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4225 lines
129 KiB
Plaintext
As You Like It
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by William Shakespeare
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Edited by Barbara A. Mowat and Paul Werstine
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with Michael Poston and Rebecca Niles
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Folger Shakespeare Library
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https://shakespeare.folger.edu/shakespeares-works/as-you-like-it/
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Created on Jul 31, 2015, from FDT version 0.9.2
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Characters in the Play
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======================
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ORLANDO, youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys
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OLIVER, his elder brother
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SECOND BROTHER, brother to Orlando and Oliver, named Jaques
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ADAM, servant to Oliver and friend to Orlando
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DENNIS, servant to Oliver
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ROSALIND, daughter to Duke Senior
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CELIA, Rosalind's cousin, daughter to Duke Frederick
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TOUCHSTONE, a court Fool
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DUKE FREDERICK, the usurping duke
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CHARLES, wrestler at Duke Frederick's court
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LE BEAU, a courtier at Duke Frederick's court
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Attending Duke Frederick:
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FIRST LORD
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SECOND LORD
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DUKE SENIOR, the exiled duke, brother to Duke Frederick
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Lords attending Duke Senior in exile:
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JAQUES
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AMIENS
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FIRST LORD
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SECOND LORD
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Attending Duke Senior in exile:
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FIRST PAGE
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SECOND PAGE
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CORIN, a shepherd
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SILVIUS, a young shepherd in love
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PHOEBE, a disdainful shepherdess
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AUDREY, a goat-keeper
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WILLIAM, a country youth in love with Audrey
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SIR OLIVER MARTEXT, a parish priest
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HYMEN, god of marriage
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Lords, Attendants, Musicians
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ACT 1
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=====
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Scene 1
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=======
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[Enter Orlando and Adam.]
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ORLANDO As I remember, Adam, it was upon this
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fashion bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand
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crowns, and, as thou sayst, charged my brother on
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his blessing to breed me well. And there begins my
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sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and
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report speaks goldenly of his profit. For my part, he
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keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more
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properly, stays me here at home unkept; for call you
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that "keeping," for a gentleman of my birth, that
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differs not from the stalling of an ox? His horses are
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bred better, for, besides that they are fair with their
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feeding, they are taught their manage and, to that
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end, riders dearly hired. But I, his brother, gain
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nothing under him but growth, for the which his
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animals on his dunghills are as much bound to him
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as I. Besides this nothing that he so plentifully gives
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me, the something that nature gave me his countenance
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seems to take from me. He lets me feed with
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his hinds, bars me the place of a brother, and, as
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much as in him lies, mines my gentility with my
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education. This is it, Adam, that grieves me, and the
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spirit of my father, which I think is within me,
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begins to mutiny against this servitude. I will no
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longer endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy
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how to avoid it.
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[Enter Oliver.]
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ADAM Yonder comes my master, your brother.
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ORLANDO Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he
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will shake me up. [Adam steps aside.]
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OLIVER Now, sir, what make you here?
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ORLANDO Nothing. I am not taught to make anything.
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OLIVER What mar you then, sir?
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ORLANDO Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that
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which God made, a poor unworthy brother of
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yours, with idleness.
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OLIVER Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught
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awhile.
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ORLANDO Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks with
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them? What prodigal portion have I spent that I
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should come to such penury?
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OLIVER Know you where you are, sir?
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ORLANDO O, sir, very well: here in your orchard.
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OLIVER Know you before whom, sir?
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ORLANDO Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I
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know you are my eldest brother, and in the gentle
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condition of blood you should so know me. The
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courtesy of nations allows you my better in that you
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are the first-born, but the same tradition takes not
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away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt
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us. I have as much of my father in me as you, albeit I
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confess your coming before me is nearer to his
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reverence.
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OLIVER, [threatening Orlando] What, boy!
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ORLANDO, [holding off Oliver by the throat] Come,
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come, elder brother, you are too young in this.
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OLIVER Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?
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ORLANDO I am no villain. I am the youngest son of Sir
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Rowland de Boys. He was my father, and he is
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thrice a villain that says such a father begot villains.
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Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this
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hand from thy throat till this other had pulled out
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thy tongue for saying so. Thou hast railed on thyself.
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ADAM, [coming forward] Sweet masters, be patient. For
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your father's remembrance, be at accord.
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OLIVER, [to Orlando] Let me go, I say.
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ORLANDO I will not till I please. You shall hear me. My
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father charged you in his will to give me good
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education. You have trained me like a peasant,
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obscuring and hiding from me all gentlemanlike
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qualities. The spirit of my father grows strong in
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me, and I will no longer endure it. Therefore allow
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me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or
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give me the poor allottery my father left me by
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testament. With that I will go buy my fortunes.
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[Orlando releases Oliver.]
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OLIVER And what wilt thou do--beg when that is
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spent? Well, sir, get you in. I will not long be
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troubled with you. You shall have some part of your
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will. I pray you leave me.
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ORLANDO I will no further offend you than becomes
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me for my good.
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OLIVER, [to Adam] Get you with him, you old dog.
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ADAM Is "old dog" my reward? Most true, I have lost
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my teeth in your service. God be with my old
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master. He would not have spoke such a word.
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[Orlando and Adam exit.]
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OLIVER Is it even so? Begin you to grow upon me? I
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will physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand
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crowns neither.--Holla, Dennis!
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[Enter Dennis.]
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DENNIS Calls your Worship?
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OLIVER Was not Charles, the Duke's wrestler, here to
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speak with me?
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DENNIS So please you, he is here at the door and
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importunes access to you.
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OLIVER Call him in. [Dennis exits.] 'Twill be a good
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way, and tomorrow the wrestling is.
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[Enter Charles.]
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CHARLES Good morrow to your Worship.
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OLIVER Good Monsieur Charles, what's the new news
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at the new court?
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CHARLES There's no news at the court, sir, but the old
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news. That is, the old duke is banished by his
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younger brother the new duke, and three or four
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loving lords have put themselves into voluntary
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exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich
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the new duke. Therefore he gives them good leave
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to wander.
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OLIVER Can you tell if Rosalind, the Duke's daughter,
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be banished with her father?
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CHARLES O, no, for the Duke's daughter her cousin so
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loves her, being ever from their cradles bred together,
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that she would have followed her exile or have
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died to stay behind her. She is at the court and no
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less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter,
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and never two ladies loved as they do.
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OLIVER Where will the old duke live?
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CHARLES They say he is already in the Forest of Arden,
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and a many merry men with him; and there they
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live like the old Robin Hood of England. They say
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many young gentlemen flock to him every day and
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fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden
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world.
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OLIVER What, you wrestle tomorrow before the new
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duke?
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CHARLES Marry, do I, sir, and I came to acquaint you
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with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand
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that your younger brother Orlando hath a
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disposition to come in disguised against me to try a
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fall. Tomorrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit, and he
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that escapes me without some broken limb shall
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acquit him well. Your brother is but young and
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tender, and for your love I would be loath to foil
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him, as I must for my own honor if he come in.
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Therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither to
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acquaint you withal, that either you might stay him
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from his intendment, or brook such disgrace well
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as he shall run into, in that it is a thing of his own
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search and altogether against my will.
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OLIVER Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which
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thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I had
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myself notice of my brother's purpose herein, and
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have by underhand means labored to dissuade him
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from it; but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles, it is
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the stubbornest young fellow of France, full of
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ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good
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parts, a secret and villainous contriver against me
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his natural brother. Therefore use thy discretion. I
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had as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger.
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And thou wert best look to 't, for if thou dost him
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any slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace
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himself on thee, he will practice against thee by
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poison, entrap thee by some treacherous device,
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and never leave thee till he hath ta'en thy life by
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some indirect means or other. For I assure thee--
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and almost with tears I speak it--there is not one so
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young and so villainous this day living. I speak but
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brotherly of him, but should I anatomize him to
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thee as he is, I must blush and weep, and thou must
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look pale and wonder.
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CHARLES I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he
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come tomorrow, I'll give him his payment. If ever
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he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize more.
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And so God keep your Worship.
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OLIVER Farewell, good Charles. [Charles exits.]
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Now will I stir this gamester. I hope I shall see an
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end of him, for my soul--yet I know not why--
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hates nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle, never
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schooled and yet learned, full of noble device, of all
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sorts enchantingly beloved, and indeed so much in
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the heart of the world, and especially of my own
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people, who best know him, that I am altogether
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misprized. But it shall not be so long; this wrestler
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shall clear all. Nothing remains but that I kindle the
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boy thither, which now I'll go about.
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[He exits.]
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Scene 2
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=======
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[Enter Rosalind and Celia.]
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CELIA I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.
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ROSALIND Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am
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mistress of, and would you yet I were merrier?
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Unless you could teach me to forget a banished
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father, you must not learn me how to remember
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any extraordinary pleasure.
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CELIA Herein I see thou lov'st me not with the full
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weight that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banished
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father, had banished thy uncle, the Duke my father,
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so thou hadst been still with me, I could have taught
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my love to take thy father for mine. So wouldst thou,
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if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously
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tempered as mine is to thee.
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ROSALIND Well, I will forget the condition of my estate
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to rejoice in yours.
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CELIA You know my father hath no child but I, nor
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none is like to have; and truly, when he dies, thou
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shalt be his heir, for what he hath taken away from
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thy father perforce, I will render thee again in
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affection. By mine honor I will, and when I break
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that oath, let me turn monster. Therefore, my sweet
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Rose, my dear Rose, be merry.
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ROSALIND From henceforth I will, coz, and devise
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sports. Let me see--what think you of falling in
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love?
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CELIA Marry, I prithee do, to make sport withal; but
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love no man in good earnest, nor no further in
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sport neither than with safety of a pure blush thou
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mayst in honor come off again.
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ROSALIND What shall be our sport, then?
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CELIA Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune
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from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be
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bestowed equally.
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ROSALIND I would we could do so, for her benefits are
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mightily misplaced, and the bountiful blind woman
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doth most mistake in her gifts to women.
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CELIA 'Tis true, for those that she makes fair she scarce
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makes honest, and those that she makes honest she
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makes very ill-favoredly.
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ROSALIND Nay, now thou goest from Fortune's office to
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Nature's. Fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in
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the lineaments of nature.
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CELIA No? When Nature hath made a fair creature,
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may she not by fortune fall into the fire?
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[Enter Touchstone.]
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Though Nature hath given us wit to flout at Fortune,
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hath not Fortune sent in this fool to cut off the
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argument?
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ROSALIND Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature,
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when Fortune makes Nature's natural the
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cutter-off of Nature's wit.
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CELIA Peradventure this is not Fortune's work neither,
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but Nature's, who perceiveth our natural wits too
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dull to reason of such goddesses, and hath sent
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this natural for our whetstone, for always the dullness
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of the fool is the whetstone of the wits. [To
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Touchstone.] How now, wit, whither wander you?
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TOUCHSTONE Mistress, you must come away to your
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father.
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CELIA Were you made the messenger?
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TOUCHSTONE No, by mine honor, but I was bid to come
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for you.
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ROSALIND Where learned you that oath, fool?
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TOUCHSTONE Of a certain knight that swore by his
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honor they were good pancakes, and swore by his
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honor the mustard was naught. Now, I'll stand to it,
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the pancakes were naught and the mustard was
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good, and yet was not the knight forsworn.
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CELIA How prove you that in the great heap of your
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knowledge?
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ROSALIND Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom.
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TOUCHSTONE Stand you both forth now: stroke your
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chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave.
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CELIA By our beards (if we had them), thou art.
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TOUCHSTONE By my knavery (if I had it), then I were.
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But if you swear by that that is not, you are not
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forsworn. No more was this knight swearing by his
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honor, for he never had any, or if he had, he had
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sworn it away before ever he saw those pancakes or
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that mustard.
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CELIA Prithee, who is 't that thou mean'st?
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TOUCHSTONE One that old Frederick, your father, loves.
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CELIA My father's love is enough to honor him.
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Enough. Speak no more of him; you'll be whipped
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for taxation one of these days.
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TOUCHSTONE The more pity that fools may not speak
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wisely what wise men do foolishly.
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CELIA By my troth, thou sayest true. For, since the little
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wit that fools have was silenced, the little foolery
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that wise men have makes a great show. Here
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comes Monsieur Le Beau.
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[Enter Le Beau.]
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ROSALIND With his mouth full of news.
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CELIA Which he will put on us as pigeons feed their
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young.
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ROSALIND Then shall we be news-crammed.
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CELIA All the better. We shall be the more
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marketable.--Bonjour, Monsieur Le Beau. What's
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the news?
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LE BEAU Fair princess, you have lost much good sport.
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CELIA Sport? Of what color?
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LE BEAU What color, madam? How shall I answer you?
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ROSALIND As wit and fortune will.
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TOUCHSTONE Or as the destinies decrees.
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CELIA Well said. That was laid on with a trowel.
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TOUCHSTONE Nay, if I keep not my rank--
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ROSALIND Thou losest thy old smell.
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LE BEAU You amaze me, ladies. I would have told you of
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good wrestling, which you have lost the sight of.
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ROSALIND Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling.
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LE BEAU I will tell you the beginning, and if it please
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your Ladyships, you may see the end, for the best is
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yet to do, and here, where you are, they are coming
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to perform it.
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CELIA Well, the beginning that is dead and buried.
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LE BEAU There comes an old man and his three sons--
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CELIA I could match this beginning with an old tale.
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LE BEAU Three proper young men of excellent growth
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and presence.
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ROSALIND With bills on their necks: "Be it known unto
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all men by these presents."
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LE BEAU The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles,
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the Duke's wrestler, which Charles in a moment
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threw him and broke three of his ribs, that there is
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little hope of life in him. So he served the second,
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and so the third. Yonder they lie, the poor old man
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their father making such pitiful dole over them that
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all the beholders take his part with weeping.
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ROSALIND Alas!
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TOUCHSTONE But what is the sport, monsieur, that the
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ladies have lost?
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LE BEAU Why, this that I speak of.
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TOUCHSTONE Thus men may grow wiser every day. It is
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the first time that ever I heard breaking of ribs was
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sport for ladies.
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CELIA Or I, I promise thee.
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ROSALIND But is there any else longs to see this broken
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music in his sides? Is there yet another dotes upon
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rib-breaking? Shall we see this wrestling, cousin?
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LE BEAU You must if you stay here, for here is the place
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appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to
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perform it.
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CELIA Yonder sure they are coming. Let us now stay
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and see it.
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[Flourish. Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, Orlando,
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Charles, and Attendants.]
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DUKE FREDERICK Come on. Since the youth will not be
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entreated, his own peril on his forwardness.
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ROSALIND, [to Le Beau] Is yonder the man?
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LE BEAU Even he, madam.
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CELIA Alas, he is too young. Yet he looks successfully.
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DUKE FREDERICK How now, daughter and cousin? Are
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you crept hither to see the wrestling?
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ROSALIND Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave.
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DUKE FREDERICK You will take little delight in it, I can
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tell you, there is such odds in the man. In pity of the
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challenger's youth, I would fain dissuade him, but
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he will not be entreated. Speak to him, ladies; see if
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you can move him.
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CELIA Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau.
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DUKE FREDERICK Do so. I'll not be by.
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[He steps aside.]
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LE BEAU, [to Orlando] Monsieur the challenger, the
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Princess calls for you.
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|
|
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 misprized. 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 anything. 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 is
|
|
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, [coming forward] 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 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.
|
|
[Orlando and Charles wrestle.]
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND O excellent young man!
|
|
|
|
CELIA If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who
|
|
should down.
|
|
[Orlando throws Charles. Shout.]
|
|
|
|
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.
|
|
[Charles is carried off by Attendants.]
|
|
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 esteemed thy father honorable,
|
|
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.
|
|
[Duke exits with Touchstone, Le Beau,
|
|
Lords, and Attendants.]
|
|
|
|
CELIA, [to Rosalind]
|
|
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, [to Celia]
|
|
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, [giving Orlando a chain from her neck]
|
|
Gentleman,
|
|
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, [aside]
|
|
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, [to Celia]
|
|
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. [To Orlando.] Fare you well.
|
|
[Rosalind and Celia exit.]
|
|
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
[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 misconsters 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 smaller is his daughter.
|
|
The other is daughter to the banished duke,
|
|
And here detained 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.
|
|
[Le Beau exits.]
|
|
Thus must I from the smoke into the smother,
|
|
From tyrant duke unto a tyrant brother.
|
|
But heavenly Rosalind!
|
|
[He exits.]
|
|
|
|
Scene 3
|
|
=======
|
|
[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.
|
|
|
|
[Enter Duke Frederick with Lords.]
|
|
|
|
Look, here comes the Duke.
|
|
|
|
CELIA With his eyes full of anger.
|
|
|
|
DUKE FREDERICK, [to Rosalind]
|
|
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 beest 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 banished 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 stayed 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, learned, played, eat together,
|
|
And, wheresoe'er 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 passed upon her. She is banished.
|
|
|
|
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 honor
|
|
And in the greatness of my word, you die.
|
|
[Duke and Lords exit.]
|
|
|
|
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 banished 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 sundered? 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 curtal-ax 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 called?
|
|
|
|
CELIA
|
|
Something that hath a reference to my state:
|
|
No longer Celia, but Aliena.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND
|
|
But, cousin, what if we assayed 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.
|
|
[They exit.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT 2
|
|
=====
|
|
|
|
Scene 1
|
|
=======
|
|
[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 not 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 counselors
|
|
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 everything.
|
|
|
|
AMIENS
|
|
I would not change it. 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 banished you.
|
|
Today 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 sequestered 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 th' 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 mak'st a testament
|
|
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
|
|
To that which had too much." Then, being there
|
|
alone,
|
|
Left and abandoned 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 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 assigned 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.
|
|
[They exit.]
|
|
|
|
Scene 2
|
|
=======
|
|
[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 roinish 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.
|
|
[They exit.]
|
|
|
|
Scene 3
|
|
=======
|
|
[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 prizer 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 practices.
|
|
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 boist'rous 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.
|
|
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 prun'st a rotten tree
|
|
That cannot so much as a blossom yield
|
|
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry.
|
|
But come thy ways. We'll 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.
|
|
[They exit.]
|
|
|
|
Scene 4
|
|
=======
|
|
[Enter Rosalind for Ganymede, Celia for Aliena, and
|
|
Clown, alias 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
|
|
travelers 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.
|
|
|
|
[Rosalind, Celia, and Touchstone step aside and
|
|
eavesdrop.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CORIN, [to Silvius]
|
|
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 sighed 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 never love so heartily.
|
|
If thou rememb'rest 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,
|
|
Wearing 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 Phoebe, Phoebe, Phoebe! [He exits.]
|
|
|
|
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 batler, and the cow's
|
|
dugs that her pretty chopped 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 speak'st 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, [to Corin] 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, [to Touchstone]
|
|
Peace, I say. [As Ganymede, to Corin.]
|
|
Good even toyou, friend.
|
|
|
|
CORIN
|
|
And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede]
|
|
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 oppressed,
|
|
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, [as Ganymede]
|
|
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 anything.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede]
|
|
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, [as Aliena]
|
|
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.
|
|
[They exit.]
|
|
|
|
Scene 5
|
|
=======
|
|
[Enter Amiens, Jaques, and others.]
|
|
|
|
Song.
|
|
|
|
AMIENS [sings]
|
|
Under the greenwood tree
|
|
Who loves to lie with me
|
|
And turn his merry note
|
|
Unto the sweet bird's throat,
|
|
Come hither, come hither, come hither.
|
|
Here shall he see
|
|
No enemy
|
|
But winter and rough weather.
|
|
|
|
JAQUES More, more, I prithee, more.
|
|
|
|
AMIENS It will make you melancholy, Monsieur
|
|
Jaques.
|
|
|
|
JAQUES I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck
|
|
melancholy out of a song as a weasel sucks eggs.
|
|
More, I prithee, more.
|
|
|
|
AMIENS My voice is ragged. I know I cannot please you.
|
|
|
|
JAQUES I do not desire you to please me. I do desire
|
|
you to sing. Come, more, another stanzo. Call you
|
|
'em "stanzos"?
|
|
|
|
AMIENS What you will, Monsieur Jaques.
|
|
|
|
JAQUES Nay, I care not for their names. They owe me
|
|
nothing. Will you sing?
|
|
|
|
AMIENS More at your request than to please myself.
|
|
|
|
JAQUES Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank
|
|
you. But that they call "compliment" is like th'
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
|
|
ALL [together here.]
|
|
Who doth ambition shun
|
|
And loves to live i' th' 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.
|
|
[They exit.]
|
|
|
|
Scene 6
|
|
=======
|
|
[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. [He lies down.]
|
|
|
|
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 anything 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 labor. Well said. Thou look'st
|
|
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 anything in this desert. Cheerly, good
|
|
Adam.
|
|
[They exit.]
|
|
|
|
Scene 7
|
|
=======
|
|
[Enter Duke Senior and Lords, like outlaws.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
DUKE SENIOR
|
|
I think he be transformed into a beast,
|
|
For I can nowhere 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 labor by his own approach.
|
|
|
|
DUKE SENIOR, [to Jaques]
|
|
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' th' forest,
|
|
A motley fool. A miserable world!
|
|
As I do live by food, I met a fool,
|
|
Who laid him down and basked him in the sun
|
|
And railed 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-luster 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 crammed
|
|
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 squand'ring 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 th' 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 th' embossed sores and headed evils
|
|
That thou with license 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 neighbor?
|
|
Or what is he of basest function
|
|
That says his bravery is not on 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 wronged him. If it do him right,
|
|
Then he hath wronged himself. If he be free,
|
|
Why then my taxing like a wild goose flies
|
|
Unclaimed of any man.
|
|
|
|
[Enter Orlando, brandishing a sword.]
|
|
|
|
But who comes here?
|
|
|
|
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, [to Orlando]
|
|
Art thou thus boldened, man, by thy distress,
|
|
Or else a rude despiser of good manners,
|
|
That in civility thou seem'st so empty?
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO
|
|
You touched 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, [to Orlando]
|
|
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 looked on better days,
|
|
If ever been where bells have knolled 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.
|
|
[He sheathes his sword.]
|
|
|
|
DUKE SENIOR
|
|
True is it that we have seen better days,
|
|
And have with holy bell been knolled to church,
|
|
And sat at good men's feasts and wiped our eyes
|
|
Of drops that sacred pity hath engendered.
|
|
And therefore sit you down in gentleness,
|
|
And take upon command what help we have
|
|
That to your wanting may be ministered.
|
|
|
|
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
|
|
Limped in pure love. Till he be first sufficed,
|
|
Oppressed 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 you; and be blessed for your good comfort.
|
|
[He exits.]
|
|
|
|
DUKE SENIOR
|
|
Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy.
|
|
This wide and universal theater
|
|
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.
|
|
Then the whining schoolboy 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 honor, 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 slippered 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.
|
|
|
|
[Enter Orlando, carrying Adam.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
DUKE SENIOR
|
|
Welcome. Set down your venerable burden,
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
[The Duke and Orlando continue their conversation,
|
|
apart.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
Song.
|
|
|
|
|
|
AMIENS [sings]
|
|
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 remembered not.
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
DUKE SENIOR, [to Orlando]
|
|
If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son,
|
|
As you have whispered faithfully you were,
|
|
And as mine eye doth his effigies witness
|
|
Most truly limned 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.
|
|
[To Lords.] Support him by the arm. [To Orlando.]
|
|
Give me your hand,
|
|
And let me all your fortunes understand.
|
|
[They exit.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT 3
|
|
=====
|
|
|
|
Scene 1
|
|
=======
|
|
[Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, and Oliver.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
DUKE FREDERICK, [to Oliver]
|
|
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 brother's 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.
|
|
[They exit.]
|
|
|
|
Scene 2
|
|
=======
|
|
[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 witnessed everywhere.
|
|
Run, run, Orlando, carve on every tree
|
|
The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she.
|
|
[He exits.]
|
|
|
|
[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 it is a spare life, look you, it fits my
|
|
humor 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 saw'st good manners; if thou never saw'st
|
|
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 laborer. 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 be'st not damned for
|
|
this, the devil himself will have no shepherds. I
|
|
cannot see else how thou shouldst 'scape.
|
|
|
|
[Enter Rosalind, as Ganymede.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
CORIN Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new
|
|
mistress's brother.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede, reading a paper]
|
|
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 face 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, [as Ganymede] 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.
|
|
Wintered 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, [as Ganymede] Peace, you dull fool. I found
|
|
them on a tree.
|
|
|
|
TOUCHSTONE Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] I'll graft it with you, and
|
|
then I shall graft it with a medlar. Then it will be
|
|
the earliest fruit i' th' 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, as Aliena, with a writing.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] Peace. Here comes my sister
|
|
reading. Stand aside.
|
|
|
|
CELIA, [as Aliena, 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 filled
|
|
With all graces wide-enlarged.
|
|
Nature presently distilled
|
|
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, [as Ganymede] O most gentle Jupiter, what
|
|
tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners
|
|
withal, and never cried "Have patience,
|
|
good people!"
|
|
|
|
CELIA, [as Aliena] How now?--Back, friends. Shepherd,
|
|
go off a little.--Go with him, sirrah.
|
|
|
|
TOUCHSTONE Come, shepherd, let us make an honorable
|
|
retreat, though not with bag and baggage, yet
|
|
with scrip and scrippage.
|
|
[Touchstone and Corin exit.]
|
|
|
|
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. [She shows the paper she
|
|
read.] I was never so berhymed 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 color?
|
|
|
|
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 whooping!
|
|
|
|
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 might'st 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 I 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 saw'st him? What
|
|
said he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What
|
|
makes he 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
|
|
bring'st 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.
|
|
|
|
[Enter Orlando and Jaques.]
|
|
|
|
Soft, comes he not here?
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND 'Tis he. Slink by, and note him.
|
|
[Rosalind and Celia step aside.]
|
|
|
|
JAQUES, [to Orlando] 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-favoredly.
|
|
|
|
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. [Jaques exits.]
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [aside to Celia] I will speak to him like a
|
|
saucy lackey, and under that habit play the knave
|
|
with him. [As Ganymede.] Do you hear, forester?
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO Very well. What would you?
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] 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 Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] 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 offenses 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, [as Ganymede] There were none principal.
|
|
They were all like one another as halfpence are,
|
|
every one fault seeming monstrous till his fellow
|
|
fault came to match it.
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO I prithee recount some of them.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] 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 everything
|
|
about you demonstrating a careless desolation. But
|
|
you are no such man. You are rather point-device in
|
|
your accouterments, as loving yourself than seeming
|
|
the lover of any other.
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe
|
|
I love.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] But are you so much in love
|
|
as your rhymes speak?
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO Neither rhyme nor reason can express how
|
|
much.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] 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 anything, as boys and women are,
|
|
for the most part, cattle of this color; 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 humor of love
|
|
to a living humor 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, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] Nay, you must call me
|
|
Rosalind.--Come, sister, will you go?
|
|
[They exit.]
|
|
|
|
Scene 3
|
|
=======
|
|
[Enter Touchstone and Audrey, followed by Jaques.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
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 swear'st 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-favored;
|
|
for honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a
|
|
sauce to sugar.
|
|
|
|
JAQUES, [aside] A material fool.
|
|
|
|
AUDREY Well, I am not fair, and therefore I pray the
|
|
gods make me honest.
|
|
|
|
TOUCHSTONE Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a
|
|
foul slut were to put good meat into an unclean
|
|
dish.
|
|
|
|
AUDREY I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am
|
|
foul.
|
|
|
|
TOUCHSTONE Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness;
|
|
sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may
|
|
be, I will marry thee; and to that end I have been
|
|
with Sir Oliver Martext, the vicar of the next village,
|
|
who hath promised to meet me in this place of the
|
|
forest and to couple us.
|
|
|
|
JAQUES, [aside] I would fain see this meeting.
|
|
|
|
AUDREY Well, the gods give us joy.
|
|
|
|
TOUCHSTONE Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful
|
|
heart, stagger in this attempt, for here we have no
|
|
temple but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts.
|
|
But what though? Courage. As horns are odious,
|
|
they are necessary. It is said "Many a man knows no
|
|
end of his goods." Right: many a man has good
|
|
horns and knows no end of them. Well, that is the
|
|
dowry of his wife; 'tis none of his own getting.
|
|
Horns? Even so. Poor men alone? No, no. The
|
|
noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the
|
|
single man therefore blessed? No. As a walled town
|
|
is more worthier than a village, so is the forehead of
|
|
a married man more honorable than the bare brow
|
|
of a bachelor. And by how much defense is better
|
|
than no skill, by so much is a horn more precious
|
|
than to want.
|
|
|
|
[Enter Sir Oliver Martext.]
|
|
|
|
Here comes Sir Oliver.--Sir Oliver Martext, you are
|
|
well met. Will you dispatch us here under this tree,
|
|
or shall we go with you to your chapel?
|
|
|
|
OLIVER MARTEXT Is there none here to give the
|
|
woman?
|
|
|
|
TOUCHSTONE I will not take her on gift of any man.
|
|
|
|
OLIVER MARTEXT Truly, she must be given, or the
|
|
marriage is not lawful.
|
|
|
|
JAQUES, [coming forward] Proceed, proceed. I'll give
|
|
her.
|
|
|
|
TOUCHSTONE Good even, good Monsieur What-you-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 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.
|
|
[Audrey, Touchstone, and Jaques exit.]
|
|
|
|
OLIVER MARTEXT 'Tis no matter. Ne'er a fantastical
|
|
knave of them all shall flout me out of my calling.
|
|
[He exits.]
|
|
|
|
Scene 4
|
|
=======
|
|
[Enter Rosalind, dressed as Ganymede, and Celia,
|
|
dressed as Aliena.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
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 color.
|
|
|
|
CELIA Something browner than Judas's. Marry, his
|
|
kisses are Judas's own children.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND I' faith, his hair is of a good color.
|
|
|
|
CELIA An excellent color. Your chestnut was ever the
|
|
only color.
|
|
|
|
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 pickpurse 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 puny 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.
|
|
|
|
[Enter Corin.]
|
|
|
|
Who comes here?
|
|
|
|
CORIN
|
|
Mistress and master, you have oft inquired
|
|
After the shepherd that complained of love,
|
|
Who you saw sitting by me on the turf,
|
|
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
|
|
That was his mistress.
|
|
|
|
CELIA, [as Aliena] Well, and what of him?
|
|
|
|
CORIN
|
|
If you will see a pageant truly played
|
|
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, [aside to Celia] O come, let us remove.
|
|
The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.
|
|
[As Ganymede, to Corin.]
|
|
Bring us to this sight, andyou shall say
|
|
I'll prove a busy actor in their play.
|
|
[They exit.]
|
|
|
|
Scene 5
|
|
=======
|
|
[Enter Silvius and Phoebe.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
SILVIUS
|
|
Sweet Phoebe, do not scorn me. Do not, Phoebe.
|
|
Say that you love me not, but say not so
|
|
In bitterness. The common executioner,
|
|
Whose heart th' accustomed 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, unobserved, Rosalind as Ganymede, Celia as
|
|
Aliena, and Corin.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
PHOEBE
|
|
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 called 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 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 Phoebe,
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
PHOEBE 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, [as Ganymede, coming forward]
|
|
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-favored 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.
|
|
|
|
PHOEBE
|
|
Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together.
|
|
I had rather hear you chide than this man woo.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND[,as Ganymede] He's fall'n in love with your
|
|
foulness. [(To Silvius.)] 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. [(To
|
|
Phoebe.)] Why look you so upon me?
|
|
|
|
PHOEBE For no ill will I bear you.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede]
|
|
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.
|
|
[She exits, with Celia and Corin.]
|
|
|
|
PHOEBE, [aside]
|
|
Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might:
|
|
"Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?"
|
|
|
|
SILVIUS
|
|
Sweet Phoebe--
|
|
|
|
PHOEBE Ha, what sayst thou, Silvius?
|
|
|
|
SILVIUS Sweet Phoebe, pity me.
|
|
|
|
PHOEBE
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
PHOEBE
|
|
Thou hast my love. Is not that neighborly?
|
|
|
|
SILVIUS
|
|
I would have you.
|
|
|
|
PHOEBE 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 employed.
|
|
|
|
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 scattered smile, and that I'll live upon.
|
|
|
|
PHOEBE
|
|
Know'st thou 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.
|
|
|
|
PHOEBE
|
|
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 offense, 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 mixed in his cheek: 'twas just the
|
|
difference
|
|
Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask.
|
|
There be some women, Silvius, had they marked
|
|
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 remembered, scorned at me.
|
|
I marvel why I answered 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
|
|
Phoebe, with all my heart.
|
|
|
|
PHOEBE 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.
|
|
[They exit.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT 4
|
|
=====
|
|
|
|
Scene 1
|
|
=======
|
|
[Enter Rosalind as Ganymede, and Celia as Aliena,
|
|
and Jaques.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
JAQUES I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better
|
|
acquainted with thee.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] They say you are a melancholy
|
|
fellow.
|
|
|
|
JAQUES I am so. I do love it better than laughing.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] 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
|
|
contemplation of my travels, in which my often
|
|
rumination wraps me in a most humorous sadness.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] 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.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] 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.
|
|
[Jaques exits.]
|
|
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, [as Ganymede] Break an hour's promise in
|
|
love? He that will divide a minute into a thousand
|
|
parts and break but a part of the thousand part of a
|
|
minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him
|
|
that Cupid hath clapped him o' th' shoulder, but I'll
|
|
warrant him heart-whole.
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO Pardon me, dear Rosalind.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] 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 hornmaker, and my Rosalind is
|
|
virtuous.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] And I am your Rosalind.
|
|
|
|
CELIA, [as Aliena] It pleases him to call you so, but he
|
|
hath a Rosalind of a better leer than you.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede, to Orlando] Come, woo me,
|
|
woo me, for now I am in a holiday humor, 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, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] Then she puts you to entreaty,
|
|
and there begins new matter.
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO Who could be out, being before his beloved
|
|
mistress?
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] Well, in her person I say I
|
|
will not have you.
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO Then, in mine own person I die.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] 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, videlicet, 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 chroniclers 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, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and
|
|
Saturdays and all.
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO And wilt thou have me?
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] Ay, and twenty such.
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO What sayest thou?
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] Are you not good?
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO I hope so.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] 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, [to Celia] Pray thee marry us.
|
|
|
|
CELIA, [as Aliena] I cannot say the words.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] You must begin "Will you,
|
|
Orlando--"
|
|
|
|
CELIA, [as Aliena] Go to.--Will you, Orlando, have to
|
|
wife this Rosalind?
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO I will.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] Ay, but when?
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO Why now, as fast as she can marry us.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] Then you must say "I take
|
|
thee, Rosalind, for wife."
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] Now tell me how long you
|
|
would have her after you have possessed her?
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO Forever and a day.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] 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 newfangled 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 hyena, and that when thou
|
|
art inclined to sleep.
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO But will my Rosalind do so?
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] By my life, she will do as I
|
|
do.
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO O, but she is wise.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] 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 keyhole.
|
|
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, [as Ganymede] Nay, you might keep that
|
|
check for it till you met your wife's wit going to
|
|
your neighbor's bed.
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO And what wit could wit have to excuse that?
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] Well, time is the old justice
|
|
that examines all such offenders, and let time try.
|
|
Adieu.
|
|
[Orlando exits.]
|
|
|
|
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
|
|
everyone'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.
|
|
[They exit.]
|
|
|
|
Scene 2
|
|
=======
|
|
[Enter Jaques and Lords, like foresters.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
JAQUES Which is he that killed the deer?
|
|
|
|
FIRST LORD Sir, it was I.
|
|
|
|
JAQUES, [to the other Lords] 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?
|
|
|
|
SECOND LORD Yes, sir.
|
|
|
|
JAQUES Sing it. 'Tis no matter how it be in tune, so it
|
|
make noise enough.
|
|
|
|
Music. Song.
|
|
|
|
|
|
SECOND LORD [sings]
|
|
What shall he have that killed 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.
|
|
[They exit.]
|
|
|
|
Scene 3
|
|
=======
|
|
[Enter Rosalind dressed as Ganymede and Celia
|
|
dressed as Aliena.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
[Enter Silvius.]
|
|
|
|
Look who comes here.
|
|
|
|
SILVIUS, [to Rosalind]
|
|
My errand is to you, fair youth.
|
|
My gentle Phoebe did bid me give you this.
|
|
[He gives Rosalind a paper.]
|
|
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 reads the letter.]
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede]
|
|
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.
|
|
Phoebe did write it.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] Come, come, you are a
|
|
fool,
|
|
And turned into the extremity of love.
|
|
I saw her hand. She has a leathern hand,
|
|
A freestone-colored 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, [as Ganymede]
|
|
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 Ethiop 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 Phoebe's cruelty.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede]
|
|
She Phoebes me. Mark how the tyrant writes.
|
|
[Read.]
|
|
Art thou god to shepherd turned,
|
|
That a maiden's heart hath burned?
|
|
Can a woman rail thus?
|
|
|
|
SILVIUS Call you this railing?
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede]
|
|
[Read.]
|
|
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, [as Aliena] Alas, poor shepherd.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] 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. [Silvius exits.]
|
|
|
|
[Enter Oliver.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
OLIVER
|
|
Good morrow, fair ones. Pray you, if you know,
|
|
Where in the purlieus of this forest stands
|
|
A sheepcote fenced about with olive trees?
|
|
|
|
CELIA, [as Aliena]
|
|
West of this place, down in the neighbor 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 favor, 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, [as Aliena]
|
|
It is no boast, being asked, 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?
|
|
[He shows a stained handkerchief.]
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede]
|
|
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 stained.
|
|
|
|
CELIA, [as Aliena] 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 old oak, whose boughs were mossed 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, approached
|
|
The opening of his mouth. But suddenly,
|
|
Seeing Orlando, it unlinked 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, [as Aliena]
|
|
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, [as Ganymede]
|
|
But to Orlando: did he leave him there,
|
|
Food to the sucked 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, [as Aliena] Are you his brother?
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] Was 't you he rescued?
|
|
|
|
CELIA, [as Aliena]
|
|
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, [as Ganymede]
|
|
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 stripped 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 recovered 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 faints.]
|
|
|
|
CELIA, [as Aliena]
|
|
Why, how now, Ganymede, sweet Ganymede?
|
|
|
|
OLIVER
|
|
Many will swoon when they do look on blood.
|
|
|
|
CELIA, [as Aliena]
|
|
There is more in it.--Cousin Ganymede.
|
|
|
|
OLIVER Look, he recovers.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND I would I were at home.
|
|
|
|
CELIA, [as Aliena] We'll lead you thither.--I pray you,
|
|
will you take him by the arm?
|
|
|
|
OLIVER, [helping Rosalind to rise] Be of good cheer,
|
|
youth. You a man? You lack a man's heart.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] Counterfeit, I assure you.
|
|
|
|
OLIVER Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit to
|
|
be a man.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] So I do; but, i' faith, I should
|
|
have been a woman by right.
|
|
|
|
CELIA, [as Aliena] 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, [as Ganymede] I shall devise something.
|
|
But I pray you commend my counterfeiting to him.
|
|
Will you go?
|
|
[They exit.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT 5
|
|
=====
|
|
|
|
Scene 1
|
|
=======
|
|
[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.
|
|
|
|
[Enter William.]
|
|
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
WILLIAM Good ev'n, Audrey.
|
|
|
|
AUDREY God gi' good ev'n, William.
|
|
|
|
WILLIAM, [to Touchstone] And good ev'n to you, sir.
|
|
|
|
TOUCHSTONE Good ev'n, 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' th' 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 sayst 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, [to Touchstone] God rest you merry, sir.
|
|
[He exits.]
|
|
|
|
[Enter Corin.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
CORIN Our master and mistress seeks you. Come away,
|
|
away.
|
|
|
|
TOUCHSTONE Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey.--I attend, I
|
|
attend.
|
|
[They exit.]
|
|
|
|
Scene 2
|
|
=======
|
|
[Enter Orlando, with his arm in a sling, 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.
|
|
|
|
[Enter Rosalind, as Ganymede.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO You have my consent. Let your wedding be
|
|
tomorrow. Thither will I invite the Duke and all 's
|
|
contented followers. Go you and prepare Aliena,
|
|
for, look you, here comes my Rosalind.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede, to Oliver] God save you,
|
|
brother.
|
|
|
|
OLIVER And you, fair sister. [He exits.]
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] O my dear Orlando, how it
|
|
grieves me to see thee wear thy heart in a scarf.
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO It is my arm.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] 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, [as Ganymede] Did your brother tell you
|
|
how I counterfeited to swoon when he showed me
|
|
your handkercher?
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO Ay, and greater wonders than that.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] O, I know where you are.
|
|
Nay, 'tis true. There was never anything 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 tomorrow, 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 tomorrow
|
|
be at the height of heart-heaviness by how much I
|
|
shall think my brother happy in having what he
|
|
wishes for.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] Why, then, tomorrow I cannot
|
|
serve your turn for Rosalind?
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO I can live no longer by thinking.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] 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 labor
|
|
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 Speak'st thou in sober meanings?
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] 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 tomorrow, you shall, and to
|
|
Rosalind, if you will.
|
|
|
|
[Enter Silvius and Phoebe.]
|
|
|
|
Look, here comes a lover of mine and a lover of
|
|
hers.
|
|
|
|
PHOEBE, [to Rosalind]
|
|
Youth, you have done me much ungentleness
|
|
To show the letter that I writ to you.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede]
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
PHOEBE, [to Silvius]
|
|
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 Phoebe.
|
|
|
|
PHOEBE And I for Ganymede.
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO And I for Rosalind.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] And I for no woman.
|
|
|
|
SILVIUS
|
|
It is to be all made of faith and service,
|
|
And so am I for Phoebe.
|
|
|
|
PHOEBE And I for Ganymede.
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO And I for Rosalind.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] 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 Phoebe.
|
|
|
|
PHOEBE And so am I for Ganymede.
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO And so am I for Rosalind.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] And so am I for no
|
|
woman.
|
|
|
|
PHOEBE
|
|
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, [as Ganymede] Why do you speak too,
|
|
"Why blame you me to love you?"
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO To her that is not here, nor doth not hear.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede] 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
|
|
Phoebe.)] I would love you if I could.--Tomorrow
|
|
meet me all together. [(To Phoebe.)] I will marry
|
|
you if ever I marry woman, and I'll be married
|
|
tomorrow. [(To Orlando.)] I will satisfy you if ever I
|
|
satisfy man, and you shall be married tomorrow.
|
|
[(To Silvius.)] I will content you, if what pleases you
|
|
contents you, and you shall be married tomorrow.
|
|
[(To Orlando.)] As you love Rosalind, meet. [(To
|
|
Silvius.)] As you love Phoebe, 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.
|
|
|
|
PHOEBE Nor I.
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO Nor I.
|
|
[They exit.]
|
|
|
|
Scene 3
|
|
=======
|
|
[Enter Touchstone and Audrey.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
TOUCHSTONE Tomorrow is the joyful day, Audrey. Tomorrow
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
[Enter two Pages.]
|
|
|
|
Here come two of the banished duke's 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' th' middle.
|
|
[They sit.]
|
|
|
|
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 gypsies on a horse.
|
|
|
|
Song.
|
|
|
|
|
|
PAGES [sing]
|
|
It was a lover and his lass,
|
|
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey-nonny-no,
|
|
That o'er the green cornfield did pass
|
|
In springtime, 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-nonny-no,
|
|
These pretty country folks would lie
|
|
In springtime, the only pretty ring time,
|
|
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding.
|
|
Sweet lovers love the spring.
|
|
|
|
This carol they began that hour,
|
|
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey-nonny-no,
|
|
How that a life was but a flower
|
|
In springtime, the only pretty ring time,
|
|
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding.
|
|
Sweet lovers love the spring.
|
|
|
|
And therefore take the present time,
|
|
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey-nonny-no,
|
|
For love is crowned with the prime,
|
|
In springtime, the only pretty ring time,
|
|
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding.
|
|
Sweet lovers love the spring.
|
|
|
|
TOUCHSTONE Truly, young gentlemen, though there
|
|
was no great matter in the ditty, yet the note was
|
|
very untunable.
|
|
|
|
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.
|
|
[They rise and exit.]
|
|
|
|
Scene 4
|
|
=======
|
|
[Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, Jaques, Orlando, Oliver,
|
|
and Celia as Aliena.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
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 as Ganymede, Silvius, and Phoebe.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede]
|
|
Patience once more whiles our compact is urged.
|
|
[To Duke.] 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, [as Ganymede, to Orlando]
|
|
And you say you will have her when I bring her?
|
|
|
|
ORLANDO
|
|
That would I, were I of all kingdoms king.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede, to Phoebe]
|
|
You say you'll marry me if I be willing?
|
|
|
|
PHOEBE
|
|
That will I, should I die the hour after.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede]
|
|
But if you do refuse to marry me,
|
|
You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd?
|
|
|
|
PHOEBE So is the bargain.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede, to Silvius]
|
|
You say that you'll have Phoebe if she will?
|
|
|
|
SILVIUS
|
|
Though to have her and death were both one thing.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [as Ganymede]
|
|
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 you your word, Phoebe, 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.
|
|
[Rosalind and Celia exit.]
|
|
|
|
DUKE SENIOR
|
|
I do remember in this shepherd boy
|
|
Some lively touches of my daughter's favor.
|
|
|
|
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 tutored 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, [to Duke] 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-favored thing, sir, but mine own. A poor
|
|
humor 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 lie. This is called "the countercheck
|
|
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 countercheck 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, [to Duke] Is not this a rare fellow, my lord?
|
|
He's as good at anything 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]
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
PHOEBE
|
|
If sight and shape be true,
|
|
Why then, my love adieu.
|
|
|
|
ROSALIND, [to Duke]
|
|
I'll have no father, if you be not he.
|
|
[To Orlando.] I'll have no husband, if you be not he,
|
|
[To Phoebe.] 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.
|
|
[To Rosalind and Orlando.]
|
|
You and you no cross shall part.
|
|
[To Celia and Oliver.]
|
|
You and you are heart in heart.
|
|
[To Phoebe.]
|
|
You to his love must accord
|
|
Or have a woman to your lord.
|
|
[To Audrey and Touchstone.]
|
|
You and you are sure together
|
|
As the winter to foul weather.
|
|
[To All.]
|
|
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 honored.
|
|
Honor, high honor, and renown
|
|
To Hymen, god of every town.
|
|
|
|
|
|
DUKE SENIOR, [to Celia]
|
|
O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me,
|
|
Even daughter, welcome in no less degree.
|
|
|
|
PHOEBE, [to Silvius]
|
|
I will not eat my word. Now thou art mine,
|
|
Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine.
|
|
|
|
[Enter Second Brother, Jaques de Boys.]
|
|
|
|
|
|
SECOND BROTHER
|
|
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,
|
|
Addressed 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 banished 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 heaped in joy to th' measures fall.
|
|
|
|
JAQUES, [to Second Brother]
|
|
Sir, by your patience: if I heard you rightly,
|
|
The Duke hath put on a religious life
|
|
And thrown into neglect the pompous court.
|
|
|
|
SECOND BROTHER He hath.
|
|
|
|
JAQUES
|
|
To him will I. Out of these convertites
|
|
There is much matter to be heard and learned.
|
|
[To Duke.] You to your former honor 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 victualled.--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 abandoned cave. [He exits.]
|
|
|
|
DUKE SENIOR
|
|
Proceed, proceed. We'll begin these rites,
|
|
As we do trust they'll end, in true delights.
|
|
[Dance. All but Rosalind exit.]
|
|
|
|
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
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beggar; therefore to beg will not become me. My
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way is to conjure you, and I'll begin with the
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women. I charge you, O women, for the love you
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bear to men, to like as much of this play as please
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you. And I charge you, O men, for the love you bear
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to women--as I perceive by your simpering, none
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of you hates them--that between you and the
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women the play may please. If I were a woman, I
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would kiss as many of you as had beards that
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pleased me, complexions that liked me, and breaths
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that I defied not. And I am sure as many as have
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good beards, or good faces, or sweet breaths will for
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my kind offer, when I make curtsy, bid me farewell.
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[She exits.]
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