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FOR __ COMPLETE SHAKESPEARE **** +["Small Print" V.12.08.93] + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF CARNEGIE MELLON UNIVERSITY +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + + +1601 + +AS YOU LIKE IT + +by William Shakespeare + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + DUKE, living in exile + FREDERICK, his brother, and usurper of his dominions + AMIENS, lord attending on the banished Duke + JAQUES, " " " " " " + LE BEAU, a courtier attending upon Frederick + CHARLES, wrestler to Frederick + OLIVER, son of Sir Rowland de Boys + JAQUES, " " " " " " + ORLANDO, " " " " " " + ADAM, servant to Oliver + DENNIS, " " " + TOUCHSTONE, the court jester + SIR OLIVER MARTEXT, a vicar + CORIN, shepherd + SILVIUS, " + WILLIAM, a country fellow, in love with Audrey + A person representing HYMEN + + ROSALIND, daughter to the banished Duke + CELIA, daughter to Frederick + PHEBE, a shepherdess + AUDREY, a country wench + + Lords, Pages, Foresters, and Attendants + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF CARNEGIE MELLON UNIVERSITY +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +SCENE: +OLIVER'S house; FREDERICK'S court; and the Forest of Arden + +ACT I. SCENE I. +Orchard of OLIVER'S house + +Enter ORLANDO and ADAM + + ORLANDO. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion +bequeathed + me by will but poor a thousand crowns, and, as thou say'st, + charged my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well; and +there + begins my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and + report speaks goldenly of his profit. For my part, he keeps +me + rustically at home, or, to speak more properly, stays me here +at + home unkept; for call you that keeping for a gentleman of my + birth that differs not from the stalling of an ox? His horses +are + bred better; for, besides that they are fair with their +feeding, + they are taught their manage, and to that end riders dearly + hir'd; but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth; +for + the which his animals on his dunghills are as much bound to +him + as I. Besides this nothing that he so plentifully gives me, +the + something that nature gave me his countenance seems to take +from + me. He lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a + brother, and as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with +my + education. This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit +of + my father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny +against + this servitude. I will no longer endure it, though yet I know +no + wise remedy how to avoid it. + + Enter OLIVER + + ADAM. Yonder comes my master, your brother. + ORLANDO. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake +me + up. [ADAM retires] + OLIVER. Now, sir! what make you here? + ORLANDO. Nothing; I am not taught to make any thing. + OLIVER. What mar you then, sir? + ORLANDO. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God +made, a + poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness. + OLIVER. Marry, sir, be better employed, and be nought awhile. + ORLANDO. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them? What + prodigal portion have I spent that I should come to such +penury? + OLIVER. Know you where you are, sir? + ORLANDO. O, sir, very well; here in your orchard. + OLIVER. Know you before whom, sir? + ORLANDO. Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I know you +are + my eldest brother; and in the gentle condition of blood, you + should so know me. The courtesy of nations allows you my +better + in that you are the first-born; but the same tradition takes +not + away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt us. I have +as + much of my father in me as you, albeit I confess your coming + before me is nearer to his reverence. + OLIVER. What, boy! [Strikes him] + ORLANDO. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this. + OLIVER. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? + ORLANDO. I am no villain; I am the youngest son of Sir Rowland +de + Boys. He was my father; and he is thrice a villain that says +such + a father begot villains. Wert thou not my brother, I would +not + take this hand from thy throat till this other had pull'd out +thy + tongue for saying so. Thou has rail'd on thyself. + ADAM. [Coming forward] Sweet masters, be patient; for your +father's + remembrance, be at accord. + OLIVER. Let me go, I say. + ORLANDO. I will not, till I please; you shall hear me. My +father + charg'd you in his will to give me good education: you have + train'd me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all + gentleman-like qualities. The spirit of my father grows +strong in + me, and I will no longer endure it; therefore allow me such + exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor + allottery my father left me by testament; with that I will go +buy + my fortunes. + OLIVER. And what wilt thou do? Beg, when that is spent? Well, +sir, + get you in. I will not long be troubled with you; you shall +have + some part of your will. I pray you leave me. + ORLANDO. I no further offend you than becomes me for my good. + OLIVER. Get you with him, you old dog. + ADAM. Is 'old dog' my reward? Most true, I have lost my teeth +in + your service. God be with my old master! He would not have +spoke + such a word. + Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM + OLIVER. Is it even so? Begin you to grow upon me? I will physic + your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. +Holla, + Dennis! + + Enter DENNIS + + DENNIS. Calls your worship? + OLIVER. Was not Charles, the Duke's wrestler, here to speak +with +me? + DENNIS. So please you, he is here at the door and importunes +access + to you. + OLIVER. Call him in. [Exit DENNIS] 'Twill be a good way; and + to-morrow the wrestling is. + + Enter CHARLES + + CHARLES. Good morrow to your worship. + OLIVER. Good Monsieur Charles! What's the new news at the new + court? + CHARLES. There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news; +that + is, the old Duke is banished by his younger brother the new +Duke; + and three or four loving lords have put themselves into +voluntary + exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new Duke; + therefore he gives them good leave to wander. + OLIVER. Can you tell if Rosalind, the Duke's daughter, be +banished + with her father? + CHARLES. O, no; for the Duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves +her, + being ever from their cradles bred together, that she would +have + followed her exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is +at + the court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his own + daughter; and never two ladies loved as they do. + OLIVER. Where will the old Duke live? + CHARLES. They say he is already in the Forest of Arden, and a +many + merry men with him; and there they live like the old Robin +Hood + of England. They say many young gentlemen flock to him every +day, + and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden +world. + OLIVER. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new Duke? + CHARLES. Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a + matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand that your +younger + brother, Orlando, hath a disposition to come in disguis'd +against + me to try a fall. To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit; +and he + that escapes me without some broken limb shall acquit him +well. + Your brother is but young and tender; and, for your love, I +would + be loath to foil him, as I must, for my own honour, if he +come + in; therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither to +acquaint + you withal, that either you might stay him from his +intendment, + or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into, in that it +is + thing of his own search and altogether against my will. + OLIVER. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou +shalt + find I will most kindly requite. I had myself notice of my + brother's purpose herein, and have by underhand means +laboured to + dissuade him from it; but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, + Charles, it is the stubbornest young fellow of France; full +of + ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good parts, a +secret + and villainous contriver against me his natural brother. + Therefore use thy discretion: I had as lief thou didst break +his + neck as his finger. And thou wert best look to't; for if thou + dost him any slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace + himself on thee, he will practise against thee by poison, +entrap + thee by some treacherous device, and never leave thee till he + hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other; for, I + assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there is not +one + so young and so villainous this day living. I speak but +brotherly + of him; but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must +blush + and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder. + CHARLES. I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come + to-morrow I'll give him his payment. If ever he go alone +again, + I'll never wrestle for prize more. And so, God keep your +worship! + Exit + OLIVER. Farewell, good Charles. Now will I stir this gamester. +I + hope I shall see an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not +why, + hates nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle; never school'd +and + yet learned; full of noble device; of all sorts enchantingly + beloved; and, indeed, so much in the heart of the world, and + especially of my own people, who best know him, that I am + altogether misprised. But it shall not be so long; this +wrestler + shall clear all. Nothing remains but that I kindle the boy + thither, which now I'll go about. Exit + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF CARNEGIE MELLON UNIVERSITY +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + + +SCENE II. +A lawn before the DUKE'S palace + +Enter ROSALIND and CELIA + + CELIA. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. + ROSALIND. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of; +and + would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to +forget + a banished father, you must not learn me how to remember any + extraordinary pleasure. + CELIA. Herein I see thou lov'st me not with the full weight +that I + love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father, had banished thy + uncle, the Duke my father, so thou hadst been still with me, +I + could have taught my love to take thy father for mine; so +wouldst + thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously +temper'd + as mine is to thee. + ROSALIND. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to + rejoice in yours. + CELIA. You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is like +to + have; and, truly, when he dies thou shalt be his heir; for +what + he hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render +thee + again in affection. By mine honour, I will; and when I break +that + oath, let me turn monster; therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear + Rose, be merry. + ROSALIND. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. + Let me see; what think you of falling in love? + CELIA. Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport withal; but love no +man + in good earnest, nor no further in sport neither than with +safety + of a pure blush thou mayst in honour come off again. + ROSALIND. What shall be our sport, then? + CELIA. Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from her + wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally. + ROSALIND. I would we could do so; for her benefits are mightily + misplaced; and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in +her + gifts to women. + CELIA. 'Tis true; for those that she makes fair she scarce +makes + honest; and those that she makes honest she makes very + ill-favouredly. + ROSALIND. Nay; now thou goest from Fortune's office to +Nature's: + Fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments +of + Nature. + + Enter TOUCHSTONE + + CELIA. No; when Nature hath made a fair creature, may she not +by + Fortune fall into the fire? Though Nature hath given us wit +to + flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune sent in this fool to cut +off + the argument? + ROSALIND. Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when + Fortune makes Nature's natural the cutter-off of Nature's +wit. + CELIA. Peradventure this is not Fortune's work neither, but + Nature's, who perceiveth our natural wits too dull to reason +of + such goddesses, and hath sent this natural for our whetstone; +for + always the dullness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits. +How + now, wit! Whither wander you? + TOUCHSTONE. Mistress, you must come away to your father. + CELIA. Were you made the messenger? + TOUCHSTONE. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come for you. + ROSALIND. Where learned you that oath, fool? + TOUCHSTONE. Of a certain knight that swore by his honour they +were + good pancakes, and swore by his honour the mustard was +naught. + Now I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught and the +mustard + was good, and yet was not the knight forsworn. + CELIA. How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge? + ROSALIND. Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom. + TOUCHSTONE. Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and +swear + by your beards that I am a knave. + CELIA. By our beards, if we had them, thou art. + TOUCHSTONE. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were. But if you + swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn; no more was +this + knight, swearing by his honour, for he never had any; or if +he + had, he had sworn it away before ever he saw those pancackes +or + that mustard. + CELIA. Prithee, who is't that thou mean'st? + TOUCHSTONE. One that old Frederick, your father, loves. + CELIA. My father's love is enough to honour him. Enough, speak +no + more of him; you'll be whipt for taxation one of these days. + TOUCHSTONE. The more pity that fools may not speak wisely what +wise + men do foolishly. + CELIA. By my troth, thou sayest true; for since the little wit +that + fools have was silenced, the little foolery that wise men +have + makes a great show. Here comes Monsieur Le Beau. + + Enter LE BEAU + + ROSALIND. With his mouth full of news. + CELIA. Which he will put on us as pigeons feed their young. + ROSALIND. Then shall we be news-cramm'd. + CELIA. All the better; we shall be the more marketable. Bon +jour, + Monsieur Le Beau. What's the news? + LE BEAU. Fair Princess, you have lost much good sport. + CELIA. Sport! of what colour? + LE BEAU. What colour, madam? How shall I answer you? + ROSALIND. As wit and fortune will. + TOUCHSTONE. Or as the Destinies decrees. + CELIA. Well said; that was laid on with a trowel. + TOUCHSTONE. Nay, if I keep not my rank- + ROSALIND. Thou losest thy old smell. + LE BEAU. You amaze me, ladies. I would have told you of good + wrestling, which you have lost the sight of. + ROSALIND. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling. + LE BEAU. I will tell you the beginning, and, if it please your + + ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is yet to do; +and + here, where you are, they are coming to perform it. + CELIA. Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried. + LE BEAU. There comes an old man and his three sons- + CELIA. I could match this beginning with an old tale. + LE BEAU. Three proper young men, of excellent growth and +presence. + ROSALIND. With bills on their necks: 'Be it known unto all men +by + these presents'- + LE BEAU. The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the +Duke's + wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him, and broke +three of + his ribs, that there is little hope of life in him. So he +serv'd + the second, and so the third. Yonder they lie; the poor old +man, + their father, making such pitiful dole over them that all the + beholders take his part with weeping. + ROSALIND. Alas! + TOUCHSTONE. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies +have + lost? + LE BEAU. Why, this that I speak of. + TOUCHSTONE. Thus men may grow wiser every day. It is the first +time + that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport for ladies. + CELIA. Or I, I promise thee. + ROSALIND. But is there any else longs to see this broken music +in + his sides? Is there yet another dotes upon rib-breaking? +Shall we + see this wrestling, cousin? + LE BEAU. You must, if you stay here; for here is the place + appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to perform +it. + CELIA. Yonder, sure, they are coming. Let us now stay and see +it. + + Flourish. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, LORDS, ORLANDO, + CHARLES, and ATTENDANTS + + FREDERICK. Come on; since the youth will not be entreated, his +own + peril on his forwardness. + ROSALIND. Is yonder the man? + LE BEAU. Even he, madam. + CELIA. Alas, he is too young; yet he looks successfully. + FREDERICK. How now, daughter and cousin! Are you crept hither +to + see the wrestling? + ROSALIND. Ay, my liege; so please you give us leave. + FREDERICK. You will take little delight in it, I can tell you, + + there is such odds in the man. In pity of the challenger's +youth + I would fain dissuade him, but he will not be entreated. +Speak to + him, ladies; see if you can move him. + CELIA. Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau. + FREDERICK. Do so; I'll not be by. + [DUKE FREDERICK goes apart] + LE BEAU. Monsieur the Challenger, the Princess calls for you. + ORLANDO. I attend them with all respect and duty. + ROSALIND. Young man, have you challeng'd Charles the wrestler? + ORLANDO. No, fair Princess; he is the general challenger. I +come + but in, as others do, to try with him the strength of my +youth. + CELIA. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your +years. + You have seen cruel proof of this man's strength; if you saw + yourself with your eyes, or knew yourself with your judgment, +the + fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal + enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your +own + safety and give over this attempt. + ROSALIND. Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore be + misprised: we will make it our suit to the Duke that the + wrestling might not go forward. + ORLANDO. I beseech you, punish me not with your hard thoughts, + wherein I confess me much guilty to deny so fair and +excellent + ladies any thing. But let your fair eyes and gentle wishes go + with me to my trial; wherein if I be foil'd there is but one + sham'd that was never gracious; if kill'd, 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 deceiv'd 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. + FREDERICK. You shall try but one fall. + CHARLES. No, I warrant your Grace, you shall not entreat him to +a + second, that have so mightily persuaded him from a first. + ORLANDO. You mean to mock me after; you should not have mock'd +me + before; but come your ways. + ROSALIND. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man! + CELIA. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by +the + leg. [They wrestle] + ROSALIND. O excellent young man! + CELIA. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who +should + down. + [CHARLES is thrown. Shout] + FREDERICK. No more, no more. + ORLANDO. Yes, I beseech your Grace; I am not yet well breath'd. + FREDERICK. How dost thou, Charles? + LE BEAU. He cannot speak, my lord. + FREDERICK. Bear him away. What is thy name, young man? + ORLANDO. Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of Sir Rowland de + Boys. + FREDERICK. I would thou hadst been son to some man else. + The world esteem'd thy father honourable, + But I did find him still mine enemy. + Thou shouldst have better pleas'd me with this deed, + Hadst thou descended from another house. + But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth; + I would thou hadst told me of another father. + Exeunt DUKE, train, and LE BEAU + CELIA. Were I my father, coz, would I do this? + ORLANDO. I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son, + His youngest son- and would not change that calling + To be adopted heir to Frederick. + ROSALIND. My father lov'd 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 ventur'd. + 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 deserv'd; + If you do keep your promises in love + But justly as you have exceeded all promise, + Your mistress shall be happy. + ROSALIND. Gentleman, [Giving him a chain from her neck] + Wear this for me; one out of suits with fortune, + That could give more, but that her hand lacks means. + Shall we go, coz? + CELIA. Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman. + ORLANDO. Can I not say 'I thank you'? My better parts + Are all thrown down; and that which here stands up + Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. + ROSALIND. He calls us back. My pride fell with my fortunes; + I'll ask him what he would. Did you call, sir? + Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown + More than your enemies. + CELIA. Will you go, coz? + ROSALIND. Have with you. Fare you well. + Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA + ORLANDO. What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue? + I cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference. + O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown! + Or Charles or something weaker masters thee. + + Re-enter LE BEAU + + LE BEAU. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you + To leave this place. Albeit you have deserv'd + High commendation, true applause, and love, + Yet such is now the Duke's condition + That he misconstrues all that you have done. + The Duke is humorous; what he is, indeed, + More suits you to conceive than I to speak of. + ORLANDO. I thank you, sir; and pray you tell me this: + Which of the two was daughter of the Duke + That here was at the wrestling? + LE BEAU. Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners; + But yet, indeed, the smaller is his daughter; + The other is daughter to the banish'd Duke, + And here detain'd by her usurping uncle, + To keep his daughter company; whose loves + Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters. + But I can tell you that of late this Duke + Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece, + Grounded upon no other argument + But that the people praise her for her virtues + And pity her for her good father's sake; + And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady + Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well. + Hereafter, in a better world than this, + I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. + ORLANDO. I rest much bounden to you; fare you well. + Exit LE BEAU + Thus must I from the smoke into the smother; + From tyrant Duke unto a tyrant brother. + But heavenly Rosalind! Exit + + + + +SCENE III. +The DUKE's palace + +Enter CELIA and ROSALIND + + CELIA. Why, cousin! why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy! + Not a word? + ROSALIND. Not one to throw at a dog. + CELIA. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon +curs; + throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons. + ROSALIND. Then there were two cousins laid up, when the one +should + be lam'd 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 lov'd 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? + + Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with LORDS + + ROSALIND. Let me love him for that; and do you love him because +I + do. Look, here comes the Duke. + CELIA. With his eyes full of anger. + FREDERICK. Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste, + And get you from our court. + ROSALIND. Me, uncle? + 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. + 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. + FREDERICK. Thou art thy father's daughter; there's enough. + ROSALIND. So was I when your Highness took his dukedom; + So was I when your Highness banish'd him. + Treason is not inherited, my lord; + Or, if we did derive it from our friends, + What's that to me? My father was no traitor. + Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much + To think my poverty is treacherous. + CELIA. Dear sovereign, hear me speak. + FREDERICK. Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake, + Else had she with her father rang'd along. + CELIA. I did not then entreat to have her stay; + It was your pleasure, and your own remorse; + I was too young that time to value her, + But now I know her. If she be a traitor, + Why so am I: we still have slept together, + Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together; + And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, + Still we went coupled and inseparable. + FREDERICK. She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness, + Her very silence and her patience, + Speak to the people, and they pity her. + Thou art a fool. She robs thee of thy name; + And thou wilt show more bright and seem more virtuous + When she is gone. Then open not thy lips. + Firm and irrevocable is my doom + Which I have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd. + CELIA. Pronounce that sentence, then, on me, my liege; + I cannot live out of her company. + FREDERICK. You are a fool. You, niece, provide yourself. + If you outstay the time, upon mine honour, + And in the greatness of my word, you die. + Exeunt DUKE and LORDS + CELIA. O my poor Rosalind! Whither wilt thou go? + Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine. + I charge thee be not thou more griev'd than I am. + ROSALIND. I have more cause. + CELIA. Thou hast not, cousin. + Prithee be cheerful. Know'st thou not the Duke + Hath banish'd me, his daughter? + ROSALIND. That he hath not. + CELIA. No, hath not? Rosalind lacks, then, the love + Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one. + Shall we be sund'red? 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 charge upon you, + To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out; + For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, + Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee. + ROSALIND. Why, whither shall we go? + CELIA. To seek my uncle in the Forest of Arden. + ROSALIND. Alas, what danger will it be to us, + Maids as we are, to travel forth so far! + Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. + CELIA. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire, + And with a kind of umber smirch my face; + The like do you; so shall we pass along, + And never stir assailants. + ROSALIND. Were it not better, + Because that I am more than common tall, + That I did suit me all points like a man? + A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh, + A boar spear in my hand; and- in my heart + Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will- + We'll have a swashing and a martial outside, + As many other mannish cowards have + That do outface it with their semblances. + CELIA. What shall I call thee when thou art a man? + ROSALIND. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page, + And therefore look you call me Ganymede. + But what will you be call'd? + CELIA. Something that hath a reference to my state: + No longer Celia, but Aliena. + ROSALIND. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal + The clownish fool out of your father's court? + Would he not be a comfort to our travel? + CELIA. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me; + Leave me alone to woo him. Let's away, + And get our jewels and our wealth together; + Devise the fittest time and safest way + To hide us from pursuit that will be made + After my flight. Now go we in content + To liberty, and not to banishment. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF CARNEGIE MELLON UNIVERSITY +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. +The Forest of Arden + +Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and two or three LORDS, like foresters + + DUKE SENIOR. Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, + Hath not old custom made this life more sweet + Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods + More free from peril than the envious court? + Here feel we 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 counsellors + That feelingly persuade me what I am.' + Sweet are the uses of adversity, + Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, + Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; + And this our life, exempt from public haunt, + Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, + Sermons in stones, and good in everything. + I would not change it. + AMIENS. Happy is your Grace, + That can translate the stubbornness of fortune + Into so quiet and so sweet a style. + DUKE SENIOR. Come, shall we go and kill us venison? + And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools, + Being native burghers of this desert city, + Should, in their own confines, with forked heads + Have their round haunches gor'd. + FIRST LORD. Indeed, my lord, + The melancholy Jaques grieves at that; + And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp + Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. + To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself + Did steal behind him as he lay along + Under an oak whose antique root peeps out + Upon the brook that brawls along this wood! + To the which place a poor sequest'red stag, + That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, + Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord, + The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans + That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat + Almost to bursting; and the big round tears + Cours'd 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 the country, city, court, + Yea, and of this our life; swearing that we + Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse, + To fright the animals, and to kill them up + In their assign'd and native dwelling-place. + DUKE SENIOR. And did you leave him in this contemplation? + SECOND LORD. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting + Upon the sobbing deer. + DUKE SENIOR. Show me the place; + I love to cope him in these sullen fits, + For then he's full of matter. + FIRST LORD. I'll bring you to him straight. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +The DUKE'S palace + +Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with LORDS + + 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 untreasur'd of their mistress. + SECOND LORD. My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft + Your Grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. + Hisperia, the Princess' gentlewoman, + Confesses that she secretly o'erheard + Your daughter and her cousin much commend + The parts and graces of the wrestler + That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles; + And she believes, wherever they are gone, + That youth is surely in their company. + FREDERICK. Send to his brother; fetch that gallant hither. + If he be absent, bring his brother to me; + I'll make him find him. Do this suddenly; + And let not search and inquisition quail + To bring again these foolish runaways. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +Before OLIVER'S house + +Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting + + ORLANDO. Who's there? + ADAM. What, my young master? O my gentle master! + O my sweet master! O you memory + Of old Sir Rowland! Why, what make you here? + Why are you virtuous? Why do people love you? + And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant? + Why would you be so fond to overcome + The bonny 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 sav'd 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 four-score + Here lived I, but now live here no more. + At seventeen years many their fortunes seek, + But at fourscore it is too late a week; + Yet fortune cannot recompense me better + Than to die well and not my master's debtor. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +The Forest of Arden + +Enter ROSALIND for GANYMEDE, CELIA for ALIENA, and 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 travellers must be content. + + Enter CORIN and SILVIUS + + ROSALIND. Ay, be so, good Touchstone. Look you, who comes here, +a + young man and an old in solemn talk. + CORIN. That is the way to make her scorn you still. + SILVIUS. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her! + CORIN. I partly guess; for I have lov'd ere now. + SILVIUS. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess, + Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover + As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow. + But if thy love were ever like to mine, + As sure I think did never man love so, + How many actions most ridiculous + Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy? + CORIN. Into a thousand that I have forgotten. + SILVIUS. O, thou didst then never love so heartily! + If thou rememb'rest not the slightest folly + That ever love did make thee run into, + Thou hast not lov'd; + Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, + Wearing thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, + Thou hast not lov'd; + Or if thou hast not broke from company + Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, + Thou hast not lov'd. + O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe! Exit Silvius + 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 chapt hands had milk'd; and I +remember + the wooing of 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. Holla, you clown! + ROSALIND. Peace, fool; he's not thy kinsman. + CORIN. Who calls? + TOUCHSTONE. Your betters, sir. + CORIN. Else are they very wretched. + ROSALIND. Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend. + CORIN. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. + ROSALIND. I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold + Can in this desert place buy entertainment, + Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed. + Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd, + And faints for succour. + CORIN. Fair sir, I pity her, + And wish, for her sake more than for mine own, + My fortunes were more able to relieve her; + But I am shepherd to another man, + And do not shear the fleeces that I graze. + My master is of churlish disposition, + And little recks to find the way to heaven + By doing deeds of hospitality. + Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed, + Are now on sale; and at our sheepcote now, + By reason of his absence, there is nothing + That you will feed on; but what is, come see, + And in my voice most welcome shall you be. + ROSALIND. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture? + CORIN. That young swain that you saw here but erewhile, + That little cares for buying any thing. + ROSALIND. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, + Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, + And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. + CELIA. And we will mend thy wages. I like this place, + And willingly could waste my time in it. + CORIN. Assuredly the thing is to be sold. + Go with me; if you like upon report + The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, + I will your very faithful feeder be, + And buy it with your gold right suddenly. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE V. +Another part of the forest + +Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and OTHERS + + SONG + AMIENS. Under the greenwood tree + Who loves to lie with me, + And turn his merry note + Unto the sweet bird's throat, + Come hither, come hither, come hither. + Here shall he see + No enemy + But winter and rough weather. + + JAQUES. More, more, I prithee, more. + AMIENS. It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques. + JAQUES. I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck +melancholy + out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more. + AMIENS. My voice is ragged; I know I cannot please you. + JAQUES. I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to +sing. + Come, more; another stanzo. Call you 'em stanzos? + AMIENS. What you will, Monsieur Jaques. + JAQUES. Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing. +Will + you sing? + AMIENS. More at your request than to please myself. + JAQUES. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you; but + that they call compliment is like th' encounter of two +dog-apes; + and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks 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 pleas'd 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 prepar'd. + Exeunt severally + + + + +SCENE VI. +The forest + +Enter ORLANDO and ADAM + + ADAM. Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food! Here +lie + I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master. + ORLANDO. Why, how now, Adam! No greater heart in thee? Live a + little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little. If this +uncouth + forest yield 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 labour. 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! Exeunt + + + + +SCENE VII. +The forest + +A table set out. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and LORDS, like +outlaws + + DUKE SENIOR. I think he be transform'd into a beast; + For I can 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 labour by his own approach. + DUKE SENIOR. Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this, + That your poor friends must woo your company? + What, you look merrily! + JAQUES. A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' th' forest, + A motley fool. A miserable world! + As I do live by food, I met a fool, + Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, + And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms, + In good set terms- and yet a motley fool. + 'Good morrow, fool,' quoth I; 'No, sir,' quoth he, + 'Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune.' + And then he drew a dial from his poke, + And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, + Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock; + Thus we may see,' quoth he, 'how the world wags; + 'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine; + And after one hour more 'twill be eleven; + And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, + And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot; + And thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear + The motley fool thus moral on the time, + My lungs began to crow like chanticleer + That fools should be so deep contemplative; + And I did laugh sans intermission + An hour by his dial. O noble fool! + A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear. + DUKE SENIOR. What fool is this? + JAQUES. O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier, + And says, if ladies be but young and fair, + They have the gift to know it; and in his brain, + Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit + After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd + With observation, the which he vents + In mangled forms. O that I were a fool! + I am ambitious for a motley coat. + DUKE SENIOR. Thou shalt have one. + JAQUES. It is my only suit, + Provided that you weed your better judgments + Of all opinion that grows rank in them + That I am wise. I must have liberty + Withal, as large a charter as the wind, + To blow on whom I please, for so fools have; + And they that are most galled with my folly, + They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so? + The why is plain as way to parish church: + He that a fool doth very wisely hit + Doth very foolishly, although he smart, + Not to seem senseless of the bob; if not, + The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd + 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 wearer's very means do ebb? + What woman in the city do I name + When that I say the city-woman bears + The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders? + Who can come in and say that I mean her, + When such a one as she such is her neighbour? + Or what is he of basest function + That says his bravery is not 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 wrong'd him: if it do him right, + Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free, + Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies, + Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes here? + + Enter ORLANDO with his sword drawn + + ORLANDO. Forbear, and eat no more. + JAQUES. Why, I have eat none yet. + ORLANDO. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd. + JAQUES. Of what kind should this cock come of? + DUKE SENIOR. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress? + Or else a rude despiser of good manners, + That in civility thou seem'st so empty? + ORLANDO. You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny point + Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show + Of smooth civility; yet am I inland bred, + And know some nurture. But forbear, I say; + He dies that touches any of this fruit + Till I and my affairs are answered. + JAQUES. An you will not be answer'd with reason, I must die. + DUKE SENIOR. What would you have? Your gentleness shall force + More than your force move us to gentleness. + ORLANDO. I almost die for food, and let me have it. + DUKE SENIOR. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table. + ORLANDO. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you; + I thought that all things had been savage here, + And therefore put I on the countenance + Of stern commandment. But whate'er you are + That in this desert inaccessible, + Under the shade of melancholy boughs, + Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time; + If ever you have look'd on better days, + If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church, + If ever sat at any good man's feast, + If ever from your eyelids wip'd a tear, + And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied, + Let gentleness my strong enforcement be; + In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword. + DUKE SENIOR. True is it that we have seen better days, + And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church, + And sat at good men's feasts, and wip'd our eyes + Of drops that sacred pity hath engend'red; + And therefore sit you down in gentleness, + And take upon command what help we have + That to your wanting may be minist'red. + ORLANDO. Then but forbear your food a little while, + Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn, + And give it food. There is an old poor man + Who after me hath many a weary step + Limp'd in pure love; till he be first suffic'd, + Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger, + I will not touch a bit. + DUKE SENIOR. Go find him out. + And we will nothing waste till you return. + ORLANDO. I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort! + Exit + DUKE SENIOR. Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy: + This wide and universal theatre + Presents more woeful pageants than the scene + Wherein we play in. + JAQUES. All the world's a stage, + And all the men and women merely players; + They have their exits and their entrances; + And one man in his time plays many parts, + His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, + Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms; + Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel + And shining morning face, creeping like snail + Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, + Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad + Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, + Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, + Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, + Seeking the bubble reputation + Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, + In fair round belly with good capon lin'd, + With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, + Full of wise saws and modern instances; + And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts + Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, + With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, + His youthful hose, well sav'd, 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 every thing. + + Re-enter ORLANDO with 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. + + SONG + 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 rememb'red not. + Heigh-ho! sing, &c. + + DUKE SENIOR. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son, + As you have whisper'd faithfully you were, + And as mine eye doth his effigies witness + Most truly limn'd and living in your face, + Be truly welcome hither. I am the Duke + That lov'd your father. The residue of your fortune, + Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man, + Thou art right welcome as thy master is. + Support him by the arm. Give me your hand, + And let me all your fortunes understand. Exeunt + + + + +ACT III. SCENE I. +The palace + +Enter DUKE FREDERICK, OLIVER, and LORDS + + FREDERICK. Not see him since! Sir, sir, that cannot be. + But were I not the better part made mercy, + I should not seek an absent argument + Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it: + Find out thy brother wheresoe'er he is; + Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living + Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more + To seek a living in our territory. + Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine + Worth seizure do we seize into our hands, + Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth + Of what we think against thee. + OLIVER. O that your Highness knew my heart in this! + I never lov'd my brother in my life. + FREDERICK. More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors; + And let my officers of such a nature + Make an extent upon his house and lands. + Do this expediently, and turn him going. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +The forest + +Enter ORLANDO, with a paper + + ORLANDO. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love; + And thou, thrice-crowned Queen of Night, survey + With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, + Thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway. + O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books, + And in their barks my thoughts I'll character, + That every eye which in this forest looks + Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where. + Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree, + The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she. Exit + + Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE + + CORIN. And how like you this shepherd's life, Master +Touchstone? + TOUCHSTONE. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good + life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is +nought. + 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 humour well; but as there is no more +plenty + in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy +in + thee, shepherd? + CORIN. No more but that I know the more one sickens the worse +at + ease he is; and that he that wants money, means, and content, +is + without three good friends; that the property of rain is to +wet, + and fire to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep; and that +a + great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that he that +hath + learned no wit by nature nor art may complain of good +breeding, + or comes of a very dull kindred. + TOUCHSTONE. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in + court, shepherd? + CORIN. No, truly. + TOUCHSTONE. Then thou art damn'd. + CORIN. Nay, I hope. + TOUCHSTONE. Truly, thou art damn'd, 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 behaviour 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 tarr'd over with the surgery of our + sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands +are + perfum'd with civet. + TOUCHSTONE. Most shallow man! thou worm's 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 damn'd? God help thee, shallow man! +God + make incision in thee! thou art raw. + CORIN. Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get that I + wear; owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness; glad of other + men's good, content with my harm; and the greatest of my +pride is + to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck. + TOUCHSTONE. That is another simple sin in you: to bring the +ewes + and the rams together, and to offer to get your living by the + copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a bell-wether, and to +betray + a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly +ram, + out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not damn'd for +this, + the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else +how + thou shouldst scape. + CORIN. Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's +brother. + + Enter ROSALIND, reading a paper + + ROSALIND. 'From the east to western Inde, + No jewel is like Rosalinde. + Her worth, being mounted on the wind, + Through all the world bears Rosalinde. + All the pictures fairest lin'd + Are but black to Rosalinde. + Let no face be kept in mind + But the fair of Rosalinde.' + TOUCHSTONE. I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners, +and + suppers, and sleeping hours, excepted. It is the right + butter-women's rank to market. + ROSALIND. Out, fool! + TOUCHSTONE. For a taste: + If a hart do lack a hind, + Let him seek out Rosalinde. + If the cat will after kind, + So be sure will Rosalinde. + Winter garments must be lin'd, + So must slender Rosalinde. + They that reap must sheaf and bind, + Then to cart with Rosalinde. + Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, + Such a nut is Rosalinde. + He that sweetest rose will find + Must find love's prick and Rosalinde. + This is the very false gallop of verses; why do you infect + yourself with them? + ROSALIND. Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree. + TOUCHSTONE. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. + ROSALIND. I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it +with a + medlar. Then it will be the earliest fruit i' 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, with a writing + + ROSALIND. Peace! + Here comes my sister, reading; stand aside. + CELIA. '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 streching 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 charg'd + That one body should be fill'd + With all graces wide-enlarg'd. + Nature presently distill'd + Helen's cheek, but not her heart, + Cleopatra's majesty, + Atalanta's better part, + Sad Lucretia's modesty. + Thus Rosalinde of many parts + By heavenly synod was devis'd, + Of many faces, eyes, and hearts, + To have the touches dearest priz'd. + Heaven would that she these gifts should have, + And I to live and die her slave.' + ROSALIND. O most gentle Jupiter! What tedious homily of love +have + you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried 'Have + patience, good people.' + CELIA. How now! Back, friends; shepherd, go off a little; go +with + him, sirrah. + TOUCHSTONE. Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat; + + though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and +scrippage. + Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE + CELIA. Didst thou hear these verses? + ROSALIND. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of +them + had in them more feet than the verses would bear. + CELIA. That's no matter; the feet might bear the verses. + ROSALIND. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear +themselves + without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse. + CELIA. But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name +should be + hang'd and carved upon these trees? + ROSALIND. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before +you + came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree. I was never +so + berhym'd since Pythagoras' time that I was an Irish rat, +which I + can hardly remember. + CELIA. Trow you who hath done this? + ROSALIND. Is it a man? + CELIA. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck. + Change you colour? + ROSALIND. I prithee, who? + CELIA. O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet; +but + mountains may be remov'd 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, most wonderful wonderful, and +yet + again wonderful, and after that, out of all whooping! + ROSALIND. Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am + caparison'd 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 could'st stammer, that thou mightst pour this conceal'd +man + out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of narrow-mouth'd 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 tripp'd 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 look'd +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 + dropp'd acorn. + ROSALIND. It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it drops +forth + such fruit. + CELIA. Give me audience, good madam. + ROSALIND. Proceed. + CELIA. There lay he, stretch'd 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 furnish'd 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. Soft! comes he not here? + + Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES + + ROSALIND. 'Tis he; slink by, and note him. + JAQUES. I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as + lief have been myself alone. + ORLANDO. And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you +too + for your society. + JAQUES. God buy you; let's meet as little as we can. + ORLANDO. I do desire we may be better strangers. + JAQUES. I pray you mar no more trees with writing love songs in + their barks. + ORLANDO. I pray you mar no more of my verses with reading them + ill-favouredly. + JAQUES. Rosalind is your love's name? + ORLANDO. Yes, just. + JAQUES. I do not like her name. + ORLANDO. There was no thought of pleasing you when she was + christen'd. + 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 conn'd 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 drown'd in the brook; look but in, and you shall +see + him. + JAQUES. There I shall see mine own figure. + ORLANDO. Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher. + JAQUES. I'll tarry no longer with you; farewell, good Signior +Love. + ORLANDO. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good Monsieur + Melancholy. + Exit JAQUES + + ROSALIND. [Aside to CELIA] I will speak to him like a saucy +lackey, + and under that habit play the knave with him.- Do you hear, + forester? + ORLANDO. Very well; what would you? + ROSALIND. I pray you, what is't o'clock? + ORLANDO. You should ask me what time o' day; there's no clock +in + the forest. + ROSALIND. Then there is no true lover in the forest, else +sighing + every minute and groaning every hour would detect the lazy +foot + of Time as well as a clock. + ORLANDO. And why not the swift foot of Time? Had not that been +as + proper? + ROSALIND. By no means, sir. Time travels in divers paces with + divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who +Time + trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands +still + withal. + ORLANDO. I prithee, who doth he trot withal? + ROSALIND. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the + contract of her marriage and the day it is solemniz'd; if the + interim be but a se'nnight, Time's pace is so hard that it +seems + the length of seven year. + ORLANDO. Who ambles Time withal? + ROSALIND. With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich man that +hath + not the gout; for the one sleeps easily because he cannot +study, + and the other lives merrily because he feels no pain; the one + lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning, the other + knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury. These Time ambles + withal. + ORLANDO. Who doth he gallop withal? + ROSALIND. With a thief to the gallows; for though he go as +softly + as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there. + ORLANDO. Who stays it still withal? + ROSALIND. With lawyers in the vacation; for they sleep between +term + and term, and then they perceive not how Time moves. + ORLANDO. Where dwell you, pretty youth? + ROSALIND. With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the skirts +of + the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat. + ORLANDO. Are you native of this place? + ROSALIND. As the coney that you see dwell where she is kindled. + ORLANDO. Your accent is something finer than you could purchase +in + so removed a dwelling. + ROSALIND. I have been told so of many; but indeed an old +religious + uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an +inland + man; one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in +love. + I have heard him read many lectures against it; and I thank +God I + am not a woman, to be touch'd with so many giddy offences as +he + hath generally tax'd their whole sex withal. + ORLANDO. Can you remember any of the principal evils that he +laid + to the charge of women? + ROSALIND. There were none principal; they were all like one +another + as halfpence are; every one fault seeming monstrous till his + fellow-fault came to match it. + ORLANDO. I prithee recount some of them. + ROSALIND. No; I will not cast away my physic but on those that +are + sick. There is a man haunts the forest that abuses our young + plants with carving 'Rosalind' on their barks; hangs odes +upon + hawthorns and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying +the + name of Rosalind. If I could meet that fancy-monger, I would +give + him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of +love + upon him. + ORLANDO. I am he that is so love-shak'd; I pray you tell me +your + remedy. + ROSALIND. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you; he taught +me + how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes I am sure +you + are not prisoner. + ORLANDO. What were his marks? + ROSALIND. A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye and +sunken, + which you have not; an unquestionable spirit, which you have +not; + a beard neglected, which you have not; but I pardon you for +that, + for simply your having in beard is a younger brother's +revenue. + Then your hose should be ungarter'd, your bonnet unbanded, +your + sleeve unbutton'd, your shoe untied, and every thing about +you + demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such man; +you + are rather point-device in your accoutrements, as loving +yourself + than seeming the lover of any other. + ORLANDO. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love. + ROSALIND. Me believe it! You may as soon make her that you love + believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do than to +confess + she does. That is one of the points in the which women still +give + the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he +that + hangs the verses on the trees wherein Rosalind is so admired? + ORLANDO. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, +I + am that he, that unfortunate he. + ROSALIND. But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak? + ORLANDO. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much. + ROSALIND. Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves +as + well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why + they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so + ordinary that the whippers are in love too. Yet I profess +curing + it by counsel. + ORLANDO. Did you ever cure any so? + ROSALIND. Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to imagine me +his + love, his mistress; and I set him every day to woo me; at +which + time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be +effeminate, + changeable, longing and liking, proud, fantastical, apish, + shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles; for every + passion something and for no passion truly anything, as boys +and + women are for the most part cattle of this colour; would now +like + him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then forswear him; +now + weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor from +his + mad humour of love to a living humour of madness; which was, +to + forswear the full stream of the world and to live in a nook + merely monastic. And thus I cur'd him; and this way will I +take + upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart, + that there shall not be one spot of love in 't. + ORLANDO. I would not be cured, youth. + ROSALIND. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, +and + come every day to my cote and woo me. + ORLANDO. Now, by the faith of my love, I will. Tell me where it +is. + ROSALIND. Go with me to it, and I'll show it you; and, by the +way, + you shall tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go? + ORLANDO. With all my heart, good youth. + ROSALIND. Nay, you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will +you + go? Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +The forest + +Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES behind + + TOUCHSTONE. Come apace, good Audrey; I will fetch up your +goats, + Audrey. And how, Audrey, am I the man yet? Doth my simple +feature + content you? + AUDREY. Your features! Lord warrant us! What features? + TOUCHSTONE. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most + capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths. + JAQUES. [Aside] O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove in a + thatch'd 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-favour'd; 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 promis'd 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 wall'd town is more worthier than a +village, so + is the forehead of a married man more honourable than the +bare + brow of a bachelor; and by how much defence is better than no + skill, by so much is horn more precious than to want. Here +comes + Sir Oliver. + + Enter SIR OLIVER MARTEXT + + Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met. Will you dispatch us +here + under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel? + MARTEXT. Is there none here to give the woman? + TOUCHSTONE. I will not take her on gift of any man. + MARTEXT. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not +lawful. + JAQUES. [Discovering himself] Proceed, proceed; I'll give her. + TOUCHSTONE. Good even, good Master What-ye-call't; how do you, +sir? + You are very well met. Goddild you for your last company. I +am + very glad to see you. Even a toy in hand here, sir. Nay; pray +be + cover'd. + JAQUES. Will you be married, motley? + TOUCHSTONE. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb, +and + the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and as pigeons + bill, so wedlock would be nibbling. + JAQUES. And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married + under a bush, like a beggar? Get you to church and have a +good + priest that can tell you what marriage is; this fellow will +but + join you together as they join wainscot; then one of you will + prove a shrunk panel, and like green timber warp, warp. + TOUCHSTONE. [Aside] I am not in the mind but I were better to +be + married of him than of another; for he is not like to marry +me + well; and not being well married, it will be a good excuse +for me + hereafter to leave my wife. + JAQUES. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. + TOUCHSTONE. Come, sweet Audrey; + We must be married or we must live in bawdry. + Farewell, good Master Oliver. Not- + O sweet Oliver, + O brave Oliver, + Leave me not behind thee. + But- + Wind away, + Begone, I say, + I will not to wedding with thee. + Exeunt JAQUES, TOUCHSTONE, and AUDREY + MARTEXT. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave of them all + shall flout me out of my calling. Exit + + + + +SCENE IV. +The forest + +Enter ROSALIND and CELIA + + ROSALIND. Never talk to me; I will weep. + CELIA. Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider that +tears + do not become a man. + ROSALIND. But have I not cause to weep? + CELIA. As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep. + ROSALIND. His very hair is of the dissembling colour. + CELIA. Something browner than Judas's. + Marry, his kisses are Judas's own children. + ROSALIND. I' faith, his hair is of a good colour. + CELIA. An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the only +colour. + ROSALIND. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch +of + holy bread. + CELIA. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana. A nun of + winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice +of + chastity is in them. + ROSALIND. But why did he swear he would come this morning, and + comes not? + CELIA. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him. + ROSALIND. Do you think so? + CELIA. Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a horse-stealer; +but + for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as 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 laugh'd 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. +Who + comes here? + + Enter CORIN + + CORIN. Mistress and master, you have oft enquired + After the shepherd that complain'd of love, + Who you saw sitting by me on the turf, + Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess + That was his mistress. + CELIA. Well, and what of him? + CORIN. If you will see a pageant truly play'd + Between the pale complexion of true love + And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain, + Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you, + If you will mark it. + ROSALIND. O, come, let us remove! + The sight of lovers feedeth those in love. + Bring us to this sight, and you shall say + I'll prove a busy actor in their play. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE V. +Another part of the forest + +Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE + + SILVIUS. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe. + Say that you love me not; but say not so + In bitterness. The common executioner, + Whose heart th' accustom'd sight of death makes hard, + Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck + But first begs pardon. Will you sterner be + Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops? + + Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, at a distance + + PHEBE. I would not be thy executioner; + I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. + Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye. + 'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, + That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things, + Who shut their coward gates on atomies, + Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers! + Now I do frown on thee with all my heart; + And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee. + Now counterfeit to swoon; why, now fall down; + Or, if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame, + Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers. + Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee. + Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains + Some scar of it; lean 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 not force in eyes + That can do hurt. + SILVIUS. O dear Phebe, + If ever- as that ever may be near- + You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, + Then shall you know the wounds invisible + That love's keen arrows make. + PHEBE. But till that time + Come not thou near me; and when that time comes, + Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not; + As till that time I shall not pity thee. + ROSALIND. [Advancing] And why, I pray you? Who might be your + mother, + That you insult, exult, and all at once, + Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty- + As, by my faith, I see no more in you + Than without candle may go dark to bed- + Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? + Why, what means this? Why do you look on me? + I see no more in you than in the ordinary + Of nature's sale-work. 'Od's my little life, + I think she means to tangle my eyes too! + No faith, proud mistress, hope not after it; + 'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair, + Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream, + That can entame my spirits to your worship. + You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her, + Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain? + You are a thousand times a properer man + Than she a woman. 'Tis such fools as you + That makes the world full of ill-favour'd children. + 'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her; + And out of you she sees herself more proper + Than any of her lineaments can show her. + But, mistress, know yourself. Down on your knees, + And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love; + For I must tell you friendly in your ear: + Sell when you can; you are not for all markets. + Cry the man mercy, love him, take his offer; + Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. + So take her to thee, shepherd. Fare you well. + PHEBE. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together; + I had rather hear you chide than this man woo. + ROSALIND. He's fall'n in love with your foulness, and she'll +fall + in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers +thee + with frowning looks, I'll sauce her with bitter words. Why +look + you so upon me? + PHEBE. For no ill will I bear you. + ROSALIND. I pray you do not fall in love with me, + For I am falser than vows made in wine; + Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house, + 'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by. + Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard. + Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better, + And be not proud; though all the world could see, + None could be so abus'd in sight as he. + Come, to our flock. Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN + PHEBE. Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might: + 'Who ever lov'd that lov'd not at first sight?' + SILVIUS. Sweet Phebe. + PHEBE. Ha! what say'st thou, Silvius? + SILVIUS. Sweet Phebe, pity me. + PHEBE. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. + SILVIUS. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be. + If you do sorrow at my grief in love, + By giving love, your sorrow and my grief + Were both extermin'd. + PHEBE. Thou hast my love; is not that neighbourly? + SILVIUS. I would have you. + PHEBE. Why, that were covetousness. + Silvius, the time was that I hated thee; + And yet it is not that I bear thee love; + But since that thou canst talk of love so well, + Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, + I will endure; and I'll employ thee too. + But do not look for further recompense + Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd. + SILVIUS. So holy and so perfect is my love, + And I in such a poverty of grace, + That I shall think it a most plenteous crop + To glean the broken ears after the man + That the main harvest reaps; loose now and then + A scatt'red smile, and that I'll live upon. + PHEBE. 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. + PHEBE. Think not I love him, though I ask for him; + 'Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well. + But what care I for words? Yet words do well + When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. + It is a pretty youth- not very pretty; + But, sure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes him. + He'll make a proper man. The best thing in him + Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue + Did make offence, his eye did heal it up. + He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall; + His leg is but so-so; and yet 'tis well. + There was a pretty redness in his lip, + A little riper and more lusty red + Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference + Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask. + There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him + In parcels as I did, would have gone near + To fall in love with him; but, for my part, + I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet + I have more cause to hate him than to love him; + For what had he to do to chide at me? + He said mine eyes were black, and my hair black, + And, now I am rememb'red, scorn'd at me. + I marvel why I answer'd not again; + But that's all one: omittance is no quittance. + I'll write to him a very taunting letter, + And thou shalt bear it; wilt thou, Silvius? + SILVIUS. Phebe, with all my heart. + PHEBE. I'll write it straight; + The matter's in my head and in my heart; + I will be bitter with him and passing short. + Go with me, Silvius. Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF CARNEGIE MELLON UNIVERSITY +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. +The forest + +Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES + + JAQUES. I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted +with + thee. + ROSALIND. They say you are a melancholy fellow. + JAQUES. I am so; I do love it better than laughing. + ROSALIND. Those that are in extremity of either are abominable + fellows, and betray themselves to every modern censure worse +than + drunkards. + JAQUES. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. + ROSALIND. Why then, 'tis good to be a post. + JAQUES. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is + emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the + courtier's, which is proud; nor the soldier's, which is + ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politic; nor the +lady's, + which is nice; nor the lover's, which is all these; but it is +a + melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted + from many objects, and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of +my + travels; in which my often rumination wraps me in a most +humorous + sadness. + ROSALIND. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be + sad. I fear you have sold your own lands to see other men's; +then + to have seen much and to have nothing is to have rich eyes +and + poor hands. + JAQUES. Yes, I have gain'd my experience. + + Enter ORLANDO + + ROSALIND. And your experience makes you sad. I had rather have +a + fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad- and to + travel for it too. + ORLANDO. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind! + JAQUES. Nay, then, God buy you, an you talk in blank verse. + ROSALIND. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller; look you lisp and wear + strange suits, disable all the benefits of your own country, +be + out of love with your nativity, and almost chide God for +making + you that countenance you are; or I will scarce think you have + swam in a gondola. [Exit JAQUES] Why, how now, Orlando! where + have you been all this while? You a lover! An you serve me +such + another trick, never come in my sight more. + ORLANDO. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise. + ROSALIND. Break an hour's promise in love! He that will divide +a + minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part of the + thousand part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be +said + of him that Cupid hath clapp'd him o' th' shoulder, but I'll + warrant him heart-whole. + ORLANDO. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. + ROSALIND. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight. I +had + as lief be woo'd of a snail. + ORLANDO. Of a snail! + ROSALIND. Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he +carries + his house on his head- a better jointure, I think, than you +make + a woman; besides, he brings his destiny with him. + ORLANDO. What's that? + ROSALIND. Why, horns; which such as you are fain to be +beholding to + your wives for; but he comes armed in his fortune, and +prevents + the slander of his wife. + ORLANDO. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous. + ROSALIND. And I am your Rosalind. + CELIA. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of +a + better leer than you. + ROSALIND. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday +humour, + and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now, an +I + were your very very Rosalind? + ORLANDO. I would kiss before I spoke. + ROSALIND. Nay, you were better speak first; and when you were + gravell'd for lack of matter, you might take occasion to +kiss. + Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for + lovers lacking- God warn us!- matter, the cleanliest shift is +to + kiss. + ORLANDO. How if the kiss be denied? + ROSALIND. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new + matter. + ORLANDO. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress? + ROSALIND. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress; or I + should think my honesty ranker than my wit. + ORLANDO. What, of my suit? + ROSALIND. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. + Am not I your Rosalind? + ORLANDO. I take some joy to say you are, because I would be +talking + of her. + ROSALIND. Well, in her person, I say I will not have you. + ORLANDO. Then, in mine own person, I die. + ROSALIND. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost +six + thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any +man + died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus +had + his brains dash'd 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 liv'd many a fair year, though Hero +had + turn'd 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 drown'd; 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. By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now I + will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition; and +ask me + what you will, I will grant it. + ORLANDO. Then love me, Rosalind. + ROSALIND. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays, and all. + ORLANDO. And wilt thou have me? + ROSALIND. Ay, and twenty such. + ORLANDO. What sayest thou? + ROSALIND. Are you not good? + ORLANDO. I hope so. + ROSALIND. Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing? +Come, + sister, you shall be the priest, and marry us. Give me your +hand, + Orlando. What do you say, sister? + ORLANDO. Pray thee, marry us. + CELIA. I cannot say the words. + ROSALIND. You must begin 'Will you, Orlando'- + CELIA. Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind? + ORLANDO. I will. + ROSALIND. Ay, but when? + ORLANDO. Why, now; as fast as she can marry us. + ROSALIND. Then you must say 'I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.' + ORLANDO. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. + ROSALIND. I might ask you for your commission; but- I do take +thee, + Orlando, for my husband. There's a girl goes before the +priest; + and, certainly, a woman's thought runs before her actions. + ORLANDO. So do all thoughts; they are wing'd. + ROSALIND. Now tell me how long you would have her, after you +have + possess'd her. + ORLANDO. For ever and a day. + ROSALIND. Say 'a day' without the 'ever.' No, no, Orlando; men +are + April when they woo, December when they wed: maids are May +when + they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I +will + be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his +hen, + more clamorous than a parrot against rain, more new-fangled +than + an ape, more giddy in my desires than a monkey. I will weep +for + nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when +you + are dispos'd to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that +when + thou are inclin'd to sleep. + ORLANDO. But will my Rosalind do so? + ROSALIND. By my life, she will do as I do. + ORLANDO. O, but she is wise. + ROSALIND. Or else she could not have the wit to do this. The +wiser, + the waywarder. Make the doors upon a woman's wit, and it will +out + at the casement; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole; +stop + that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney. + ORLANDO. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say +'Wit, + whither wilt?' ROSALIND. Nay, you might keep that check for +it, till you met your + wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed. + ORLANDO. And what wit could wit have to excuse that? + ROSALIND. Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You shall +never + take her without her answer, unless you take her without her + tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her fault her +husband's + occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will + breed it like a fool! + ORLANDO. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. + ROSALIND. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours! + ORLANDO. I must attend the Duke at dinner; by two o'clock I +will be + with thee again. + ROSALIND. Ay, go your ways, go your ways. I knew what you would + prove; my friends told me as much, and I thought no less. +That + flattering tongue of yours won me. 'Tis but one cast away, +and + so, come death! Two o'clock is your hour? + ORLANDO. Ay, sweet Rosalind. + ROSALIND. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, +and + by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one +jot + of your promise, or come one minute behind your hour, I will + think you the most pathetical break-promise, and the most +hollow + lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind, that +may + be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful. Therefore + beware my censure, and keep your promise. + ORLANDO. With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my + Rosalind; so, adieu. + ROSALIND. Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such + offenders, and let Time try. Adieu. Exit ORLANDO + CELIA. You have simply misus'd our sex in your love-prate. We +must + have your doublet and hose pluck'd 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, conceiv'd of spleen, and born of madness; that blind + rascally boy, that abuses every one's eyes, because his own +are + out- let him be judge how deep I am in love. I'll tell thee, + Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando. I'll go find +a + shadow, and sigh till he come. + CELIA. And I'll sleep. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +The forest + + Enter JAQUES and LORDS, in the habit of foresters + + JAQUES. Which is he that killed the deer? + LORD. Sir, it was I. + JAQUES. Let's present him to the Duke, like a Roman conqueror; +and + it would do well to set the deer's horns upon his head for a + branch of victory. Have you no song, forester, for this +purpose? + LORD. Yes, sir. + JAQUES. Sing it; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make +noise + enough. + + SONG. + + What shall he have that kill'd the deer? + His leather skin and horns to wear. + [The rest shall hear this burden:] + Then sing him home. + + Take thou no scorn to wear the horn; + It was a crest ere thou wast born. + Thy father's father wore it; + And thy father bore it. + The horn, the horn, the lusty horn, + Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +The forest + +Enter ROSALIND and CELIA + + ROSALIND. How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? + And here much Orlando! + CELIA. I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he +hath + ta'en his bow and arrows, and is gone forth- to sleep. Look, +who + comes here. + + Enter SILVIUS + + SILVIUS. My errand is to you, fair youth; + My gentle Phebe did bid me give you this. + I know not the contents; but, as I guess + By the stern brow and waspish action + Which she did use as she was writing of it, + It bears an angry tenour. Pardon me, + I am but as a guiltless messenger. + ROSALIND. Patience herself would startle at this letter, + And play the swaggerer. Bear this, bear all. + She says I am not fair, that I lack manners; + She calls me proud, and that she could not love me, + Were man as rare as Phoenix. 'Od's my will! + Her love is not the hare that I do hunt; + Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well, + This is a letter of your own device. + SILVIUS. No, I protest, I know not the contents; + Phebe did write it. + ROSALIND. Come, come, you are a fool, + And turn'd into the extremity of love. + I saw her hand; she has a leathern hand, + A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think + That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands; + She has a huswife's hand- but that's no matter. + I say she never did invent this letter: + This is a man's invention, and his hand. + SILVIUS. Sure, it is hers. + ROSALIND. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style; + A style for challengers. Why, she defies me, + Like Turk to Christian. Women's gentle brain + Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention, + Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect + Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter? + SILVIUS. So please you, for I never heard it yet; + Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. + ROSALIND. She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes. + [Reads] + + 'Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, + That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?' + + Can a woman rail thus? + SILVIUS. Call you this railing? + ROSALIND. '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 the + Little knows this love in me; + And by him seal up thy mind, + Whether that thy youth and kind + Will the faithful offer take + Of me and all that I can make; + Or else by him my love deny, + And then I'll study how to die.' + SILVIUS. Call you this chiding? + CELIA. Alas, poor shepherd! + ROSALIND. Do you pity him? No, he deserves no pity. Wilt thou +love + such a woman? What, to make thee an instrument, and play +false + strains upon thee! Not to be endur'd! Well, go your way to +her, + for I see love hath made thee tame snake, and say this to +her- + that if she love me, I charge her to love thee; if she will +not, + I will never have her unless thou entreat for her. If you be +a + true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more +company. + Exit SILVIUS + + Enter OLIVER + + OLIVER. Good morrow, fair ones; pray you, if you know, + Where in the purlieus of this forest stands + A sheep-cote fenc'd about with olive trees? + CELIA. West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom. + The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream + Left on your right hand brings you to the place. + But at this hour the house doth keep itself; + There's none within. + OLIVER. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, + Then should I know you by description- + Such garments, and such years: 'The boy is fair, + Of female favour, and bestows himself + Like a ripe sister; the woman low, + And browner than her brother.' Are not you + The owner of the house I did inquire for? + CELIA. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are. + OLIVER. Orlando doth commend him to you both; + And to that youth he calls his Rosalind + He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he? + ROSALIND. I am. What must we understand by this? + OLIVER. Some of my shame; if you will know of me + What man I am, and how, and why, and where, + This handkercher was stain'd. + CELIA. I pray you, tell it. + OLIVER. When last the young Orlando parted from you, + He left a promise to return again + Within an hour; and, pacing through the forest, + Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, + Lo, what befell! He threw his eye aside, + And mark what object did present itself. + Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age, + And high top bald with dry antiquity, + A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, + Lay sleeping on his back. About his neck + A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself, + Who with her head nimble in threats approach'd + The opening of his mouth; but suddenly, + Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself, + And with indented glides did slip away + Into a bush; under which bush's shade + A lioness, with udders all drawn dry, + Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch, + When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis + The royal disposition of that beast + To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead. + This seen, Orlando did approach the man, + And found it was his brother, his elder brother. + CELIA. O, I have heard him speak of that same brother; + And he did render him the most unnatural + That liv'd amongst men. + OLIVER. And well he might so do, + For well I know he was unnatural. + ROSALIND. But, to Orlando: did he leave him there, + Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness? + OLIVER. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd 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 awak'd. + CELIA. Are you his brother? + ROSALIND. Was't you he rescu'd? + CELIA. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him? + OLIVER. 'Twas I; but 'tis not I. I do not shame + To tell you what I was, since my conversion + So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. + ROSALIND. But for the bloody napkin? + OLIVER. By and by. + When from the first to last, betwixt us two, + Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd, + As how I came into that desert place- + In brief, he led me to the gentle Duke, + Who gave me fresh array and entertainment, + Committing me unto my brother's love; + Who led me instantly unto his cave, + There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm + The lioness had torn some flesh away, + Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted, + And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind. + Brief, I recover'd him, bound up his wound, + And, after some small space, being strong at heart, + He sent me hither, stranger as I am, + To tell this story, that you might excuse + His broken promise, and to give this napkin, + Dy'd in his blood, unto the shepherd youth + That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. + [ROSALIND swoons] + CELIA. Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede! + OLIVER. Many will swoon when they do look on blood. + CELIA. There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede! + OLIVER. Look, he recovers. + ROSALIND. I would I were at home. + CELIA. We'll lead you thither. + I pray you, will you take him by the arm? + OLIVER. Be of good cheer, youth. You a man! + You lack a man's heart. + ROSALIND. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would think + this was well counterfeited. I pray you tell your brother how + well I counterfeited. Heigh-ho! + OLIVER. This was not counterfeit; there is too great testimony +in + your complexion that it was a passion of earnest. + ROSALIND. Counterfeit, I assure you. + OLIVER. Well then, take a good heart and counterfeit to be a +man. + ROSALIND. So I do; but, i' faith, I should have been a woman by + right. + CELIA. Come, you look paler and paler; pray you draw homewards. + Good sir, go with us. + OLIVER. That will I, for I must bear answer back + How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. + ROSALIND. I shall devise something; but, I pray you, commend my + counterfeiting to him. Will you go? Exeunt + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF CARNEGIE MELLON UNIVERSITY +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY +SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. +The forest + +Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY + + TOUCHSTONE. We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle +Audrey. + AUDREY. Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old + gentleman's saying. + TOUCHSTONE. A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile +Martext. + But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim +to + you. + AUDREY. Ay, I know who 'tis; he hath no interest in me in the + world; here comes the man you mean. + + Enter WILLIAM + + 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 ye good ev'n, William. + WILLIAM. And good ev'n to you, sir. + TOUCHSTONE. Good ev'n, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover thy + head; nay, prithee be cover'd. 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 say'st 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 pour'd out of 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; + will o'er-run thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred +and + fifty ways; therefore tremble and depart. + AUDREY. Do, good William. + WILLIAM. God rest you merry, sir. Exit + + + Enter CORIN + + CORIN. Our master and mistress seeks you; come away, away. + TOUCHSTONE. Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey. I attend, I attend. + Exeunt + + + + +SCENE II. +The forest + +Enter ORLANDO and OLIVER + + ORLANDO. Is't possible that on so little acquaintance you +should + like her? that but seeing you should love her? and loving +woo? + and, wooing, she should grant? and will you persever to enjoy + her? + OLIVER. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the +poverty + of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing, nor her +sudden + consenting; but say with me, I love Aliena; say with her that +she + loves me; consent with both that we may enjoy each other. It + shall be to your good; for my father's house and all the +revenue + that was old Sir Rowland's will I estate upon you, and here +live + and die a shepherd. + ORLANDO. You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow. + Thither will I invite the Duke and all's contented followers. +Go + you and prepare Aliena; for, look you, here comes my +Rosalind. + + Enter ROSALIND + + ROSALIND. God save you, brother. + OLIVER. And you, fair sister. Exit + ROSALIND. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee +wear + thy heart in a scarf! + ORLANDO. It is my arm. + ROSALIND. I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws +of a + lion. + ORLANDO. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. + ROSALIND. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to +swoon + when he show'd me your handkercher? + ORLANDO. Ay, and greater wonders than that. + ROSALIND. O, I know where you are. Nay, 'tis true. There was +never + any thing so sudden but the fight of two rams and Caesar's + thrasonical brag of 'I came, saw, and overcame.' For your +brother + and my sister no sooner met but they look'd; no sooner look'd +but + they lov'd; no sooner lov'd but they sigh'd; no sooner sigh'd +but + they ask'd one another the reason; no sooner knew the reason +but + they sought the remedy- and in these degrees have they made +pair + of stairs to marriage, which they will climb incontinent, or +else + be incontinent before marriage. They are in the very wrath of + + + love, and they will together. Clubs cannot part them. + ORLANDO. They shall be married to-morrow; and I will bid the +Duke + to the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a thing it is to look into + happiness through another man's eyes! By so much the more +shall I + to-morrow be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I + shall think my brother happy in having what he wishes for. + ROSALIND. Why, then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for + Rosalind? + ORLANDO. I can live no longer by thinking. + ROSALIND. I will weary you, then, no longer with idle talking. +Know + of me then- for now I speak to some purpose- that I know you +are + a gentleman of good conceit. I speak not this that you should + bear a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch I say I know +you + are; neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may in +some + little measure draw a belief from you, to do yourself good, +and + not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, that I can do + strange things. I have, since I was three year old, convers'd + 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 to-morrow, human as she is, and without +any + danger. + ORLANDO. Speak'st thou in sober meanings? + ROSALIND. By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, though I say +I + am a magician. Therefore put you in your best array, bid your + friends; for if you will be married to-morrow, you shall; and +to + Rosalind, if you will. + + Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE + + Look, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers. + PHEBE. Youth, you have done me much ungentleness + To show the letter that I writ to you. + ROSALIND. I care not if I have. It is my study + To seem despiteful and ungentle to you. + You are there follow'd by a faithful shepherd; + Look upon him, love him; he worships you. + PHEBE. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love. + SILVIUS. It is to be all made of sighs and tears; + And so am I for Phebe. + PHEBE. And I for Ganymede. + ORLANDO. And I for Rosalind. + ROSALIND. And I for no woman. + SILVIUS. It is to be all made of faith and service; + And so am I for Phebe. + PHEBE. And I for Ganymede. + ORLANDO. And I for Rosalind. + ROSALIND. And I for no woman. + SILVIUS. It is to be all made of fantasy, + All made of passion, and all made of wishes; + All adoration, duty, and observance, + All humbleness, all patience, and impatience, + All purity, all trial, all obedience; + And so am I for Phebe. + PHEBE. And so am I for Ganymede. + ORLANDO. And so am I for Rosalind. + ROSALIND. And so am I for no woman. + PHEBE. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? + SILVIUS. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? + ORLANDO. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? + ROSALIND. Why do you speak too, 'Why blame you me to love you?' + ORLANDO. To her that is not here, nor doth not hear. + ROSALIND. Pray you, no more of this; 'tis like the howling of +Irish + wolves against the moon. [To SILVIUS] I will help you if I +can. + [To PHEBE] I would love you if I could.- To-morrow meet me +all + together. [ To PHEBE ] I will marry you if ever I marry +woman, + and I'll be married to-morrow. [To ORLANDO] I will satisfy +you if + ever I satisfied man, and you shall be married to-morrow. [To + Silvius] I will content you if what pleases you contents you, +and + you shall be married to-morrow. [To ORLANDO] As you love + Rosalind, meet. [To SILVIUS] As you love Phebe, meet;- and as +I + love no woman, I'll meet. So, fare you well; I have left you + commands. + SILVIUS. I'll not fail, if I live. + PHEBE. Nor I. + ORLANDO. Nor I. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE III. +The forest + +Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY + + TOUCHSTONE. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey; to-morrow +will we + be married. + AUDREY. I do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is no + dishonest desire to desire to be a woman of the world. Here +come + two of the banish'd Duke's pages. + + Enter two PAGES + + FIRST PAGE. Well met, honest gentleman. + TOUCHSTONE. By my troth, well met. Come sit, sit, and a song. + SECOND PAGE. We are for you; sit i' th' middle. + FIRST PAGE. Shall we clap into't roundly, without hawking, or + spitting, or saying we are hoarse, which are the only +prologues + to a bad voice? + SECOND PAGE. I'faith, i'faith; and both in a tune, like two +gipsies + on a horse. + + SONG. + It was a lover and his lass, + With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, + That o'er the green corn-field did pass + In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, + When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding. + Sweet lovers love the spring. + + Between the acres of the rye, + With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, + These pretty country folks would lie, + In the spring time, &c. + + This carol they began that hour, + With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, + How that a life was but a flower, + In the spring time, &c. + + And therefore take the present time, + With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, + For love is crowned with the prime, + In the spring time, &c. + + TOUCHSTONE. Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no great + matter in the ditty, yet the note was very untuneable. + FIRST PAGE. You are deceiv'd, 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 buy you; and God mend your voices. Come, + Audrey. Exeunt + + + + +SCENE IV. +The forest + +Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, JAQUES, ORLANDO, OLIVER, and CELIA + + DUKE SENIOR. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy + Can do all this that he hath promised? + ORLANDO. I sometimes do believe and sometimes do not: + As those that fear they hope, and know they fear. + + Enter ROSALIND, SILVIUS, and PHEBE + + ROSALIND. Patience once more, whiles our compact is urg'd: + You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, + You will bestow her on Orlando here? + DUKE SENIOR. That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her. + ROSALIND. And you say you will have her when I bring her? + ORLANDO. That would I, were I of all kingdoms king. + ROSALIND. You say you'll marry me, if I be willing? + PHEBE. That will I, should I die the hour after. + ROSALIND. But if you do refuse to marry me, + You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd? + PHEBE. So is the bargain. + ROSALIND. You say that you'll have Phebe, if she will? + SILVIUS. Though to have her and death were both one thing. + ROSALIND. I have promis'd to make all this matter even. + Keep you your word, O Duke, to give your daughter; + You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter; + Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me, + Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd; + Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her + If she refuse me; and from hence I go, + To make these doubts all even. + Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA + DUKE SENIOR. I do remember in this shepherd boy + Some lively touches of my daughter's favour. + ORLANDO. My lord, the first time that I ever saw him + Methought he was a brother to your daughter. + But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born, + And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments + Of many desperate studies by his uncle, + Whom he reports to be a great magician, + Obscured in the circle of this forest. + + Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY + + JAQUES. There is, sure, another flood toward, and these couples +are + coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of very strange beasts +which + in all tongues are call'd fools. + TOUCHSTONE. Salutation and greeting to you all! + JAQUES. Good my lord, bid him welcome. This is the +motley-minded + gentleman that I have so often met in the forest. He hath +been a + courtier, he swears. + TOUCHSTONE. If any man doubt that, let him put me to my +purgation. + I have trod a measure; I have flatt'red 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-favour'd thing, sir, but mine own; a + poor humour of mine, sir, to take that that 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 call'd 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 call'd the +Quip + Modest. If again it was not well cut, he disabled my +judgment. + This is call'd the Reply Churlish. If again it was not well +cut, + he would answer I spake not true. This is call'd the Reproof + Valiant. If again it was not well cut, he would say I lie. +This + is call'd 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 measur'd +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 peace-maker; much virtue in If. + JAQUES. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? + He's as good at any thing, and yet a fool. + DUKE SENIOR. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under +the + presentation of that he shoots his wit. + + Enter HYMEN, ROSALIND, and CELIA. Still MUSIC + + HYMEN. Then is there mirth in heaven, + When earthly things made even + Atone together. + Good Duke, receive thy daughter; + Hymen from heaven brought her, + Yea, brought her hither, + That thou mightst join her hand with his, + Whose heart within his bosom is. + ROSALIND. [To DUKE] To you I give myself, for I am yours. + [To ORLANDO] To you I give myself, for I am yours. + DUKE SENIOR. If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter. + ORLANDO. If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind. + PHEBE. If sight and shape be true, + Why then, my love adieu! + ROSALIND. I'll have no father, if you be not he; + I'll have no husband, if you be not he; + Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. + HYMEN. Peace, ho! I bar confusion; + 'Tis I must make conclusion + Of these most strange events. + Here's eight that must take hands + To join in Hymen's bands, + If truth holds true contents. + You and you no cross shall part; + You and you are heart in heart; + You to his love must accord, + Or have a woman to your lord; + You and you are sure together, + As the winter to foul weather. + Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing, + Feed yourselves with questioning, + That reason wonder may diminish, + How thus we met, and these things finish. + + SONG + Wedding is great Juno's crown; + O blessed bond of board and bed! + 'Tis Hymen peoples every town; + High wedlock then be honoured. + Honour, high honour, and renown, + To Hymen, god of every town! + + DUKE SENIOR. O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me! + Even daughter, welcome in no less degree. + PHEBE. I will not eat my word, now thou art mine; + Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. + + Enter JAQUES de BOYS + + JAQUES de BOYS. Let me have audience for a word or two. + I am the second son of old Sir Rowland, + That bring these tidings to this fair assembly. + Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day + Men of great worth resorted to this forest, + Address'd a mighty power; which were on foot, + In his own conduct, purposely to take + His brother here, and put him to the sword; + And to the skirts of this wild wood he came, + Where, meeting with an old religious man, + After some question with him, was converted + Both from his enterprise and from the world; + His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother, + And all their lands restor'd to them again + That were with him exil'd. 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 endur'd shrewd days and nights with us, + Shall share the good of our returned fortune, + According to the measure of their states. + Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity, + And fall into our rustic revelry. + Play, music; and you brides and bridegrooms all, + With measure heap'd in joy, to th' measures fall. + JAQUES. Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly, + The Duke hath put on a religious life, + And thrown into neglect the pompous court. + JAQUES DE BOYS. He hath. + JAQUES. To him will I. Out of these convertites + There is much matter to be heard and learn'd. + [To DUKE] You to your former honour I bequeath; + Your patience and your virtue well deserves it. + [To ORLANDO] You to a love that your true faith doth merit; + [To OLIVER] You to your land, and love, and great allies + [To SILVIUS] You to a long and well-deserved bed; + [To TOUCHSTONE] And you to wrangling; for thy loving voyage + Is but for two months victuall'd.- So to your pleasures; + I am for other than for dancing measures. + DUKE SENIOR. Stay, Jaques, stay. + JAQUES. To see no pastime I. What you would have + I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. Exit + DUKE SENIOR. Proceed, proceed. We will begin these rites, + As we do trust they'll end, in true delights. [A dance] +Exeunt + +EPILOGUE + 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 + furnish'd like a beggar; therefore to beg will not become me. +My + way is to conjure you; and I'll begin with the women. I +charge + you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much +of + this play as please you; and I charge you, O men, for the +love + you bear to women- as I perceive by your simp'ring none of +you + hates them- that between you and the women the play may +please. + If I were a woman, I would kiss as many of you as had beards +that + pleas'd me, complexions that lik'd me, and breaths that I +defied + not; and, I am sure, as many as have good beards, or good +faces, + or sweet breaths, will, for my kind offer, when I make +curtsy, + bid me farewell. + +THE END + + + + + +<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM +SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS +PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF CARNEGIE MELLON UNIVERSITY +WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE +DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS +PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED +COMMERCIALLY. 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