ACT I SCENE I. 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 II. 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 III. 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 II
SCENE I. 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 II. 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 III. 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 IV. 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 V. 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 VI. 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 VII. 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 III
SCENE I. 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 II. 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 III. 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? C ourage! 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 IV. 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 V. 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 IV
SCENE I. 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 II. 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 III. 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 V
SCENE I. 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 II. 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 III. 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 IV. 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
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