
play in.
JAQUES
All the world's a stage,
And all
the men and women merely players:
They have
their exits and their entrances;
And one
man in his time plays many parts,
His acts
being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling
and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then
the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And
shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly
to school. And then the lover,
Sighing
like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to
his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of
strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in
honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking
the bubble reputation
Even in
the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair
round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes
severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of
wise saws and modern instances;
And so he
plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the
lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With
spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His
youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his
shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning
again toward childish treble, pipes
And
whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends
this strange eventful history,
Is second
childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans
teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
[Re-enter ORLANDO, with ADAM]
DUKE
SENIOR
Welcome. Set down your venerable burthen,
And let
him feed.
ORLANDO
I thank you most for him.
ADAM
So had you need:
I scarce
can speak to thank you for myself.
DUKE
SENIOR
Welcome; fall to: I will not trouble you
As yet, to
question you about your fortunes.
Give us
some music; and, good cousin, sing.
SONG.
AMIENS
Blow, blow, thou winter wind.
Thou art
not so unkind
As man's
ingratitude;
Thy tooth
is not so keen,
Because
thou art not seen,
Although
thy breath be rude.
Heigh-ho!
sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most
friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then,
heigh-ho, the holly!
This life
is most jolly.
Freeze,
freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost
not bite so nigh
As
benefits forgot:
Though
thou the waters warp,
Thy sting
is not so sharp
As friend
remember'd not.
Heigh-ho!
sing, &c.
DUKE
SENIOR
If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son,
As you
have whisper'd faithfully you were,
And as
mine eye doth his effigies witness
Most truly
limn'd and living in your face,
Be truly
welcome hither: I am the duke
That loved
your father: the residue of your fortune,
Go to my
cave and tell me. Good old man,
Thou art
right welcome as thy master is.
Support
him by the arm. Give me your hand,
And let me
all your fortunes understand.
[Exeunt]
Act 3
Scene 1
[A room in the palace.]
[Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, and OLIVER]
DUKE
FREDERICK
Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be:
But were I
not the better part made mercy,
I should
not seek an absent argument
Of my
revenge, thou present. But look to it:
Find out
thy brother, wheresoe'er he is;
Seek him
with candle; bring him dead or living
Within
this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more
To seek a
living in our territory.
Thy lands
and all things that thou dost call thine
Worth
seizure do we seize into our hands,
Till thou
canst quit thee by thy brothers mouth
Of what we
think against thee.
OLIVER
O that your highness knew my heart in this!
I never
loved my brother in my life.
DUKE
FREDERICK
More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors;
And let my
officers of such a nature
Make an
extent upon his house and lands:
Do this
expediently and turn him going.
[Exeunt]
Scene 2
[The forest.]
[Enter ORLANDO, with a paper]
ORLANDO
Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love:
And thou,
thrice-crowned queen of night, survey
With thy
chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above,
Thy
huntress' name that my full life doth sway.
O
Rosalind! these trees shall be my books
And in
their barks my thoughts I'll character;
That every
eye which in this forest looks
Shall see
thy virtue witness'd every where.
Run, run,
Orlando; carve on every tree
The fair,
the chaste and unexpressive she.
[Exit]
[Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE]
CORIN
And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone?
TOUCHSTONE
Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good
life, but
in respect that it is a shepherd's life,
it is
naught. In respect that it is solitary, I
like it
very well; but in respect that it is
private,
it is a very vile life. Now, in respect it
is in the
fields, it pleaseth me well; but in
respect it
is not in the court, it is tedious. As
is it a
spare life, look you, it fits my humour well;
but as
there is no more plenty in it, it goes much
against my
stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd?
CORIN
No more but that I know the more one sickens the
worse at
ease he is; and that he that wants money,
means and
content is without three good friends;
that the
property of rain is to wet and fire to
burn; that
good pasture makes fat sheep, and that a
great
cause of the night is lack of the sun; that
he that
hath learned no wit by nature nor art may
complain
of good breeding or comes of a very dull kindred.
TOUCHSTONE
Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in
court,
shepherd?
CORIN
No, truly.
TOUCHSTONE
Then thou art damned.
CORIN
Nay, I hope.
TOUCHSTONE
Truly, thou art damned like an ill-roasted egg, all
on one
side.
CORIN
For not being at court? Your reason.
TOUCHSTONE
Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never sawest
good
manners; if thou never sawest good manners,
then thy
manners must be wicked; and wickedness is
sin, and
sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous
state,
shepherd.
CORIN
Not a whit, Touchstone: those that are good manners
at the
court are as ridiculous in the country as the
behavior
of the country is most mockable at the
court. You
told me you salute not at the court, but
you kiss
your hands: that courtesy would be
uncleanly,
if courtiers were shepherds.
TOUCHSTONE
Instance, briefly; come, instance.
CORIN
Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their
fells, you
know, are greasy.
TOUCHSTONE
Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? and is not
the grease
of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of
a man?
Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say; come.
CORIN
Besides, our hands are hard.
TOUCHSTONE
Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again.
A more
sounder instance, come.
CORIN
And they are often tarred over with the surgery of
our sheep:
and would you have us kiss tar? The
courtier's
hands are perfumed with civet.
TOUCHSTONE
Most shallow man! thou worms-meat, in respect of a
good piece
of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and
perpend:
civet is of a baser birth than tar, the
very
uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd.
CORIN
You have too courtly a wit for me: I'll rest.
TOUCHSTONE
Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee, shallow man!
God make
incision in thee! thou art raw.
CORIN
Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get
that I
wear, owe no man hate, envy no man's
happiness,
glad of other men's good, content with my
harm, and
the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes
graze and
my lambs suck.
TOUCHSTONE
That is another simple sin in you, to bring the ewes
and the
rams together and to offer to get your
living by
the copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a
bell-wether,
and to betray a she-lamb of a
twelvemonth
to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram,
out of all
reasonable match. If thou beest not
damned for
this, the devil himself will have no
shepherds;
I cannot see else how thou shouldst
'scape.
CORIN
Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother.
[Enter ROSALIND, with a paper, reading]
ROSALIND
From the east to western Ind,
No jewel
is like Rosalind.
Her worth,
being mounted on the wind,
Through
all the world bears Rosalind.
All the
pictures fairest lined
Are but
black to Rosalind.
Let no
fair be kept in mind
But the
fair of Rosalind.
TOUCHSTONE
I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners and
suppers
and sleeping-hours excepted: it is the
right
butter-women's rank to market.
ROSALIND
Out, fool!
TOUCHSTONE
For a taste:
If a hart
do lack a hind,
Let him
seek out Rosalind.
If the cat
will after kind,
So be sure
will Rosalind.
Winter
garments must be lined,
So must
slender Rosalind.
They that
reap must sheaf and bind;
Then to
cart with Rosalind.
Sweetest
nut hath sourest rind,
Such a nut
is Rosalind.
He that
sweetest rose will find
Must find
love's prick and Rosalind.
This is
the very false gallop of verses: why do you
infect
yourself with them?
ROSALIND
Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree.
TOUCHSTONE
Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.
ROSALIND
I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it
with a
medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit
i' the
country; for you'll be rotten ere you be half
ripe, and
that's the right virtue of the medlar.
TOUCHSTONE
You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the
forest
judge.
[Enter CELIA, with a writing]
ROSALIND
Peace! Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside.
CELIA
[Reads]
Why should this a desert be?
For it is
unpeopled? No:
Tongues
I'll hang on every tree,
That shall
civil sayings show:
Some, how
brief the life of man
Runs his
erring pilgrimage,
That the
stretching of a span
Buckles in
his sum of age;
Some, of
violated vows
'Twixt the
souls of friend and friend:
But upon
the fairest boughs,
Or at
every sentence end,
Will I
Rosalinda write,
Teaching
all that read to know
The
quintessence of every sprite
Heaven
would in little show.
Therefore
Heaven Nature charged
That one
body should be fill'd
With all
graces wide-enlarged:
Nature
presently distill'd
Helen's
cheek, but not her heart,
Cleopatra's
majesty,
Atalanta's
better part,
Sad
Lucretia's modesty.
Thus
Rosalind of many parts
By
heavenly synod was devised,
Of many
faces, eyes and hearts,
To have
the touches dearest prized.
Heaven
would that she these gifts should have,
And I to
live and die her slave.
ROSALIND
O most gentle pulpiter! what tedious homily of love
have you
wearied your parishioners withal, and never
cried
'Have patience, good people!'
CELIA
How now! back, friends! Shepherd, go off a little.
Go with
him, sirrah.
TOUCHSTONE
Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat;
though not
with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage.
[Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE]
CELIA
Didst thou hear these verses?
ROSALIND
O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of
them had
in them more feet than the verses would bear.
CELIA
That's no matter: the feet might bear the verses.
ROSALIND
Ay, but the feet were lame and could not bear
themselves
without the verse and therefore stood
lamely in
the verse.
CELIA
But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name
should be
hanged and carved upon these trees?
ROSALIND
I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder
before you
came; for look here what I found on a
palm-tree.
I was never so be-rhymed since
Pythagoras'
time, that I was an Irish rat, which I
can hardly
remember.
CELIA
Trow you who hath done this?
ROSALIND
Is it a man?
CELIA
And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck.
Change you
colour?
ROSALIND
I prithee, who?
CELIA
O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to
meet; but
mountains may be removed with earthquakes
and so
encounter.
ROSALIND
Nay, but who is it?
CELIA
Is it possible?
ROSALIND
Nay, I prithee now with most petitionary vehemence,
tell me
who it is.
CELIA
O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful
wonderful!
and yet again wonderful, and after that,
out of all
hooping!
ROSALIND
Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am
caparisoned
like a man, I have a doublet and hose in
my
disposition? One inch of delay more is a
South-sea
of discovery; I prithee, tell me who is it
quickly,
and speak apace. I would thou couldst
stammer,
that thou mightst pour this concealed man
out of thy
mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-
mouthed
bottle, either too much at once, or none at
all. I
prithee, take the cork out of thy mouth that
may drink
thy tidings.
CELIA
So you may put a man in your belly.
ROSALIND
Is he of God's making? What manner of man? Is his
head worth
a hat, or his chin worth a beard?
CELIA
Nay, he hath but a little beard.
ROSALIND
Why, God will send more, if the man will be
thankful:
let me stay the growth of his beard, if
thou delay
me not the knowledge of his chin.
CELIA
It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler's
heels and
your heart both in an instant.
ROSALIND
Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak, sad brow and
true maid.
CELIA
I' faith, coz, 'tis he.
ROSALIND
Orlando?
CELIA
Orlando.
ROSALIND
Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and
hose? What
did he when thou sawest him? What said
he? How
looked he? Wherein went he? What makes
him here?
Did he ask for me? Where remains he?
How parted
he with thee? and when shalt thou see
him again?
Answer me in one word.
CELIA
You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first: 'tis a
word too
great for any mouth of this age's size. To
say ay and
no to these particulars is more than to
answer in
a catechism.
ROSALIND
But doth he know that I am in this forest and in
man's
apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the
day he
wrestled?
CELIA
It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the
propositions
of a lover; but take a taste of my
finding
him, and relish it with good observance.
I found
him under a tree, like a dropped acorn.
ROSALIND
It may well be called Jove's tree, when it drops
forth such
fruit.
CELIA
Give me audience, good madam.
ROSALIND
Proceed.
CELIA
There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded knight.
ROSALIND
Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well
becomes
the ground.
CELIA
Cry 'holla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets
unseasonably.
He was furnished like a hunter.
ROSALIND
O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.
CELIA
I would sing my song without a burden: thou bringest
me out of
tune.
ROSALIND
Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must
speak.
Sweet, say on.
CELIA
You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here?
[Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES]
ROSALIND
'Tis he: slink by, and note him.
JAQUES
I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had
as lief
have been myself alone.
ORLANDO
And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you
too for
your society.
JAQUES
God be wi' you: let's meet as little as we can.
ORLANDO
I do desire we may be better strangers.
JAQUES
I pray you, mar no more trees with writing
love-songs
in their barks.
ORLANDO
I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading
them
ill-favouredly.
JAQUES
Rosalind is your love's name?
ORLANDO
Yes, just.
JAQUES
I do not like her name.
ORLANDO
There was no thought of pleasing you when she was
christened.
JAQUES
What stature is she of?
ORLANDO
Just as high as my heart.
JAQUES
You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been
acquainted
with goldsmiths' wives, and conned them
out of
rings?
ORLANDO
Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from
whence you
have studied your questions.
JAQUES
You have a nimble wit: I think 'twas made of
Atalanta's
heels. Will you sit down with me? and
we two
will rail against our mistress the world and
all our
misery.
ORLANDO
I will chide no breather in the world but myself,
against
whom I know most faults.
JAQUES
The worst fault you have is to be in love.
ORLANDO
'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue.
I am weary
of you.
JAQUES
By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found
you.
ORLANDO
He is drowned in the brook: look but in, and you
shall see
him.
JAQUES
There I shall see mine own figure.
ORLANDO
Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.
JAQUES
I'll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good
Signior
Love.
ORLANDO
I am glad of your departure: adieu, good Monsieur
Melancholy.
[Exit JAQUES]
ROSALIND
[Aside to CELIA]
I will speak to him, like a saucy
lackey and
under that habit play the knave with him.
Do you
hear, forester?
ORLANDO
Very well: what would you?
ROSALIND
I pray you, what is't o'clock?
ORLANDO
You should ask me what time o' day: there's no clock
in the
forest.
ROSALIND
Then there is no true lover in the forest; else
sighing
every minute and groaning every hour would
detect the
lazy foot of Time as well as a clock.
ORLANDO
And why not the swift foot of Time? had not that
been as
proper?
ROSALIND
By no means, sir: Time travels in divers paces with
divers
persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles
withal,
who Time trots withal, who Time gallops
withal and
who he stands still withal.
ORLANDO
I prithee, who doth he trot withal?
ROSALIND
Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the
contract
of her marriage and the day it is
solemnized:
if the interim be but a se'nnight,
Time's
pace is so hard that it seems the length of
seven
year.
ORLANDO
Who ambles Time withal?
ROSALIND
With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich man that
hath not
the gout, for the one sleeps easily because
he cannot
study, and the other lives merrily because
he feels
no pain, the one lacking the burden of lean
and
wasteful learning, the other knowing no burden
of heavy
tedious penury; these Time ambles withal.
ORLANDO
Who doth he gallop withal?
ROSALIND
With a thief to the gallows, for though he go as
softly as
foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there.
ORLANDO
Who stays it still withal?
ROSALIND
With lawyers in the vacation, for they sleep between
term and
term and then they perceive not how Time moves.
ORLANDO
Where dwell you, pretty youth?
ROSALIND
With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the
skirts of
the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.
ORLANDO
Are you native of this place?
ROSALIND
As the cony that you see dwell where she is kindled.
ORLANDO
Your accent is something finer than you could
purchase
in so removed a dwelling.
ROSALIND
I have been told so of many: but indeed an old
religious
uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was
in his
youth an inland man; one that knew courtship
too well,
for there he fell in love. I have heard
him read
many lectures against it, and I thank God
I am not a
woman, to be touched with so many
giddy
offences as he hath generally taxed their
whole sex
withal.
ORLANDO
Can you remember any of the principal evils that he
laid to
the charge of women?
ROSALIND
There were none principal; they were all like one
another as
half-pence are, every one fault seeming
monstrous
till his fellow fault came to match it.
ORLANDO
I prithee, recount some of them.
ROSALIND
No, I will not cast away my physic but on those that
are sick.
There is a man haunts the forest, that
abuses our
young plants with carving 'Rosalind' on
their
barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns and elegies
on
brambles, all, forsooth, deifying the name of
Rosalind:
if I could meet that fancy-monger I would
give him
some good counsel, for he seems to have the
quotidian
of love upon him.
ORLANDO
I am he that is so love-shaked: I pray you tell me
your
remedy.
ROSALIND
There is none of my uncle's marks upon you: he
taught me
how to know a man in love; in which cage
of rushes
I am sure you are not prisoner.
ORLANDO
What were his marks?
ROSALIND
A lean cheek, which you have not, a blue eye and
sunken,
which you have not, an unquestionable
spirit,
which you have not, a beard neglected,
which you
have not; but I pardon you for that, for
simply
your having in beard is a younger brother's
revenue:
then your hose should be ungartered, your
bonnet
unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe
untied and
every thing about you demonstrating a
careless
desolation; but you are no such man; you
are rather
point-device in your accoutrements as
loving
yourself than seeming the lover of any other.
ORLANDO
Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.
ROSALIND
Me believe it! you may as soon make her that you
love
believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to
do than to
confess she does: that is one of the
points in
the which women still give the lie to
their
consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he
that hangs
the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind
is so
admired?
ORLANDO
I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of
Rosalind,
I am that he, that unfortunate he.
ROSALIND
But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak?
ORLANDO
Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.
ROSALIND
Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves
as well a
dark house and a whip as madmen do: and
the reason
why they are not so punished and cured
is, that
the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers
are in
love too. Yet I profess curing it by counsel.
ORLANDO
Did you ever cure any so?
ROSALIND
Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to imagine me
his love,
his mistress; and I set him every day to
woo me: at
which time would I, being but a moonish
youth,
grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing
and
liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow,
inconstant,
full of tears, full of smiles, for every
passion
something and for no passion truly any
thing, as
boys and women are for the most part
cattle of
this colour; would now like him, now loathe
him; then
entertain him, then forswear him; now weep
for him,
then spit at him; that I drave my suitor
from his
mad humour of love to a living humour of
madness;
which was, to forswear the full stream of
the world,
and to live in a nook merely monastic.
And thus I
cured him; and this way will I take upon
me to wash
your liver as clean as a sound sheep's
heart,
that there shall not be one spot of love in't.
ORLANDO
I would not be cured, youth.
ROSALIND
I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind
and come
every day to my cote and woo me.
ORLANDO
Now, by the faith of my love, I will: tell me
where it
is.
ROSALIND
Go with me to it and I'll show it you and by the way
you shall
tell me where in the forest you live.
Will you
go?
ORLANDO
With all my heart, good youth.
ROSALIND
Nay you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you go?
[Exeunt]
Scene 3
[The forest.]
[Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES behind]
TOUCHSTONE
Come apace, good Audrey: I will fetch up your
goats,
Audrey. And how, Audrey? am I the man yet?
doth my
simple feature content you?
AUDREY
Your features! Lord warrant us! what features!
TOUCHSTONE
I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most
capricious
poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.
JAQUES
[Aside]
O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove
in a
thatched house!
TOUCHSTONE
When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a
man's good
wit seconded with the forward child
Understanding,
it strikes a man more dead than a
great
reckoning in a little room. Truly, I would
the gods
had made thee poetical.
AUDREY
I do not know what 'poetical' is: is it honest in
deed and
word? is it a true thing?
TOUCHSTONE
No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most
feigning;
and lovers are given to poetry, and what
they swear
in poetry may be said as lovers they do feign.
AUDREY
Do you wish then that the gods had made me poetical?
TOUCHSTONE
I do, truly; for thou swearest to me thou art
honest:
now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some
hope thou
didst feign.
AUDREY
Would you not have me honest?
TOUCHSTONE
No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favoured; for
honesty
coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar.
JAQUES
[Aside]
A material fool!
AUDREY
Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods
make me
honest.
TOUCHSTONE
Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut
were to
put good meat into an unclean dish.
AUDREY
I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul.
TOUCHSTONE
Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness!
sluttishness
may come hereafter. But be it as it may
be, I will
marry thee, and to that end I have been
with Sir
Oliver Martext, the vicar of the next
village,
who hath promised to meet me in this place
of the
forest and to couple us.
JAQUES
[Aside]
I would fain see this meeting.
AUDREY
Well, the gods give us joy!
TOUCHSTONE
Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart,
stagger in
this attempt; for here we have no temple
but the
wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But what
though?
Courage! As horns are odious, they are
necessary.
It is said, 'many a man knows no end of
his
goods:' right; many a man has good horns, and
knows no
end of them. Well, that is the dowry of
his wife;
'tis none of his own getting. Horns?
Even so.
Poor men alone? No, no; the noblest deer
hath them
as huge as the rascal. Is the single man
therefore
blessed? No: as a walled town is more
worthier
than a village, so is the forehead of a
married
man more honourable than the bare brow of a
bachelor;
and by how much defence is better than no
skill, by
so much is a horn more precious than to
want. Here
comes Sir Oliver.
[Enter SIR OLIVER MARTEXT]
Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met: will you
dispatch
us here under this tree, or shall we go
with you
to your chapel?
SIR OLIVER
MARTEXT
Is there none here to give the woman?
TOUCHSTONE
I will not take her on gift of any man.
SIR OLIVER
MARTEXT
Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful.
JAQUES
[Advancing]
Proceed, proceed I'll give her.
TOUCHSTONE
Good even, good Master What-ye-call't: how do you,
sir? You
are very well met: God 'ild you for your
last
company: I am very glad to see you: even a
toy in
hand here, sir: nay, pray be covered.
JAQUES
Will you be married, motley?
TOUCHSTONE
As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb and
the falcon
her bells, so man hath his desires; and
as pigeons
bill, so wedlock would be nibbling.
JAQUES
And will you, being a man of your breeding, be
married
under a bush like a beggar? Get you to
church,
and have a good priest that can tell you
what
marriage is: this fellow will but join you
together
as they join wainscot; then one of you will
prove a
shrunk panel and, like green timber, warp, warp.
TOUCHSTONE
[Aside]
I am not in the mind but I were better to be
married of
him than of another: for he is not like
to marry
me well; and not being well married, it
will be a
good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife.
JAQUES
Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.
TOUCHSTONE
'Come, sweet Audrey:
We must be
married, or we must live in bawdry.
Farewell,
good Master Oliver: not, --
O sweet
Oliver,
O brave
Oliver,
Leave me
not behind thee: but, --
Wind away,
Begone, I
say,
I will not
to wedding with thee.
[Exeunt JAQUES, TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]
SIR OLIVER
MARTEXT
'Tis no matter: ne'er a fantastical knave of them
all shall
flout me out of my calling.
[Exit]
Scene 4
[The forest.]
[Enter ROSALIND and CELIA]
ROSALIND
Never talk to me; I will weep.
CELIA
Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider
that tears
do not become a man.
ROSALIND
But have I not cause to weep?
CELIA
As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep.
ROSALIND
His very hair is of the dissembling colour.
CELIA
Something browner than Judas's marry, his kisses are
Judas's
own children.
ROSALIND
I' faith, his hair is of a good colour.
CELIA
An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the only colour.
ROSALIND
And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch
of holy
bread.
CELIA
He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a nun
of
winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously;
the very
ice of chastity is in them.
ROSALIND
But why did he swear he would come this morning, and
comes not?
CELIA
Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.
ROSALIND
Do you think so?
CELIA
Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a
horse-stealer,
but for his verity in love, I do
think him
as concave as a covered goblet or a
worm-eaten
nut.
ROSALIND
Not true in love?
CELIA
Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in.
ROSALIND
You have heard him swear downright he was.
CELIA
'Was' is not 'is:' besides, the oath of a lover is
no
stronger than the word of a tapster; they are
both the
confirmer of false reckonings. He attends
here in
the forest on the duke your father.
ROSALIND
I met the duke yesterday and had much question with
him: he
asked me of what parentage I was; I told
him, of as
good as he; so he laughed and let me go.
But what
talk we of fathers, when there is such a
man as
Orlando?
CELIA
O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses,
speaks
brave words, swears brave oaths and breaks
them
bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of
his lover;
as a puisny tilter, that spurs his horse
but on one
side, breaks his staff like a noble
goose: but
all's brave that youth mounts and folly
guides.
Who comes here?
[Enter CORIN]
CORIN
Mistress and master, you have oft inquired
After the
shepherd that complain'd of love,
Who you
saw sitting by me on the turf,
Praising
the proud disdainful shepherdess
That was
his mistress.
CELIA
Well, and what of him?
CORIN
If you will see a pageant truly play'd,
Between
the pale complexion of true love
And the
red glow of scorn and proud disdain,
Go hence a
little and I shall conduct you,
If you
will mark it.
ROSALIND
O, come, let us remove:
The sight
of lovers feedeth those in love.
Bring us
to this sight, and you shall say
I'll prove
a busy actor in their play.
[Exeunt]
Scene 5
[Another part of the forest.]
[Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE]
SILVIUS
Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe;
Say that
you love me not, but say not so
In
bitterness. The common executioner,
Whose
heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard,
Falls not
the axe upon the humbled neck
But first
begs pardon: will you sterner be
Than he
that dies and lives by bloody drops?
[Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, behind]
PHEBE
I would not be thy executioner:
I fly
thee, for I would not injure thee.
Thou
tell'st me there is murder in mine eye:
'Tis
pretty, sure, and very probable,
That eyes,
that are the frail'st and softest things,
Who shut
their coward gates on atomies,
Should be
call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers!
Now I do
frown on thee with all my heart;
And if
mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee:
Now
counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down;
Or if thou
canst not, O, for shame, for shame,
Lie not,
to say mine eyes are murderers!
Now show
the wound mine eye hath made in thee:
Scratch
thee but with a pin, and there remains
Some scar
of it; lean but upon a rush,
The
cicatrice and capable impressure
Thy palm
some moment keeps; but now mine eyes,
Which I
have darted at thee, hurt thee not,
Nor, I am
sure, there is no force in eyes
That can
do hurt.
SILVIUS
O dear Phebe,
If ever,
-- as that ever may be near, --
You meet
in some fresh cheek the power of fancy,
Then shall
you know the wounds invisible
That
love's keen arrows make.
PHEBE
But till that time
Come not
thou near me: and when that time comes,
Afflict me
with thy mocks, pity me not;
As till
that time I shall not pity thee.
ROSALIND
And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother,
That you
insult, exult, and all at once,
Over the
wretched? What though you have no beauty, --
As, by my
faith, I see no more in you
Than
without candle may go dark to bed --
Must you
be therefore proud and pitiless?
Why, what
means this? Why do you look on me?
I see no
more in you than in the ordinary
Of
nature's sale-work. 'Od's my little life,
I think
she means to tangle my eyes too!
No, faith,
proud mistress, hope not after it:
'Tis not
your inky brows, your black silk hair,
Your bugle
eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream,
That can
entame my spirits to your worship.
You
foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her,
Like foggy
south puffing with wind and rain?
You are a
thousand times a properer man
Than she a
woman: 'tis such fools as you
That makes
the world full of ill-favour'd children:
'Tis not
her glass, but you, that flatters her;
And out of
you she sees herself more proper
Than any
of her lineaments can show her.
But,
mistress, know yourself: down on your knees,
And thank
heaven, fasting, for a good man's love:
For I must
tell you friendly in your ear,
Sell when
you can: you are not for all markets:
Cry the
man mercy; love him; take his offer:
Foul is
most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.
So take
her to thee, shepherd: fare you well.
PHEBE
Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together:
I had
rather hear you chide than this man woo.
ROSALIND
He's fallen in love with your foulness and she'll
fall in
love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as
she
answers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce her
with
bitter words. Why look you so upon me?
PHEBE
For no ill will I bear you.
ROSALIND
I pray you, do not fall in love with me,
For I am
falser than vows made in wine:
Besides, I
like you not. If you will know my house,
'Tis at
the tuft of olives here hard by.
Will you
go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard.
Come,
sister. Shepherdess, look on him better,
And be not
proud: though all the world could see,
None could
be so abused in sight as he.
Come, to
our flock.
[Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA and CORIN]
PHEBE
Dead Shepherd, now I find thy saw of might,
'Who ever
loved that loved not at first sight?'
SILVIUS
Sweet Phebe, --
PHEBE
Ha, what say'st thou, Silvius?
SILVIUS
Sweet Phebe, pity me.
PHEBE
Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.
SILVIUS
Wherever sorrow is, relief would be:
If you do
sorrow at my grief in love,
By giving
love your sorrow and my grief
Were both
extermined.
PHEBE
Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly?
SILVIUS
I would have you.
PHEBE
Why, that were covetousness.
Silvius,
the time was that I hated thee,
And yet it
is not that I bear thee love;
But since
that thou canst talk of love so well,
Thy
company, which erst was irksome to me,
I will
endure, and I'll employ thee too:
But do not
look for further recompense
Than thine
own gladness that thou art employ'd.
SILVIUS
So holy and so perfect is my love,
And I in
such a poverty of grace,
That I
shall think it a most plenteous crop
To glean
the broken ears after the man
That the
main harvest reaps: loose now and then
A
scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon.
PHEBE
Know'st now the youth that spoke to me erewhile?
SILVIUS
Not very well, but I have met him oft;
And he
hath bought the cottage and the bounds
That the
old carlot once was master of.
PHEBE
Think not I love him, though I ask for him:
'Tis but a
peevish boy; yet he talks well;
But what
care I for words? yet words do well
When he
that speaks them pleases those that hear.
It is a
pretty youth: not very pretty:
But, sure,
he's proud, and yet his pride becomes him:
He'll make
a proper man: the best thing in him
Is his
complexion; and faster than his tongue
Did make
offence his eye did heal it up.
He is not
very tall; yet for his years he's tall:
His leg is
but so so; and yet 'tis well:
There was
a pretty redness in his lip,
A little
riper and more lusty red
Than that
mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference
Between
the constant red and mingled damask.
There be
some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him
In parcels
as I did, would have gone near
To fall in
love with him; but, for my part,
I love him
not nor hate him not; and yet
I have
more cause to hate him than to love him:
For what
had he to do to chide at me?
He said
mine eyes were black and my hair black:
And, now I
am remember'd, scorn'd at me:
I marvel
why I answer'd not again:
But that's
all one; omittance is no quittance.
I'll write
to him a very taunting letter,
And thou
shalt bear it: wilt thou, Silvius?
SILVIUS
Phebe, with all my heart.
PHEBE
I'll write it straight;
The
matter's in my head and in my heart:
I will be
bitter with him and passing short.
Go with
me, Silvius.
[Exeunt]
Act 4
Scene 1
[The forest.]
[Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES]
JAQUES
I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted
with thee.
ROSALIND
They say you are a melancholy fellow.
JAQUES
I am so; I do love it better than laughing.
ROSALIND
Those that are in extremity of either are abominable
fellows
and betray themselves to every modern
censure
worse than drunkards.
JAQUES
Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.
ROSALIND
Why then, 'tis good to be a post.
JAQUES
I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is
emulation,
nor the musician's, which is fantastical,
nor the
courtier's, which is proud, nor the
soldier's,
which is ambitious, nor the lawyer's,
which is
politic, nor the lady's, which is nice, nor
the
lover's, which is all these: but it is a
melancholy
of mine own, compounded of many simples,
extracted
from many objects, and indeed the sundry's
contemplation
of my travels, in which my often
rumination
wraps me m a most humorous sadness.
ROSALIND
A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to
be sad: I
fear you have sold your own lands to see
other
men's; then, to have seen much and to have
nothing,
is to have rich eyes and poor hands.
JAQUES
Yes, I have gained my experience.
ROSALIND
And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have
a fool to
make me merry than experience to make me
sad; and
to travel for it too!
[Enter ORLANDO]
ORLANDO
Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind!
JAQUES
Nay, then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse.
[Exit]
ROSALIND
Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: look you lisp and
wear
strange suits, disable all the benefits of your
own
country, be out of love with your nativity and
almost
chide God for making you that countenance you
are, or I
will scarce think you have swam in a
gondola.
Why, how now, Orlando! where have you been
all this
while? You a lover! An you serve me such
another
trick, never come in my sight more.
ORLANDO
My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise.
ROSALIND
Break an hour's promise in love! He that will
divide a
minute into a thousand parts and break but
a part of
the thousandth part of a minute in the
affairs of
love, it may be said of him that Cupid
hath
clapped him o' the shoulder, but I'll warrant
him
heart-whole.
ORLANDO
Pardon me, dear Rosalind.
ROSALIND
Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight: I
had as
lief be wooed of a snail.
ORLANDO
Of a snail?
ROSALIND
Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he
carries
his house on his head; a better jointure,
I think,
than you make a woman: besides he brings
his
destiny with him.
ORLANDO
What's that?
ROSALIND
Why, horns, which such as you are fain to be
beholding
to your wives for: but he comes armed in
his
fortune and prevents the slander of his wife.
ORLANDO
Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous.
ROSALIND
And I am your Rosalind.
CELIA
It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a
Rosalind
of a better leer than you.
ROSALIND
Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday
humour and
like enough to consent. What would you
say to me
now, an I were your very very Rosalind?
ORLANDO
I would kiss before I spoke.
ROSALIND
Nay, you were better speak first, and when you were
gravelled
for lack of matter, you might take
occasion
to kiss. Very good orators, when they are
out, they
will spit; and for lovers lacking -- God
warn us!
-- matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.
ORLANDO
How if the kiss be denied?
ROSALIND
Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.
ORLANDO
Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress?
ROSALIND
Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, or
I should
think my honesty ranker than my wit.
ORLANDO
What, of my suit?
ROSALIND
Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit.
Am not I
your Rosalind?
ORLANDO
I take some joy to say you are, because I would be
talking of
her.
ROSALIND
Well in her person I say I will not have you.
ORLANDO
Then in mine own person I die.
ROSALIND
No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is
almost six
thousand years old, and in all this time
there was
not any man died in his own person,
videlicit,
in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains
dashed out
with a Grecian club; yet he did what he
could to
die before, and he is one of the patterns
of love.
Leander, he would have lived many a fair
year,
though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been
for a hot
midsummer night; for, good youth, he went
but forth
to wash him in the Hellespont and being
taken with
the cramp was drowned and the foolish
coroners
of that age found it was 'Hero of Sestos.'
But these
are all lies: men have died from time to
time and
worms have eaten them, but not for love.
ORLANDO
I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind,
for, I
protest, her frown might kill me.
ROSALIND
By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now
I will be
your Rosalind in a more coming-on
disposition,
and ask me what you will. I will grant
it.
ORLANDO
Then love me, Rosalind.
ROSALIND
Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all.
ORLANDO
And wilt thou have me?
ROSALIND
Ay, and twenty such.
ORLANDO
What sayest thou?
ROSALIND
Are you not good?
ORLANDO
I hope so.
ROSALIND
Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?
Come,
sister, you shall be the priest and marry us.
Give me
your hand, Orlando. What do you say, sister?
ORLANDO
Pray thee, marry us.
CELIA
I cannot say the words.
ROSALIND
You must begin, 'Will you, Orlando -- '
CELIA
Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind?
ORLANDO
I will.
ROSALIND
Ay, but when?
ORLANDO
Why now; as fast as she can marry us.
ROSALIND
Then you must say 'I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.'
ORLANDO
I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.
ROSALIND
I might ask you for your commission; but I do take
thee,
Orlando, for my husband: there's a girl goes
before the
priest; and certainly a woman's thought
runs
before her actions.
ORLANDO
So do all thoughts; they are winged.
ROSALIND
Now tell me how long you would have her after you
have
possessed her.
ORLANDO
For ever and a day.
ROSALIND
Say 'a day,' without the 'ever.' No, no, Orlando;
men are
April when they woo, December when they wed:
maids are
May when they are maids, but the sky
changes
when they are wives. I will be more jealous
of thee
than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen,
more
clamorous than a parrot against rain, more
new-fangled
than an ape, more giddy in my desires
than a
monkey: I will weep for nothing, like Diana
in the
fountain, and I will do that when you are
disposed
to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and
that when
thou art inclined to sleep.
ORLANDO
But will my Rosalind do so?
ROSALIND
By my life, she will do as I do.
ORLANDO
O, but she is wise.
ROSALIND
Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the
wiser, the
waywarder: make the doors upon a woman's
wit and it
will out at the casement; shut that and
'twill out
at the key-hole; stop that, 'twill fly
with the
smoke out at the chimney.
ORLANDO
A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say
'Wit,
whither wilt?'
ROSALIND
Nay, you might keep that cheque for it till you met
your
wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed.
ORLANDO
And what wit could wit have to excuse that?
ROSALIND
Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You shall
never take
her without her answer, unless you take
her
without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot
make her
fault her husband's occasion, let her
never
nurse her child herself, for she will breed
it like a
fool!
ORLANDO
For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee.
ROSALIND
Alas! dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours.
ORLANDO
I must attend the duke at dinner: by two o'clock I
will be
with thee again.
ROSALIND
Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew what you
would
prove: my friends told me as much, and I
thought no
less: that flattering tongue of yours
won me:
'tis but one cast away, and so, come,
death! Two
o'clock is your hour?
ORLANDO
Ay, sweet Rosalind.
ROSALIND
By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend
me, and by
all pretty oaths that are not dangerous,
if you
break one jot of your promise or come one
minute
behind your hour, I will think you the most
pathetical
break-promise and the most hollow lover
and the
most unworthy of her you call Rosalind that
may be
chosen out of the gross band of the
unfaithful:
therefore beware my censure and keep
your
promise.
ORLANDO
With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my
Rosalind:
so adieu.
ROSALIND
Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such
offenders,
and let Time try: adieu.
[Exit ORLANDO]
CELIA
You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate:
we must
have your doublet and hose plucked over your
head, and
show the world what the bird hath done to
her own
nest.
ROSALIND
O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou
didst know
how many fathom deep I am in love! But
it cannot
be sounded: my affection hath an unknown
bottom,
like the bay of Portugal.
CELIA
Or rather, bottomless, that as fast as you pour
affection
in, it runs out.
ROSALIND
No, that same wicked bastard of Venus that was begot
of
thought, conceived of spleen and born of madness,
that blind
rascally boy that abuses every one's eyes
because
his own are out, let him be judge how deep I
am in
love. I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out
of the
sight of Orlando: I'll go find a shadow and
sigh till
he come.
CELIA
And I'll sleep.
[Exeunt]
Scene 2
[The forest.]
[Enter JAQUES, Lords, and Foresters]
JAQUES
Which is he that killed the deer?
A Lord
Sir, it was I.
JAQUES
Let's present him to the duke, like a Roman
conqueror;
and it would do well to set the deer's
horns upon
his head, for a branch of victory. Have
you no
song, forester, for this purpose?
Forester
Yes, sir.
JAQUES
Sing it: 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it
make noise
enough.
SONG.
Forester
What shall he have that kill'd the deer?
His
leather skin and horns to wear.
Then sing
him home;
[The rest shall bear this burden]
Take thou no scorn to wear the horn;
It was a
crest ere thou wast born:
Thy
father's father wore it,
And thy
father bore it:
The horn,
the horn, the lusty horn
Is not a
thing to laugh to scorn.
[Exeunt]
Scene 3
[The forest.]
[Enter ROSALIND and CELIA]
ROSALIND
How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? and
here much
Orlando!
CELIA
I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he
hath ta'en
his bow and arrows and is gone forth to
sleep.
Look, who comes here.
[Enter SILVIUS]
SILVIUS
My errand is to you, fair youth;
My gentle
Phebe bid me give you this:
I know not
the contents; but, as I guess
By the
stern brow and waspish action
Which she
did use as she was writing of it,
It bears
an angry tenor: pardon me:
I am but
as a guiltless messenger.
ROSALIND
Patience herself would startle at this letter
And play
the swaggerer; bear this, bear all:
She says I
am not fair, that I lack manners;
She calls
me proud, and that she could not love me,
Were man
as rare as phoenix. 'Od's my will!
Her love
is not the hare that I do hunt:
Why writes
she so to me? Well, shepherd, well,
This is a
letter of your own device.
SILVIUS
No, I protest, I know not the contents:
Phebe did
write it.
ROSALIND
Come, come, you are a fool
And turn'd
into the extremity of love.
I saw her
hand: she has a leathern hand.
A
freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think
That her
old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands:
She has a
huswife's hand; but that's no matter:
I say she
never did invent this letter;
This is a
man's invention and his hand.
SILVIUS
Sure, it is hers.
ROSALIND
Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style.
A style
for-challengers; why, she defies me,
Like Turk
to Christian: women's gentle brain
Could not
drop forth such giant-rude invention
Such
Ethiope words, blacker in their effect
Than in
their countenance. Will you hear the letter?
SILVIUS
So please you, for I never heard it yet;
Yet heard
too much of Phebe's cruelty.
ROSALIND
She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes.
[Reads]
Art thou god to shepherd turn'd,
That a
maiden's heart hath burn'd?
Can a
woman rail thus?
SILVIUS
Call you this railing?
ROSALIND
[Reads]
Why, thy godhead laid apart,
Warr'st
thou with a woman's heart?
Did you
ever hear such railing?
Whiles the
eye of man did woo me,
That could
do no vengeance to me.
Meaning me
a beast.
If the
scorn of your bright eyne
Have power
to raise such love in mine,
Alack, in
me what strange effect
Would they
work in mild aspect!
Whiles you
chid me, I did love;
How then
might your prayers move!
He that
brings this love to thee
Little
knows this love in me:
And by him
seal up thy mind;
Whether
that thy youth and kind
Will the
faithful offer take
Of me and
all that I can make;
Or else by
him my love deny,
And then
I'll study how to die.
SILVIUS
Call you this chiding?
CELIA
Alas, poor shepherd!
ROSALIND
Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity. Wilt
thou love
such a woman? What, to make thee an
instrument
and play false strains upon thee! not to
be
endured! Well, go your way to her, for I see
love hath
made thee a tame snake, and say this to
her: that
if she love me, I charge her to love
thee; if
she will not, I will never have her unless
thou
entreat for her. If you be a true lover,
hence, and
not a word; for here comes more company.
[Exit SILVIUS]
[Enter OLIVER]
OLIVER
Good morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you know,
Where in
the purlieus of this forest stands
A
sheep-cote fenced about with olive trees?
CELIA
West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom:
The rank
of osiers by the murmuring stream
Left on
your right hand brings you to the place.
But at
this hour the house doth keep itself;
There's
none within.
OLIVER
If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
Then
should I know you by description;
Such
garments and such years: 'The boy is fair,
Of female
favour, and bestows himself
Like a
ripe sister: the woman low
And
browner than her brother.' Are not you
The owner
of the house I did inquire for?
CELIA
It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are.
OLIVER
Orlando doth commend him to you both,
And to
that youth he calls his Rosalind
He sends
this bloody napkin. Are you he?
ROSALIND
I am: what must we understand by this?
OLIVER
Some of my shame; if you will know of me
What man I
am, and how, and why, and where
This
handkercher was stain'd.
CELIA
I pray you, tell it.
OLIVER
When last the young Orlando parted from you
He left a
promise to return again
Within an
hour, and pacing through the forest,
Chewing
the food of sweet and bitter fancy,
Lo, what
befell! he threw his eye aside,
And mark
what object did present itself:
Under an
oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age
And high
top bald with dry antiquity,
A wretched
ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,
Lay
sleeping on his back: about his neck
A green
and gilded snake had wreathed itself,
Who with
her head nimble in threats approach'd
The
opening of his mouth; but suddenly,
Seeing
Orlando, it unlink'd itself,
And with
indented glides did slip away
Into a
bush: under which bush's shade
A lioness,
with udders all drawn dry,
Lay
couching, head on ground, with catlike watch,
When that
the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis
The royal
disposition of that beast
To prey on
nothing that doth seem as dead:
This seen,
Orlando did approach the man
And found
it was his brother, his elder brother.
CELIA
O, I have heard him speak of that same brother;
And he did
render him the most unnatural
That lived
amongst men.
OLIVER
And well he might so do,
For well I
know he was unnatural.
ROSALIND
But, to Orlando: did he leave him there,
Food to
the suck'd and hungry lioness?
OLIVER
Twice did he turn his back and purposed so;
But
kindness, nobler ever than revenge,
And
nature, stronger than his just occasion,
Made him
give battle to the lioness,
Who
quickly fell before him: in which hurtling
From
miserable slumber I awaked.
CELIA
Are you his brother?
ROSALIND
Wast you he rescued?
CELIA
Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him?
OLIVER
'Twas I; but 'tis not I
I do not
shame
To tell
you what I was, since my conversion
So sweetly
tastes, being the thing I am.
ROSALIND
But, for the bloody napkin?
OLIVER
By and by.
When from
the first to last betwixt us two
Tears our
recountments had most kindly bathed,
As how I
came into that desert place: --
In brief,
he led me to the gentle duke,
Who gave
me fresh array and entertainment,
Committing
me unto my brother's love;
Who led me
instantly unto his cave,
There
stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm
The
lioness had torn some flesh away,
Which all
this while had bled; and now he fainted
And cried,
in fainting, upon Rosalind.
Brief, I
recover'd him, bound up his wound;
And, after
some small space, being strong at heart,
He sent me
hither, stranger as I am,
To tell
this story, that you might excuse
His broken
promise, and to give this napkin
Dyed in
his blood unto the shepherd youth
That he in
sport doth call his Rosalind.
[ROSALIND swoons]
CELIA
Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede!
OLIVER
Many will swoon when they do look on blood.
CELIA
There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede!
OLIVER
Look, he recovers.
ROSALIND
I would I were at home.
CELIA
We'll lead you thither.
I pray
you, will you take him by the arm?
OLIVER
Be of good cheer, youth: you a man! you lack a
man's
heart.
ROSALIND
I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would
think this
was well counterfeited! I pray you, tell
your
brother how well I counterfeited. Heigh-ho!
OLIVER
This was not counterfeit: there is too great
testimony
in your complexion that it was a passion
of
earnest.
ROSALIND
Counterfeit, I assure you.
OLIVER
Well then, take a good heart and counterfeit to be a man.
ROSALIND
So I do: but, i' faith, I should have been a woman by right.
CELIA
Come, you look paler and paler: pray you, draw
homewards.
Good sir, go with us.
OLIVER
That will I, for I must bear answer back
How you
excuse my brother, Rosalind.
ROSALIND
I shall devise something: but, I pray you, commend
my
counterfeiting to him. Will you go?
[Exeunt]
Act 5
Scene 1
[The forest.]
[Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]
TOUCHSTONE
We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey.
AUDREY
Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old
gentleman's
saying.
TOUCHSTONE
A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile
Martext.
But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the
forest
lays claim to you.
AUDREY
Ay, I know who 'tis; he hath no interest in me in
the world:
here comes the man you mean.
TOUCHSTONE
It is meat and drink to me to see a clown: by my
troth, we
that have good wits have much to answer
for; we
shall be flouting; we cannot hold.
[Enter WILLIAM]
WILLIAM
Good even, Audrey.
AUDREY
God ye good even, William.
WILLIAM
And good even to you, sir.
TOUCHSTONE
Good even, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover thy
head; nay,
prithee, be covered. How old are you, friend?
WILLIAM
Five and twenty, sir.
TOUCHSTONE
A ripe age. Is thy name William?
WILLIAM
William, sir.
TOUCHSTONE
A fair name. Wast born i' the forest here?
WILLIAM
Ay, sir, I thank God.
TOUCHSTONE
'Thank God;' a good answer. Art rich?
WILLIAM
Faith, sir, so so.
TOUCHSTONE
'So so' is good, very good, very excellent good; and
yet it is
not; it is but so so. Art thou wise?
WILLIAM
Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit.
TOUCHSTONE
Why, thou sayest well. I do now remember a saying,
'The fool
doth think he is wise, but the wise man
knows
himself to be a fool.' The heathen
philosopher,
when he had a desire to eat a grape,
would open
his lips when he put it into his mouth;
meaning
thereby that grapes were made to eat and
lips to
open. You do love this maid?
WILLIAM
I do, sir.
TOUCHSTONE
Give me your hand. Art thou learned?
WILLIAM
No, sir.
TOUCHSTONE
Then learn this of me: to have, is to have; for it
is a
figure in rhetoric that drink, being poured out
of a cup
into a glass, by filling the one doth empty
the other;
for all your writers do consent that ipse
is he:
now, you are not ipse, for I am he.
WILLIAM
Which he, sir?
TOUCHSTONE
He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, you
clown,
abandon, -- which is in the vulgar leave, -- the
society,
-- which in the boorish is company, -- of this
female, --
which in the common is woman; which
together
is, abandon the society of this female, or,
clown,
thou perishest; or, to thy better
understanding,
diest; or, to wit I kill thee, make
thee away,
translate thy life into death, thy
liberty
into bondage: I will deal in poison with
thee, or
in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy
with thee
in faction; I will o'errun thee with
policy; I
will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways:
therefore
tremble and depart.
AUDREY
Do, good William.
WILLIAM
God rest you merry, sir.
[Exit]
[Enter CORIN]
CORIN
Our master and mistress seeks you; come, away, away!
TOUCHSTONE
Trip, Audrey! trip, Audrey! I attend, I attend.
[Exeunt]
Scene 2
[The forest.]
[Enter ORLANDO and OLIVER]
ORLANDO
Is't possible that on so little acquaintance you
should
like her? that but seeing you should love
her? and
loving woo? and, wooing, she should
grant? and
will you persever to enjoy her?
OLIVER
Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the
poverty of
her, the small acquaintance, my sudden
wooing,
nor her sudden consenting; but say with me,
I love
Aliena; say with her that she loves me;
consent
with both that we may enjoy each other: it
shall be
to your good; for my father's house and all
the
revenue that was old Sir Rowland's will I
estate
upon you, and here live and die a shepherd.
ORLANDO
You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow:
thither
will I invite the duke and all's contented
followers.
Go you and prepare Aliena; for look
you, here
comes my Rosalind.
[Enter ROSALIND]
ROSALIND
God save you, brother.
OLIVER
And you, fair sister.
[Exit]
ROSALIND
O,
my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee
wear thy
heart in a scarf!
ORLANDO
It is my arm.
ROSALIND
I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws
of a lion.
ORLANDO
Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady.
ROSALIND
Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to
swoon when
he showed me your handkerchief?
ORLANDO
Ay, and greater wonders than that.
ROSALIND
O, I know where you are: nay, 'tis true: there was
never any
thing so sudden but the fight of two rams
and
Caesar's thrasonical brag of 'I came, saw, and
overcame:'
for your brother and my sister no sooner
met but
they looked, no sooner looked but they
loved, no
sooner loved but they sighed, no sooner
sighed but
they asked one another the reason, no
sooner
knew the reason but they sought the remedy;
and in
these degrees have they made a pair of stairs
to
marriage which they will climb incontinent, or
else be
incontinent before marriage: they are in
the very
wrath of love and they will together; clubs
cannot
part them.
ORLANDO
They shall be married to-morrow, and I will bid the
duke to
the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a thing it
is to look
into happiness through another man's
eyes! By
so much the more shall I to-morrow be at
the height
of heart-heaviness, by how much I shall
think my
brother happy in having what he wishes for.
ROSALIND
Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind?
ORLANDO
I can live no longer by thinking.
ROSALIND
I will weary you then no longer with idle talking.
Know of me
then, for now I speak to some purpose,
that I
know you are a gentleman of good conceit: I
speak not
this that you should bear a good opinion
of my
knowledge, insomuch I say I know you are;
neither do
I labour for a greater esteem than may in
some
little measure draw a belief from you, to do
yourself
good and not to grace me. Believe then, if
you
please, that I can do strange things: I have,
since I
was three year old, conversed with a
magician,
most profound in his art and yet not
damnable.
If you do love Rosalind so near the heart
as your
gesture cries it out, when your brother
marries
Aliena, shall you marry her: I know into
what
straits of fortune she is driven; and it is
not
impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient
to you, to
set her before your eyes tomorrow human
as she is
and without any danger.
ORLANDO
Speakest thou in sober meanings?
ROSALIND
By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, though I
say I am a
magician. Therefore, put you in your
best
array: bid your friends; for if you will be
married
to-morrow, you shall, and to Rosalind, if you will.
[Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE]
Look, here comes a lover of mine and a lover of hers.
PHEBE
Youth, you have done me much ungentleness,
To show
the letter that I writ to you.
ROSALIND
I care not if I have: it is my study
To seem
despiteful and ungentle to you:
You are
there followed by a faithful shepherd;
Look upon
him, love him; he worships you.
PHEBE
Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love.
SILVIUS
It is to be all made of sighs and tears;
And so am
I for Phebe.
PHEBE
And I for Ganymede.
ORLANDO
And I for Rosalind.
ROSALIND
And I for no woman.
SILVIUS
It is to be all made of faith and service;
And so am
I for Phebe.
PHEBE
And I for Ganymede.
ORLANDO
And I for Rosalind.
ROSALIND
And I for no woman.
SILVIUS
It is to be all made of fantasy,
All made
of passion and all made of wishes,
All
adoration, duty, and observance,
All
humbleness, all patience and impatience,
All
purity, all trial, all observance;
And so am
I for Phebe.
PHEBE
And so am I for Ganymede.
ORLANDO
And so am I for Rosalind.
ROSALIND
And so am I for no woman.
PHEBE
If this be so, why blame you me to love you?
SILVIUS
If this be so, why blame you me to love you?
ORLANDO
If this be so, why blame you me to love you?
ROSALIND
Who do you speak to, 'Why blame you me to love you?'
ORLANDO
To her that is not here, nor doth not hear.
ROSALIND
Pray you, no more of this; 'tis like the howling
of Irish
wolves against the moon.
[To SILVIUS]
I will help you, if I can:
[To PHEBE]
I would love you, if I could. To-morrow meet me all together.
[To PHEBE]
I will marry you, if ever I marry woman, and I'll be
married
to-morrow:
[To ORLANDO]
I will satisfy you, if ever I satisfied man, and you
shall be
married to-morrow:
[To SILVIUS]
I will content you, if what pleases you contents
you, and
you shall be married to-morrow.
[To ORLANDO]
As you love Rosalind, meet:
[To SILVIUS]
as you love Phebe, meet: and as I love no woman,
I'll meet.
So fare you well: I have left you commands.
SILVIUS
I'll not fail, if I live.
PHEBE
Nor I.
ORLANDO
Nor I.
[Exeunt]
Scene 3
[The forest.]
[Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]
TOUCHSTONE
To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey; to-morrow will
we be
married.
AUDREY
I do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is
no
dishonest desire to desire to be a woman of the
world.
Here comes two of the banished duke's pages.
[Enter two Pages]
First Page
Well met, honest gentleman.
TOUCHSTONE
By my troth, well met. Come, sit, sit, and a song.
Second
Page
We are for you: sit i' the middle.
First Page
Shall we clap into't roundly, without hawking or
spitting
or saying we are hoarse, which are the only
prologues
to a bad voice?
Second
Page
I'faith, i'faith; and both in a tune, like two
gipsies on
a horse.
SONG.
It was a
lover and his lass,
With a
hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
That o'er
the green corn-field did pass
In the
spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds
do sing, hey ding a ding, ding:
Sweet
lovers love the spring.
Between
the acres of the rye,
With a
hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino
These
pretty country folks would lie,
In spring
time, &c.
This carol
they began that hour,
With a
hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
How that a
life was but a flower
In spring
time, &c.
And
therefore take the present time,
With a
hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino;
For love
is crowned with the prime
In spring
time, &c.
TOUCHSTONE
Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no great
matter in
the ditty, yet the note was very
untuneable.
First Page
You are deceived, sir: we kept time, we lost not our time.
TOUCHSTONE
By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear
such a
foolish song. God be wi' you; and God mend
your
voices! Come, Audrey.
[Exeunt]
Scene 4
[The forest.]
[Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, JAQUES, ORLANDO, OLIVER, and CELIA]
DUKE
SENIOR
Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy
Can do all
this that he hath promised?
ORLANDO
I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not;
As those
that fear they hope, and know they fear.
[Enter ROSALIND, SILVIUS, and PHEBE]
ROSALIND
Patience once more, whiles our compact is urged:
You say,
if I bring in your Rosalind,
You will
bestow her on Orlando here?
DUKE
SENIOR
That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her.
ROSALIND
And you say, you will have her, when I bring her?
ORLANDO
That would I, were I of all kingdoms king.
ROSALIND
You say, you'll marry me, if I be willing?
PHEBE
That will I, should I die the hour after.
ROSALIND
But if you do refuse to marry me,
You'll
give yourself to this most faithful shepherd?
PHEBE
So is the bargain.
ROSALIND
You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she will?
SILVIUS
Though to have her and death were both one thing.
ROSALIND
I have promised to make all this matter even.
Keep you
your word, O duke, to give your daughter;
You yours,
Orlando, to receive his daughter:
Keep your
word, Phebe, that you'll marry me,
Or else
refusing me, to wed this shepherd:
Keep your
word, Silvius, that you'll marry her.
If she
refuse me: and from hence I go,
To make
these doubts all even.
[Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA]
DUKE
SENIOR
I do remember in this shepherd boy
Some
lively touches of my daughter's favour.
ORLANDO
My lord, the first time that I ever saw him
Methought
he was a brother to your daughter:
But, my
good lord, this boy is forest-born,
And hath
been tutor'd in the rudiments
Of many
desperate studies by his uncle,
Whom he
reports to be a great magician,
Obscured
in the circle of this forest.
[Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]
JAQUES
There is, sure, another flood toward, and these
couples
are coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of
very
strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools.
TOUCHSTONE
Salutation and greeting to you all!
JAQUES
Good my lord, bid him welcome: this is the
motley-minded
gentleman that I have so often met in
the
forest: he hath been a courtier, he swears.
TOUCHSTONE
If any man doubt that, let him put me to my
purgation.
I have trod a measure; I have flattered
a lady; I
have been politic with my friend, smooth
with mine
enemy; I have undone three tailors; I have
had four
quarrels, and like to have fought one.
JAQUES
And how was that ta'en up?
TOUCHSTONE
Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the
seventh
cause.
JAQUES
How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this fellow.
DUKE
SENIOR
I like him very well.
TOUCHSTONE
God 'ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I
press in
here, sir, amongst the rest of the country
copulatives,
to swear and to forswear: according as
marriage
binds and blood breaks: a poor virgin,
sir, an
ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own; a poor
humour of
mine, sir, to take that that no man else
will: rich
honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a
poor
house; as your pearl in your foul oyster.
DUKE
SENIOR
By my faith, he is very swift and sententious.
TOUCHSTONE
According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such dulcet diseases.
JAQUES
But, for the seventh cause; how did you find the
quarrel on
the seventh cause?
TOUCHSTONE
Upon a lie seven times removed: -- bear your body more
seeming,
Audrey: -- as thus, sir. I did dislike the
cut of a
certain courtier's beard: he sent me word,
if I said
his beard was not cut well, he was in the
mind it
was: this is called the Retort Courteous.
If I sent
him word again 'it was not well cut,' he
would send
me word, he cut it to please himself:
this is
called the Quip Modest. If again 'it was
not well
cut,' he disabled my judgment: this is
called the
Reply Churlish. If again 'it was not
well cut,'
he would answer, I spake not true: this
is called
the Reproof Valiant. If again 'it was not
well cut,'
he would say I lied: this is called the
Counter-cheque
Quarrelsome: and so to the Lie
Circumstantial
and the Lie Direct.
JAQUES
And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut?
TOUCHSTONE
I durst go no further than the Lie Circumstantial,
nor he
durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we
measured
swords and parted.
JAQUES
Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie?
TOUCHSTONE
O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book; as you have
books for
good manners: I will name you the degrees.
The first,
the Retort Courteous; the second, the
Quip
Modest; the third, the Reply Churlish; the
fourth,
the Reproof Valiant; the fifth, the
Countercheque
Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with
Circumstance;
the seventh, the Lie Direct. All
these you
may avoid but the Lie Direct; and you may
avoid that
too, with an If. I knew when seven
justices
could not take up a quarrel, but when the
parties
were met themselves, one of them thought but
of an If,
as, 'If you said so, then I said so;' and
they shook
hands and swore brothers. Your If is the
only
peacemaker; much virtue in If.
JAQUES
Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's as good at
any thing
and yet a fool.
DUKE
SENIOR
He uses his folly like a stalking-horse and under
the
presentation of that he shoots his wit.
[Enter HYMEN, ROSALIND, and CELIA]
[Still Music]
HYMEN
Then is there mirth in heaven,
When
earthly things made even
Atone
together.
Good duke,
receive thy daughter
Hymen from
heaven brought her,
Yea,
brought her hither,
That thou
mightst join her hand with his
Whose
heart within his bosom is.
ROSALIND
[To DUKE SENIOR]
To you I give myself, for I am yours.
[To ORLANDO]
To you I give myself, for I am yours.
DUKE
SENIOR
If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter.
ORLANDO
If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind.
PHEBE
If sight and shape be true,
Why then,
my love adieu!
ROSALIND
I'll have no father, if you be not he:
I'll have
no husband, if you be not he:
Nor ne'er
wed woman, if you be not she.
HYMEN
Peace, ho! I bar confusion:
'Tis I
must make conclusion
Of these
most strange events:
Here's
eight that must take hands
To join in
Hymen's bands,
If truth
holds true contents.
You and
you no cross shall part:
You and
you are heart in heart
You to his
love must accord,
Or have a
woman to your lord:
You and
you are sure together,
As the
winter to foul weather.
Whiles a
wedlock-hymn we sing,
Feed
yourselves with questioning;
That
reason wonder may diminish,
How thus
we met, and these things finish.
SONG.
Wedding is
great Juno's crown:
O blessed
bond of board and bed!
'Tis Hymen
peoples every town;
High
wedlock then be honoured:
Honour,
high honour and renown,
To Hymen,
god of every town!
DUKE
SENIOR
O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me!
Even
daughter, welcome, in no less degree.
PHEBE
I will not eat my word, now thou art mine;
Thy faith
my fancy to thee doth combine.
[Enter JAQUES DE BOYS]
JAQUES DE
BOYS
Let me have audience for a word or two:
I am the
second son of old Sir Rowland,
That bring
these tidings to this fair assembly.
Duke
Frederick, hearing how that every day
Men of
great worth resorted to this forest,
Address'd
a mighty power; which were on foot,
In his own
conduct, purposely to take
His
brother here and put him to the sword:
And to the
skirts of this wild wood he came;
Where
meeting with an old religious man,
After some
question with him, was converted
Both from
his enterprise and from the world,
His crown
bequeathing to his banish'd brother,
And all
their lands restored to them again
That were
with him exiled. This to be true,
I do
engage my life.
DUKE
SENIOR
Welcome, young man;
Thou
offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding:
To one his
lands withheld, and to the other
A land
itself at large, a potent dukedom.
First, in
this forest, let us do those ends
That here
were well begun and well begot:
And after,
every of this happy number
That have
endured shrewd days and nights with us
Shall
share the good of our returned fortune,
According
to the measure of their states.
Meantime,
forget this new-fall'n dignity
And fall
into our rustic revelry.
Play,
music! And you, brides and bridegrooms all,
With
measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall.
JAQUES
Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly,
The duke
hath put on a religious life
And thrown
into neglect the pompous court?
JAQUES DE
BOYS
He hath.
JAQUES
To him will I : out of these convertites
There is
much matter to be heard and learn'd.
[To DUKE SENIOR]
You to your former honour I bequeath;
Your
patience and your virtue well deserves it:
[To ORLANDO]
You to a love that your true faith doth merit:
[To OLIVER]
You to your land and love and great allies:
[To SILVIUS]
You to a long and well-deserved bed:
[To TOUCHSTONE]
And you to wrangling; for thy loving voyage
Is but for
two months victuall'd. So, to your pleasures:
I am for
other than for dancing measures.
DUKE
SENIOR
Stay, Jaques, stay.
JAQUES
To see no pastime I
what you
would have
I'll stay
to know at your abandon'd cave.
[Exit]
DUKE
SENIOR
Proceed, proceed: we will begin these rites,
As we do
trust they'll end, in true delights.
[A dance]
EPILOGUE
ROSALIND
It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue;
but it is
no more unhandsome than to see the lord
the
prologue. If it be true that good wine needs
no bush,
'tis true that a good play needs no
epilogue;
yet to good wine they do use good bushes,
and good
plays prove the better by the help of good
epilogues.
What a case am I in then, that am
neither a
good epilogue nor cannot insinuate with
you in the
behalf of a good play! I am not
furnished
like a beggar, therefore to beg will not
become me:
my way is to conjure you; and I'll begin
with the
women. I charge you, O women, for the love
you bear
to men, to like as much of this play as
please
you: and I charge you, O men, for the love
you bear
to women -- as I perceive by your simpering,
none of
you hates them -- that between you and the
women the
play may please. If I were a woman I
would kiss
as many of you as had beards that pleased
me,
complexions that liked me and breaths that I
defied
not: and, I am sure, as many as have good
beards or
good faces or sweet breaths will, for my
kind
offer, when I make curtsy, bid me farewell.
[Exeunt]