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        AS YOU LIKE IT


        DRAMATIS PERSONAE


DUKE SENIOR     living in banishment.

DUKE FREDERICK  his brother, an usurper of his dominions.


AMIENS  |
        |  lords attending on the banished duke.
JAQUES  |


LE BEAU a courtier attending upon Frederick.

CHARLES wrestler to Frederick.


OLIVER          |
                |
JAQUES (JAQUES DE BOYS:)        |  sons of Sir Rowland de Boys.
                |
ORLANDO         |


ADAM    |
        |  servants to Oliver.
DENNIS  |


TOUCHSTONE      a clown.

SIR OLIVER MARTEXT      a vicar.


CORIN   |
        |  shepherds.
SILVIUS |


WILLIAM a country fellow in love with Audrey.

        A person representing HYMEN. (HYMEN:)

ROSALIND        daughter to the banished duke.

CELIA   daughter to Frederick.

PHEBE   a shepherdess.

AUDREY  a country wench.

        Lords, pages, and attendants, &c.
        (Forester:)
        (A Lord:)
        (First Lord:)
        (Second Lord:)
        (First Page:)
        (Second Page:)


SCENE   Oliver's house; Duke Frederick's court; and the
        Forest of Arden.




        AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT I



SCENE I Orchard of Oliver's house.


        [Enter ORLANDO and ADAM]

ORLANDO As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion
        bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand crowns,
        and, as thou sayest, charged my brother, on his
        blessing, to breed me well: and there begins my
        sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and
        report speaks goldenly of his profit: for my part,
        he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more
        properly, stays me here at home unkept; for call you
        that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that
        differs not from the stalling of an ox? His horses
        are bred better; for, besides that they are fair
        with their feeding, they are taught their manage,
        and to that end riders dearly hired: but I, his
        brother, gain nothing under him but growth; for the
        which his animals on his dunghills are as much
        bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so
        plentifully gives me, the something that nature gave
        me his countenance seems to take from me: he lets
        me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a
        brother, and, as much as in him lies, mines my
        gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that
        grieves me; and the spirit of my father, which I
        think is within me, begins to mutiny against this
        servitude: I will no longer endure it, though yet I
        know no wise remedy how to avoid it.

ADAM    Yonder comes my master, your brother.

ORLANDO Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will
        shake me up.

        [Enter OLIVER]

OLIVER  Now, sir! what make you here?

ORLANDO Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing.

OLIVER  What mar you then, sir?

ORLANDO Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God
        made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness.

OLIVER  Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile.

ORLANDO Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks with them?
        What prodigal portion have I spent, that I should
        come to such penury?

OLIVER  Know you where your are, sir?

ORLANDO O, sir, very well; here in your orchard.

OLIVER  Know you before whom, sir?

ORLANDO Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I know
        you are my eldest brother; and, in the gentle
        condition of blood, you should so know me. The
        courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that
        you are the first-born; but the same tradition
        takes not away my blood, were there twenty brothers
        betwixt us: I have as much of my father in me as
        you; albeit, I confess, your coming before me is
        nearer to his reverence.

OLIVER  What, boy!

ORLANDO Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this.

OLIVER  Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?

ORLANDO I am no villain; I am the youngest son of Sir
        Rowland de Boys; he was my father, and he is thrice
        a villain that says such a father begot villains.
        Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand
        from thy throat till this other had pulled out thy
        tongue for saying so: thou hast railed on thyself.

ADAM    Sweet masters, be patient: for your father's
        remembrance, be at accord.

OLIVER  Let me go, I say.

ORLANDO I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. My
        father charged you in his will to give me good
        education: you have trained me like a peasant,
        obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like
        qualities. The spirit of my father grows strong in
        me, and I will no longer endure it: therefore allow
        me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or
        give me the poor allottery my father left me by
        testament; with that I will go buy my fortunes.

OLIVER  And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent?
        Well, sir, get you in: I will not long be troubled
        with you; you shall have some part of your will: I
        pray you, leave me.

ORLANDO I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good.

OLIVER  Get you with him, you old dog.

ADAM    Is 'old dog' my reward? Most true, I have lost my
        teeth in your service. God be with my old master!
        he would not have spoke such a word.

        [Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM]

OLIVER  Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? I will
        physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand
        crowns neither. Holla, Dennis!

        [Enter DENNIS]

DENNIS  Calls your worship?

OLIVER  Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, here to speak with me?

DENNIS  So please you, he is here at the door and importunes
        access to you.

OLIVER  Call him in.

        [Exit DENNIS]

        'Twill be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is.

        [Enter CHARLES]

CHARLES Good morrow to your worship.

OLIVER  Good Monsieur Charles, what's the new news at the
        new court?

CHARLES There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news:
        that is, the old duke is banished by his younger
        brother the new duke; and three or four loving lords
        have put themselves into voluntary exile with him,
        whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke;
        therefore he gives them good leave to wander.

OLIVER  Can you tell if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, be
        banished with her father?

CHARLES O, no; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves
        her, being ever from their cradles bred together,
        that she would have followed her exile, or have died
        to stay behind her. She is at the court, and no
        less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter; and
        never two ladies loved as they do.

OLIVER  Where will the old duke live?

CHARLES They say he is already in the forest of Arden, and
        a many merry men with him; and there they live like
        the old Robin Hood of England: they say many young
        gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time
        carelessly, as they did in the golden world.

OLIVER  What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke?

CHARLES Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a
        matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand
        that your younger brother Orlando hath a disposition
        to come in disguised against me to try a fall.
        To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he that
        escapes me without some broken limb shall acquit him
        well. Your brother is but young and tender; and,
        for your love, I would be loath to foil him, as I
        must, for my own honour, if he come in: therefore,
        out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you
        withal, that either you might stay him from his
        intendment or brook such disgrace well as he shall
        run into, in that it is a thing of his own search
        and altogether against my will.

OLIVER  Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which
        thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I had
        myself notice of my brother's purpose herein and
        have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him from
        it, but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles:
        it is the stubbornest young fellow of France, full
        of ambition, an envious emulator of every man's
        good parts, a secret and villanous contriver against
        me his natural brother: therefore use thy
        discretion; I had as lief thou didst break his neck
        as his finger. And thou wert best look to't; for if
        thou dost him any slight disgrace or if he do not
        mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise
        against thee by poison, entrap thee by some
        treacherous device and never leave thee till he
        hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other;
        for, I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak
        it, there is not one so young and so villanous this
        day living. I speak but brotherly of him; but
        should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must
        blush and weep and thou must look pale and wonder.

CHARLES I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come
        to-morrow, I'll give him his payment: if ever he go
        alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize more: and
        so God keep your worship!

OLIVER  Farewell, good Charles.

        [Exit CHARLES]

        Now will I stir this gamester: I hope I shall see
        an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why,
        hates nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle, never
        schooled and yet learned, full of noble device, of
        all sorts enchantingly beloved, and indeed so much
        in the heart of the world, and especially of my own
        people, who best know him, that I am altogether
        misprised: but it shall not be so long; this
        wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains but that
        I kindle the boy thither; which now I'll go about.

        [Exit]




        AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT I



SCENE II        Lawn before the Duke's palace.


        [Enter CELIA and ROSALIND]

CELIA   I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.

ROSALIND        Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of;
        and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could
        teach me to forget a banished father, you must not
        learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure.

CELIA   Herein I see thou lovest me not with the full weight
        that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father,
        had banished thy uncle, the duke my father, so thou
        hadst been still with me, I could have taught my
        love to take thy father for mine: so wouldst thou,
        if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously
        tempered as mine is to thee.

ROSALIND        Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to
        rejoice in yours.

CELIA   You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is
        like to have: and, truly, when he dies, thou shalt
        be his heir, for what he hath taken away from thy
        father perforce, I will render thee again in
        affection; by mine honour, I will; and when I break
        that oath, let me turn monster: therefore, my
        sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry.

ROSALIND        From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. Let
        me see; what think you of falling in love?

CELIA   Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport withal: but
        love no man in good earnest; nor no further in sport
        neither than with safety of a pure blush thou mayst
        in honour come off again.

ROSALIND        What shall be our sport, then?

CELIA   Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from
        her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally.

ROSALIND        I would we could do so, for her benefits are
        mightily misplaced, and the bountiful blind woman
        doth most mistake in her gifts to women.

CELIA   'Tis true; for those that she makes fair she scarce
        makes honest, and those that she makes honest she
        makes very ill-favouredly.

ROSALIND        Nay, now thou goest from Fortune's office to
        Nature's: Fortune reigns in gifts of the world,
        not in the lineaments of Nature.

        [Enter TOUCHSTONE]

CELIA   No? when Nature hath made a fair creature, may she
        not by Fortune fall into the fire? Though Nature
        hath given us wit to flout at Fortune, hath not
        Fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument?

ROSALIND        Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when
        Fortune makes Nature's natural the cutter-off of
        Nature's wit.

CELIA   Peradventure this is not Fortune's work neither, but
        Nature's; who perceiveth our natural wits too dull
        to reason of such goddesses and hath sent this
        natural for our whetstone; for always the dulness of
        the fool is the whetstone of the wits. How now,
        wit! whither wander you?

TOUCHSTONE      Mistress, you must come away to your father.

CELIA   Were you made the messenger?

TOUCHSTONE      No, by mine honour, but I was bid to come for you.

ROSALIND        Where learned you that oath, fool?

TOUCHSTONE      Of a certain knight that swore by his honour they
        were good pancakes and swore by his honour the
        mustard was naught: now I'll stand to it, the
        pancakes were naught and the mustard was good, and
        yet was not the knight forsworn.

CELIA   How prove you that, in the great heap of your
        knowledge?

ROSALIND        Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom.

TOUCHSTONE      Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and
        swear by your beards that I am a knave.

CELIA   By our beards, if we had them, thou art.

TOUCHSTONE      By my knavery, if I had it, then I were; but if you
        swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn: no
        more was this knight swearing by his honour, for he
        never had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away
        before ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard.

CELIA   Prithee, who is't that thou meanest?

TOUCHSTONE      One that old Frederick, your father, loves.

CELIA   My father's love is enough to honour him: enough!
        speak no more of him; you'll be whipped for taxation
        one of these days.

TOUCHSTONE      The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely what
        wise men do foolishly.

CELIA   By my troth, thou sayest true; for since the little
        wit that fools have was silenced, the little foolery
        that wise men have makes a great show. Here comes
        Monsieur Le Beau.

ROSALIND        With his mouth full of news.

CELIA   Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young.

ROSALIND        Then shall we be news-crammed.

CELIA   All the better; we shall be the more marketable.

        [Enter LE BEAU]

        Bon jour, Monsieur Le Beau: what's the news?

LE BEAU Fair princess, you have lost much good sport.

CELIA   Sport! of what colour?

LE BEAU What colour, madam! how shall I answer you?

ROSALIND        As wit and fortune will.

TOUCHSTONE      Or as the Destinies decree.

CELIA   Well said: that was laid on with a trowel.

TOUCHSTONE      Nay, if I keep not my rank,--

ROSALIND        Thou losest thy old smell.

LE BEAU You amaze me, ladies: I would have told you of good
        wrestling, which you have lost the sight of.

ROSALIND        You tell us the manner of the wrestling.

LE BEAU I will tell you the beginning; and, if it please
        your ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is
        yet to do; and here, where you are, they are coming
        to perform it.

CELIA   Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried.

LE BEAU There comes an old man and his three sons,--

CELIA   I could match this beginning with an old tale.

LE BEAU Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence.

ROSALIND        With bills on their necks, 'Be it known unto all men
        by these presents.'

LE BEAU The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the
        duke's wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him
        and broke three of his ribs, that there is little
        hope of life in him: so he served the second, and
        so the third. Yonder they lie; the poor old man,
        their father, making such pitiful dole over them
        that all the beholders take his part with weeping.

ROSALIND        Alas!

TOUCHSTONE      But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies
        have lost?

LE BEAU Why, this that I speak of.

TOUCHSTONE      Thus men may grow wiser every day: it is the first
        time that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport
        for ladies.

CELIA   Or I, I promise thee.

ROSALIND        But is there any else longs to see this broken music
        in his sides? is there yet another dotes upon
        rib-breaking? Shall we see this wrestling, cousin?

LE BEAU You must, if you stay here; for here is the place
        appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to
        perform it.

CELIA   Yonder, sure, they are coming: let us now stay and see it.

        [Flourish. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, ORLANDO,
        CHARLES, and Attendants]

DUKE FREDERICK  Come on: since the youth will not be entreated, his
        own peril on his forwardness.

ROSALIND        Is yonder the man?

LE BEAU Even he, madam.

CELIA   Alas, he is too young! yet he looks successfully.

DUKE FREDERICK  How now, daughter and cousin! are you crept hither
        to see the wrestling?

ROSALIND        Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave.

DUKE FREDERICK  You will take little delight in it, I can tell you;
        there is such odds in the man. In pity of the
        challenger's youth I would fain dissuade him, but he
        will not be entreated. Speak to him, ladies; see if
        you can move him.

CELIA   Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau.

DUKE FREDERICK  Do so: I'll not be by.

LE BEAU Monsieur the challenger, the princesses call for you.

ORLANDO I attend them with all respect and duty.

ROSALIND        Young man, have you challenged Charles the wrestler?

ORLANDO No, fair princess; he is the general challenger: I
        come but in, as others do, to try with him the
        strength of my youth.

CELIA   Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your
        years. You have seen cruel proof of this man's
        strength: if you saw yourself with your eyes or
        knew yourself with your judgment, the fear of your
        adventure would counsel you to a more equal
        enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to
        embrace your own safety and give over this attempt.

ROSALIND        Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore
        be misprised: we will make it our suit to the duke
        that the wrestling might not go forward.

ORLANDO I beseech you, punish me not with your hard
        thoughts; wherein I confess me much guilty, to deny
        so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let
        your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my
        trial: wherein if I be foiled, there is but one
        shamed that was never gracious; if killed, but one
        dead that was willing to be so: I shall do my
        friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me, the
        world no injury, for in it I have nothing; only in
        the world I fill up a place, which may be better
        supplied when I have made it empty.

ROSALIND        The little strength that I have, I would it were with you.

CELIA   And mine, to eke out hers.

ROSALIND        Fare you well: pray heaven I be deceived in you!

CELIA   Your heart's desires be with you!

CHARLES Come, where is this young gallant that is so
        desirous to lie with his mother earth?

ORLANDO Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working.

DUKE FREDERICK  You shall try but one fall.

CHARLES No, I warrant your grace, you shall not entreat him
        to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him
        from a first.

ORLANDO An you mean to mock me after, you should not have
        mocked me before: but come your ways.

ROSALIND        Now Hercules be thy speed, young man!

CELIA   I would I were invisible, to catch the strong
        fellow by the leg.

        [They wrestle]

ROSALIND        O excellent young man!

CELIA   If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who
        should down.

        [Shout. CHARLES is thrown]

DUKE FREDERICK  No more, no more.

ORLANDO Yes, I beseech your grace: I am not yet well breathed.

DUKE FREDERICK  How dost thou, Charles?

LE BEAU He cannot speak, my lord.

DUKE FREDERICK  Bear him away. What is thy name, young man?

ORLANDO Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys.

DUKE FREDERICK  I would thou hadst been son to some man else:
        The world esteem'd thy father honourable,
        But I did find him still mine enemy:
        Thou shouldst have better pleased me with this deed,
        Hadst thou descended from another house.
        But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth:
        I would thou hadst told me of another father.

        [Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK, train, and LE BEAU]

CELIA   Were I my father, coz, would I do this?

ORLANDO I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son,
        His youngest son; and would not change that calling,
        To be adopted heir to Frederick.

ROSALIND        My father loved Sir Rowland as his soul,
        And all the world was of my father's mind:
        Had I before known this young man his son,
        I should have given him tears unto entreaties,
        Ere he should thus have ventured.

CELIA   Gentle cousin,
        Let us go thank him and encourage him:
        My father's rough and envious disposition
        Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well deserved:
        If you do keep your promises in love
        But justly, as you have exceeded all promise,
        Your mistress shall be happy.

ROSALIND        Gentleman,

        [Giving him a chain from her neck]

        Wear this for me, one out of suits with fortune,
        That could give more, but that her hand lacks means.
        Shall we go, coz?

CELIA                     Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman.

ORLANDO Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts
        Are all thrown down, and that which here stands up
        Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block.

ROSALIND        He calls us back: my pride fell with my fortunes;
        I'll ask him what he would. Did you call, sir?
        Sir, you have wrestled well and overthrown
        More than your enemies.

CELIA   Will you go, coz?

ROSALIND        Have with you. Fare you well.

        [Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA]

ORLANDO What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue?
        I cannot speak to her, yet she urged conference.
        O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown!
        Or Charles or something weaker masters thee.

        [Re-enter LE BEAU]

LE BEAU Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you
        To leave this place. Albeit you have deserved
        High commendation, true applause and love,
        Yet such is now the duke's condition
        That he misconstrues all that you have done.
        The duke is humorous; what he is indeed,
        More suits you to conceive than I to speak of.

ORLANDO I thank you, sir: and, pray you, tell me this:
        Which of the two was daughter of the duke
        That here was at the wrestling?

LE BEAU Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners;
        But yet indeed the lesser is his daughter
        The other is daughter to the banish'd duke,
        And here detain'd by her usurping uncle,
        To keep his daughter company; whose loves
        Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters.
        But I can tell you that of late this duke
        Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece,
        Grounded upon no other argument
        But that the people praise her for her virtues
        And pity her for her good father's sake;
        And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady
        Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well:
        Hereafter, in a better world than this,
        I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.

ORLANDO I rest much bounden to you: fare you well.

        [Exit LE BEAU]

        Thus must I from the smoke into the smother;
        From tyrant duke unto a tyrant brother:
        But heavenly Rosalind!

        [Exit]




        AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT I



SCENE III       A room in the palace.


        [Enter CELIA and ROSALIND]

CELIA   Why, cousin! why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy! not a word?

ROSALIND        Not one to throw at a dog.

CELIA   No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon
        curs; throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons.

ROSALIND        Then there were two cousins laid up; when the one
        should be lamed with reasons and the other mad
        without any.

CELIA   But is all this for your father?

ROSALIND        No, some of it is for my child's father. O, how
        full of briers is this working-day world!

CELIA   They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in
        holiday foolery: if we walk not in the trodden
        paths our very petticoats will catch them.

ROSALIND        I could shake them off my coat: these burs are in my heart.

CELIA   Hem them away.

ROSALIND        I would try, if I could cry 'hem' and have him.

CELIA   Come, come, wrestle with thy affections.

ROSALIND        O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself!

CELIA   O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in
        despite of a fall. But, turning these jests out of
        service, let us talk in good earnest: is it
        possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so
        strong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son?

ROSALIND        The duke my father loved his father dearly.

CELIA   Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his son
        dearly? By this kind of chase, I should hate him,
        for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate
        not Orlando.

ROSALIND        No, faith, hate him not, for my sake.

CELIA   Why should I not? doth he not deserve well?

ROSALIND        Let me love him for that, and do you love him
        because I do. Look, here comes the duke.

CELIA   With his eyes full of anger.

        [Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords]

DUKE FREDERICK  Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste
        And get you from our court.

ROSALIND        Me, uncle?

DUKE FREDERICK  You, cousin
        Within these ten days if that thou be'st found
        So near our public court as twenty miles,
        Thou diest for it.

ROSALIND                          I do beseech your grace,
        Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me:
        If with myself I hold intelligence
        Or have acquaintance with mine own desires,
        If that I do not dream or be not frantic,--
        As I do trust I am not--then, dear uncle,
        Never so much as in a thought unborn
        Did I offend your highness.

DUKE FREDERICK  Thus do all traitors:
        If their purgation did consist in words,
        They are as innocent as grace itself:
        Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not.

ROSALIND        Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor:
        Tell me whereon the likelihood depends.

DUKE FREDERICK  Thou art thy father's daughter; there's enough.

ROSALIND        So was I when your highness took his dukedom;
        So was I when your highness banish'd him:
        Treason is not inherited, my lord;
        Or, if we did derive it from our friends,
        What's that to me? my father was no traitor:
        Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much
        To think my poverty is treacherous.

CELIA   Dear sovereign, hear me speak.

DUKE FREDERICK  Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake,
        Else had she with her father ranged along.

CELIA   I did not then entreat to have her stay;
        It was your pleasure and your own remorse:
        I was too young that time to value her;
        But now I know her: if she be a traitor,
        Why so am I; we still have slept together,
        Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together,
        And wheresoever we went, like Juno's swans,
        Still we went coupled and inseparable.

DUKE FREDERICK  She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness,
        Her very silence and her patience
        Speak to the people, and they pity her.
        Thou art a fool: she robs thee of thy name;
        And thou wilt show more bright and seem more virtuous
        When she is gone. Then open not thy lips:
        Firm and irrevocable is my doom
        Which I have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd.

CELIA   Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege:
        I cannot live out of her company.

DUKE FREDERICK  You are a fool. You, niece, provide yourself:
        If you outstay the time, upon mine honour,
        And in the greatness of my word, you die.

        [Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK and Lords]

CELIA   O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt thou go?
        Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine.
        I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than I am.

ROSALIND        I have more cause.

CELIA                     Thou hast not, cousin;
        Prithee be cheerful: know'st thou not, the duke
        Hath banish'd me, his daughter?

ROSALIND        That he hath not.

CELIA   No, hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love
        Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one:
        Shall we be sunder'd? shall we part, sweet girl?
        No: let my father seek another heir.
        Therefore devise with me how we may fly,
        Whither to go and what to bear with us;
        And do not seek to take your change upon you,
        To bear your griefs yourself and leave me out;
        For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale,
        Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee.

ROSALIND        Why, whither shall we go?

CELIA   To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden.

ROSALIND        Alas, what danger will it be to us,
        Maids as we are, to travel forth so far!
        Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.

CELIA   I'll put myself in poor and mean attire
        And with a kind of umber smirch my face;
        The like do you: so shall we pass along
        And never stir assailants.

ROSALIND        Were it not better,
        Because that I am more than common tall,
        That I did suit me all points like a man?
        A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh,
        A boar-spear in my hand; and--in my heart
        Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will--
        We'll have a swashing and a martial outside,
        As many other mannish cowards have
        That do outface it with their semblances.

CELIA   What shall I call thee when thou art a man?

ROSALIND        I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page;
        And therefore look you call me Ganymede.
        But what will you be call'd?

CELIA   Something that hath a reference to my state
        No longer Celia, but Aliena.

ROSALIND        But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal
        The clownish fool out of your father's court?
        Would he not be a comfort to our travel?

CELIA   He'll go along o'er the wide world with me;
        Leave me alone to woo him. Let's away,
        And get our jewels and our wealth together,
        Devise the fittest time and safest way
        To hide us from pursuit that will be made
        After my flight. Now go we in content
        To liberty and not to banishment.

        [Exeunt]




        AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE I The Forest of Arden.


        [Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and two or three Lords,
        like foresters]

DUKE SENIOR     Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,
        Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
        Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods
        More free from peril than the envious court?
        Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
        The seasons' difference, as the icy fang
        And churlish chiding of the winter's wind,
        Which, when it bites and blows upon my body,
        Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say
        'This is no flattery: these are counsellors
        That feelingly persuade me what I am.'
        Sweet are the uses of adversity,
        Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
        Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
        And this our life exempt from public haunt
        Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
        Sermons in stones and good in every thing.
        I would not change it.

AMIENS  Happy is your grace,
        That can translate the stubbornness of fortune
        Into so quiet and so sweet a style.

DUKE SENIOR     Come, shall we go and kill us venison?
        And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools,
        Being native burghers of this desert city,
        Should in their own confines with forked heads
        Have their round haunches gored.

First Lord      Indeed, my lord,
        The melancholy Jaques grieves at that,
        And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp
        Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you.
        To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself
        Did steal behind him as he lay along
        Under an oak whose antique root peeps out
        Upon the brook that brawls along this wood:
        To the which place a poor sequester'd stag,
        That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt,
        Did come to languish, and indeed, my lord,
        The wretched animal heaved forth such groans
        That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat
        Almost to bursting, and the big round tears
        Coursed one another down his innocent nose
        In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool
        Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
        Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook,
        Augmenting it with tears.

DUKE SENIOR     But what said Jaques?
        Did he not moralize this spectacle?

First Lord      O, yes, into a thousand similes.
        First, for his weeping into the needless stream;
        'Poor deer,' quoth he, 'thou makest a testament
        As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
        To that which had too much:' then, being there alone,
        Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends,
        ''Tis right:' quoth he; 'thus misery doth part
        The flux of company:' anon a careless herd,
        Full of the pasture, jumps along by him
        And never stays to greet him; 'Ay' quoth Jaques,
        'Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;
        'Tis just the fashion: wherefore do you look
        Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?'
        Thus most invectively he pierceth through
        The body of the country, city, court,
        Yea, and of this our life, swearing that we
        Are mere usurpers, tyrants and what's worse,
        To fright the animals and to kill them up
        In their assign'd and native dwelling-place.

DUKE SENIOR     And did you leave him in this contemplation?

Second Lord     We did, my lord, weeping and commenting
        Upon the sobbing deer.

DUKE SENIOR     Show me the place:
        I love to cope him in these sullen fits,
        For then he's full of matter.

First Lord      I'll bring you to him straight.

        [Exeunt]




        AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE II        A room in the palace.


        [Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords]

DUKE FREDERICK  Can it be possible that no man saw them?
        It cannot be: some villains of my court
        Are of consent and sufferance in this.

First Lord      I cannot hear of any that did see her.
        The ladies, her attendants of her chamber,
        Saw her abed, and in the morning early
        They found the bed untreasured of their mistress.

Second Lord     My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft
        Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.
        Hisperia, the princess' gentlewoman,
        Confesses that she secretly o'erheard
        Your daughter and her cousin much commend
        The parts and graces of the wrestler
        That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles;
        And she believes, wherever they are gone,
        That youth is surely in their company.

DUKE FREDERICK  Send to his brother; fetch that gallant hither;
        If he be absent, bring his brother to me;
        I'll make him find him: do this suddenly,
        And let not search and inquisition quail
        To bring again these foolish runaways.

        [Exeunt]




        AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE III       Before OLIVER'S house.


        [Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting]

ORLANDO Who's there?

ADAM    What, my young master? O, my gentle master!
        O my sweet master! O you memory
        Of old Sir Rowland! why, what make you here?
        Why are you virtuous? why do people love you?
        And wherefore are you gentle, strong and valiant?
        Why would you be so fond to overcome
        The bonny priser of the humorous duke?
        Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.
        Know you not, master, to some kind of men
        Their graces serve them but as enemies?
        No more do yours: your virtues, gentle master,
        Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.
        O, what a world is this, when what is comely
        Envenoms him that bears it!

ORLANDO Why, what's the matter?

ADAM    O unhappy youth!
        Come not within these doors; within this roof
        The enemy of all your graces lives:
        Your brother--no, no brother; yet the son--
        Yet not the son, I will not call him son
        Of him I was about to call his father--
        Hath heard your praises, and this night he means
        To burn the lodging where you use to lie
        And you within it: if he fail of that,
        He will have other means to cut you off.
        I overheard him and his practises.
        This is no place; this house is but a butchery:
        Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.

ORLANDO Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go?

ADAM    No matter whither, so you come not here.

ORLANDO What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food?
        Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce
        A thievish living on the common road?
        This I must do, or know not what to do:
        Yet this I will not do, do how I can;
        I rather will subject me to the malice
        Of a diverted blood and bloody brother.

ADAM    But do not so. I have five hundred crowns,
        The thrifty hire I saved under your father,
        Which I did store to be my foster-nurse
        When service should in my old limbs lie lame
        And unregarded age in corners thrown:
        Take that, and He that doth the ravens feed,
        Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,
        Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold;
        And all this I give you. Let me be your servant:
        Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty;
        For in my youth I never did apply
        Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood,
        Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo
        The means of weakness and debility;
        Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
        Frosty, but kindly: let me go with you;
        I'll do the service of a younger man
        In all your business and necessities.

ORLANDO O good old man, how well in thee appears
        The constant service of the antique world,
        When service sweat for duty, not for meed!
        Thou art not for the fashion of these times,
        Where none will sweat but for promotion,
        And having that, do choke their service up
        Even with the having: it is not so with thee.
        But, poor old man, thou prunest a rotten tree,
        That cannot so much as a blossom yield
        In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry
        But come thy ways; well go along together,
        And ere we have thy youthful wages spent,
        We'll light upon some settled low content.

ADAM    Master, go on, and I will follow thee,
        To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty.
        From seventeen years till now almost fourscore
        Here lived I, but now live here no more.
        At seventeen years many their fortunes seek;
        But at fourscore it is too late a week:
        Yet fortune cannot recompense me better
        Than to die well and not my master's debtor.

        [Exeunt]




        AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE IV        The Forest of Arden.


        [Enter ROSALIND for Ganymede, CELIA for Aliena,
        and TOUCHSTONE]

ROSALIND        O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits!

TOUCHSTONE      I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary.

ROSALIND        I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's
        apparel and to cry like a woman; but I must comfort
        the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show
        itself courageous to petticoat: therefore courage,
        good Aliena!

CELIA   I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go no further.

TOUCHSTONE      For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear
        you; yet I should bear no cross if I did bear you,
        for I think you have no money in your purse.

ROSALIND        Well, this is the forest of Arden.

TOUCHSTONE      Ay, now am I in Arden; the more fool I; when I was
        at home, I was in a better place: but travellers
        must be content.

ROSALIND        Ay, be so, good Touchstone.

        [Enter CORIN and SILVIUS]

        Look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in
        solemn talk.

CORIN   That is the way to make her scorn you still.

SILVIUS O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her!

CORIN   I partly guess; for I have loved ere now.

SILVIUS No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess,
        Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover
        As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow:
        But if thy love were ever like to mine--
        As sure I think did never man love so--
        How many actions most ridiculous
        Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?

CORIN   Into a thousand that I have forgotten.

SILVIUS O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily!
        If thou remember'st not the slightest folly
        That ever love did make thee run into,
        Thou hast not loved:
        Or if thou hast not sat as I do now,
        Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
        Thou hast not loved:
        Or if thou hast not broke from company
        Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,
        Thou hast not loved.
        O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe!

        [Exit]

ROSALIND        Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound,
        I have by hard adventure found mine own.

TOUCHSTONE      And I mine. I remember, when I was in love I broke
        my sword upon a stone and bid him take that for
        coming a-night to Jane Smile; and I remember the
        kissing of her batlet and the cow's dugs that her
        pretty chopt hands had milked; and I remember the
        wooing of a peascod instead of her, from whom I took
        two cods and, giving her them again, said with
        weeping tears 'Wear these for my sake.' We that are
        true lovers run into strange capers; but as all is
        mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.

ROSALIND        Thou speakest wiser than thou art ware of.

TOUCHSTONE      Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I
        break my shins against it.

ROSALIND        Jove, Jove! this shepherd's passion
        Is much upon my fashion.

TOUCHSTONE      And mine; but it grows something stale with me.

CELIA   I pray you, one of you question yond man
        If he for gold will give us any food:
        I faint almost to death.

TOUCHSTONE      Holla, you clown!

ROSALIND        Peace, fool: he's not thy kinsman.

CORIN   Who calls?

TOUCHSTONE      Your betters, sir.

CORIN                     Else are they very wretched.

ROSALIND        Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend.

CORIN   And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.

ROSALIND        I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold
        Can in this desert place buy entertainment,
        Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed:
        Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd
        And faints for succor.

CORIN   Fair sir, I pity her
        And wish, for her sake more than for mine own,
        My fortunes were more able to relieve her;
        But I am shepherd to another man
        And do not shear the fleeces that I graze:
        My master is of churlish disposition
        And little recks to find the way to heaven
        By doing deeds of hospitality:
        Besides, his cote, his flocks and bounds of feed
        Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now,
        By reason of his absence, there is nothing
        That you will feed on; but what is, come see.
        And in my voice most welcome shall you be.

ROSALIND        What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture?

CORIN   That young swain that you saw here but erewhile,
        That little cares for buying any thing.

ROSALIND        I pray thee, if it stand with honesty,
        Buy thou the cottage, pasture and the flock,
        And thou shalt have to pay for it of us.

CELIA   And we will mend thy wages. I like this place.
        And willingly could waste my time in it.

CORIN   Assuredly the thing is to be sold:
        Go with me: if you like upon report
        The soil, the profit and this kind of life,
        I will your very faithful feeder be
        And buy it with your gold right suddenly.

        [Exeunt]




        AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE V The Forest.


        [Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others]
        
        SONG.
AMIENS  Under the greenwood tree
        Who loves to lie with me,
        And turn his merry note
        Unto the sweet bird's throat,
        Come hither, come hither, come hither:
        Here shall he see No enemy
        But winter and rough weather.

JAQUES  More, more, I prithee, more.

AMIENS  It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.

JAQUES  I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck
        melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs.
        More, I prithee, more.

AMIENS  My voice is ragged: I know I cannot please you.

JAQUES  I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to
        sing. Come, more; another stanzo: call you 'em stanzos?

AMIENS  What you will, Monsieur Jaques.

JAQUES  Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me
        nothing. Will you sing?

AMIENS  More at your request than to please myself.

JAQUES  Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you;
        but that they call compliment is like the encounter
        of two dog-apes, and when a man thanks me heartily,
        methinks I have given him a penny and he renders me
        the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will
        not, hold your tongues.

AMIENS  Well, I'll end the song. Sirs, cover the while; the
        duke will drink under this tree. He hath been all
        this day to look you.

JAQUES  And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is
        too disputable for my company: I think of as many
        matters as he, but I give heaven thanks and make no
        boast of them. Come, warble, come.
        
        SONG.
        Who doth ambition shun

        [All together here]

        And loves to live i' the sun,
        Seeking the food he eats
        And pleased with what he gets,
        Come hither, come hither, come hither:
        Here shall he see No enemy
        But winter and rough weather.

JAQUES  I'll give you a verse to this note that I made
        yesterday in despite of my invention.

AMIENS  And I'll sing it.

JAQUES  Thus it goes:--

        If it do come to pass
        That any man turn ass,
        Leaving his wealth and ease,
        A stubborn will to please,
        Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame:
        Here shall he see
        Gross fools as he,
        An if he will come to me.

AMIENS  What's that 'ducdame'?

JAQUES  'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a
        circle. I'll go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I'll
        rail against all the first-born of Egypt.

AMIENS  And I'll go seek the duke: his banquet is prepared.

        [Exeunt severally]




        AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE VI        The forest.


        [Enter ORLANDO and ADAM]

ADAM    Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food!
        Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell,
        kind master.

ORLANDO Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee? Live
        a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little.
        If this uncouth forest yield any thing savage, I
        will either be food for it or bring it for food to
        thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers.
        For my sake be comfortable; hold death awhile at
        the arm's end: I will here be with thee presently;
        and if I bring thee not something to eat, I will
        give thee leave to die: but if thou diest before I
        come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said!
        thou lookest cheerly, and I'll be with thee quickly.
        Yet thou liest in the bleak air: come, I will bear
        thee to some shelter; and thou shalt not die for
        lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this
        desert. Cheerly, good Adam!

        [Exeunt]




        AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE VII       The forest.


        [A table set out. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and
        Lords like outlaws]

DUKE SENIOR     I think he be transform'd into a beast;
        For I can no where find him like a man.

First Lord      My lord, he is but even now gone hence:
        Here was he merry, hearing of a song.

DUKE SENIOR     If he, compact of jars, grow musical,
        We shall have shortly discord in the spheres.
        Go, seek him: tell him I would speak with him.

        [Enter JAQUES]

First Lord      He saves my labour by his own approach.

DUKE SENIOR     Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this,
        That your poor friends must woo your company?
        What, you look merrily!

JAQUES  A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' the forest,
        A motley fool; a miserable world!
        As I do live by food, I met a fool
        Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun,
        And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms,
        In good set terms and yet a motley fool.
        'Good morrow, fool,' quoth I. 'No, sir,' quoth he,
        'Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune:'
        And then he drew a dial from his poke,
        And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
        Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock:
        Thus we may see,' quoth he, 'how the world wags:
        'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine,
        And after one hour more 'twill be eleven;
        And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,
        And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot;
        And thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear
        The motley fool thus moral on the time,
        My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,
        That fools should be so deep-contemplative,
        And I did laugh sans intermission
        An hour by his dial. O noble fool!
        A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear.

DUKE SENIOR     What fool is this?

JAQUES  O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier,
        And says, if ladies be but young and fair,
        They have the gift to know it: and in his brain,
        Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit
        After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd
        With observation, the which he vents
        In mangled forms. O that I were a fool!
        I am ambitious for a motley coat.

DUKE SENIOR     Thou shalt have one.

JAQUES  It is my only suit;
        Provided that you weed your better judgments
        Of all opinion that grows rank in them
        That I am wise. I must have liberty
        Withal, as large a charter as the wind,
        To blow on whom I please; for so fools have;
        And they that are most galled with my folly,
        They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so?
        The 'why' is plain as way to parish church:
        He that a fool doth very wisely hit
        Doth very foolishly, although he smart,
        Not to seem senseless of the bob: if not,
        The wise man's folly is anatomized
        Even by the squandering glances of the fool.
        Invest me in my motley; give me leave
        To speak my mind, and I will through and through
        Cleanse the foul body of the infected world,
        If they will patiently receive my medicine.

DUKE SENIOR     Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do.

JAQUES  What, for a counter, would I do but good?

DUKE SENIOR     Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin:
        For thou thyself hast been a libertine,
        As sensual as the brutish sting itself;
        And all the embossed sores and headed evils,
        That thou with licence of free foot hast caught,
        Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.

JAQUES  Why, who cries out on pride,
        That can therein tax any private party?
        Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,
        Till that the weary very means do ebb?
        What woman in the city do I name,
        When that I say the city-woman bears
        The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders?
        Who can come in and say that I mean her,
        When such a one as she such is her neighbour?
        Or what is he of basest function
        That says his bravery is not of my cost,
        Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits
        His folly to the mettle of my speech?
        There then; how then? what then? Let me see wherein
        My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right,
        Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free,
        Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies,
        Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes here?

        [Enter ORLANDO, with his sword drawn]

ORLANDO Forbear, and eat no more.

JAQUES  Why, I have eat none yet.

ORLANDO Nor shalt not, till necessity be served.

JAQUES  Of what kind should this cock come of?

DUKE SENIOR     Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress,
        Or else a rude despiser of good manners,
        That in civility thou seem'st so empty?

ORLANDO You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny point
        Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show
        Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred
        And know some nurture. But forbear, I say:
        He dies that touches any of this fruit
        Till I and my affairs are answered.

JAQUES  An you will not be answered with reason, I must die.

DUKE SENIOR     What would you have? Your gentleness shall force
        More than your force move us to gentleness.

ORLANDO I almost die for food; and let me have it.

DUKE SENIOR     Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.

ORLANDO Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you:
        I thought that all things had been savage here;
        And therefore put I on the countenance
        Of stern commandment. But whate'er you are
        That in this desert inaccessible,
        Under the shade of melancholy boughs,
        Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time
        If ever you have look'd on better days,
        If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church,
        If ever sat at any good man's feast,
        If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear
        And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied,
        Let gentleness my strong enforcement be:
        In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.

DUKE SENIOR     True is it that we have seen better days,
        And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church
        And sat at good men's feasts and wiped our eyes
        Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd:
        And therefore sit you down in gentleness
        And take upon command what help we have
        That to your wanting may be minister'd.

ORLANDO Then but forbear your food a little while,
        Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn
        And give it food. There is an old poor man,
        Who after me hath many a weary step
        Limp'd in pure love: till he be first sufficed,
        Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,
        I will not touch a bit.

DUKE SENIOR     Go find him out,
        And we will nothing waste till you return.

ORLANDO I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort!

        [Exit]

DUKE SENIOR     Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy:
        This wide and universal theatre
        Presents more woeful pageants than the scene
        Wherein we play in.

JAQUES  All the world's a stage,
        And all the men and women merely players:
        They have their exits and their entrances;
        And one man in his time plays many parts,
        His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
        Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
        And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
        And shining morning face, creeping like snail
        Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
        Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
        Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
        Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
        Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
        Seeking the bubble reputation
        Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
        In fair round belly with good capon lined,
        With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
        Full of wise saws and modern instances;
        And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
        Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
        With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
        His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
        For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
        Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
        And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
        That ends this strange eventful history,
        Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
        Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

        [Re-enter ORLANDO, with ADAM]

DUKE SENIOR     Welcome. Set down your venerable burthen,
        And let him feed.

ORLANDO I thank you most for him.

ADAM    So had you need:
        I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.

DUKE SENIOR     Welcome; fall to: I will not trouble you
        As yet, to question you about your fortunes.
        Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing.
        
        SONG.
AMIENS  Blow, blow, thou winter wind.
        Thou art not so unkind
        As man's ingratitude;
        Thy tooth is not so keen,
        Because thou art not seen,
        Although thy breath be rude.
        Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
        Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
        Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
        This life is most jolly.
        Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
        That dost not bite so nigh
        As benefits forgot:
        Though thou the waters warp,
        Thy sting is not so sharp
        As friend remember'd not.
        Heigh-ho! sing, &c.

DUKE SENIOR     If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son,
        As you have whisper'd faithfully you were,
        And as mine eye doth his effigies witness
        Most truly limn'd and living in your face,
        Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke
        That loved your father: the residue of your fortune,
        Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man,
        Thou art right welcome as thy master is.
        Support him by the arm. Give me your hand,
        And let me all your fortunes understand.

        [Exeunt]




        AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE I A room in the palace.


        [Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, and OLIVER]

DUKE FREDERICK  Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be:
        But were I not the better part made mercy,
        I should not seek an absent argument
        Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it:
        Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is;
        Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living
        Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more
        To seek a living in our territory.
        Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine
        Worth seizure do we seize into our hands,
        Till thou canst quit thee by thy brothers mouth
        Of what we think against thee.

OLIVER  O that your highness knew my heart in this!
        I never loved my brother in my life.

DUKE FREDERICK  More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors;
        And let my officers of such a nature
        Make an extent upon his house and lands:
        Do this expediently and turn him going.

        [Exeunt]




        AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE II        The forest.


        [Enter ORLANDO, with a paper]

ORLANDO Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love:
        And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey
        With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above,
        Thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway.
        O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books
        And in their barks my thoughts I'll character;
        That every eye which in this forest looks
        Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where.
        Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree
        The fair, the chaste and unexpressive she.

        [Exit]

        [Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE]

CORIN   And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone?

TOUCHSTONE      Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good
        life, but in respect that it is a shepherd's life,
        it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I
        like it very well; but in respect that it is
        private, it is a very vile life. Now, in respect it
        is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in
        respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As
        is it a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well;
        but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much
        against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd?

CORIN   No more but that I know the more one sickens the
        worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money,
        means and content is without three good friends;
        that the property of rain is to wet and fire to
        burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep, and that a
        great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that
        he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art may
        complain of good breeding or comes of a very dull kindred.

TOUCHSTONE      Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in
        court, shepherd?

CORIN   No, truly.

TOUCHSTONE      Then thou art damned.

CORIN   Nay, I hope.

TOUCHSTONE      Truly, thou art damned like an ill-roasted egg, all
        on one side.

CORIN   For not being at court? Your reason.

TOUCHSTONE      Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never sawest
        good manners; if thou never sawest good manners,
        then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is
        sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous
        state, shepherd.

CORIN   Not a whit, Touchstone: those that are good manners
        at the court are as ridiculous in the country as the
        behavior of the country is most mockable at the
        court. You told me you salute not at the court, but
        you kiss your hands: that courtesy would be
        uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds.

TOUCHSTONE      Instance, briefly; come, instance.

CORIN   Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their
        fells, you know, are greasy.

TOUCHSTONE      Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? and is not
        the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of
        a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say; come.

CORIN   Besides, our hands are hard.

TOUCHSTONE      Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again.
        A more sounder instance, come.

CORIN   And they are often tarred over with the surgery of
        our sheep: and would you have us kiss tar? The
        courtier's hands are perfumed with civet.

TOUCHSTONE      Most shallow man! thou worms-meat, in respect of a
        good piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and
        perpend: civet is of a baser birth than tar, the
        very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd.

CORIN   You have too courtly a wit for me: I'll rest.

TOUCHSTONE      Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee, shallow man!
        God make incision in thee! thou art raw.

CORIN   Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get
        that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man's
        happiness, glad of other men's good, content with my
        harm, and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes
        graze and my lambs suck.

TOUCHSTONE      That is another simple sin in you, to bring the ewes
        and the rams together and to offer to get your
        living by the copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a
        bell-wether, and to betray a she-lamb of a
        twelvemonth to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram,
        out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not
        damned for this, the devil himself will have no
        shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst
        'scape.

CORIN   Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother.

        [Enter ROSALIND, with a paper, reading]

ROSALIND             From the east to western Ind,
        No jewel is like Rosalind.
        Her worth, being mounted on the wind,
        Through all the world bears Rosalind.
        All the pictures fairest lined
        Are but black to Rosalind.
        Let no fair be kept in mind
        But the fair of Rosalind.

TOUCHSTONE      I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners and
        suppers and sleeping-hours excepted: it is the
        right butter-women's rank to market.

ROSALIND        Out, fool!

TOUCHSTONE      For a taste:
        If a hart do lack a hind,
        Let him seek out Rosalind.
        If the cat will after kind,
        So be sure will Rosalind.
        Winter garments must be lined,
        So must slender Rosalind.
        They that reap must sheaf and bind;
        Then to cart with Rosalind.
        Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,
        Such a nut is Rosalind.
        He that sweetest rose will find
        Must find love's prick and Rosalind.
        This is the very false gallop of verses: why do you
        infect yourself with them?

ROSALIND        Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree.

TOUCHSTONE      Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.

ROSALIND        I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it
        with a medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit
        i' the country; for you'll be rotten ere you be half
        ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medlar.

TOUCHSTONE      You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the
        forest judge.

        [Enter CELIA, with a writing]

ROSALIND        Peace! Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside.

CELIA   [Reads]

        Why should this a desert be?
        For it is unpeopled? No:
        Tongues I'll hang on every tree,
        That shall civil sayings show:
        Some, how brief the life of man
        Runs his erring pilgrimage,
        That the stretching of a span
        Buckles in his sum of age;
        Some, of violated vows
        'Twixt the souls of friend and friend:
        But upon the fairest boughs,
        Or at every sentence end,
        Will I Rosalinda write,
        Teaching all that read to know
        The quintessence of every sprite
        Heaven would in little show.
        Therefore Heaven Nature charged
        That one body should be fill'd
        With all graces wide-enlarged:
        Nature presently distill'd
        Helen's cheek, but not her heart,
        Cleopatra's majesty,
        Atalanta's better part,
        Sad Lucretia's modesty.
        Thus Rosalind of many parts
        By heavenly synod was devised,
        Of many faces, eyes and hearts,
        To have the touches dearest prized.
        Heaven would that she these gifts should have,
        And I to live and die her slave.

ROSALIND        O most gentle pulpiter! what tedious homily of love
        have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never
        cried 'Have patience, good people!'

CELIA   How now! back, friends! Shepherd, go off a little.
        Go with him, sirrah.

TOUCHSTONE      Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat;
        though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage.

        [Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE]

CELIA   Didst thou hear these verses?

ROSALIND        O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of
        them had in them more feet than the verses would bear.

CELIA   That's no matter: the feet might bear the verses.

ROSALIND        Ay, but the feet were lame and could not bear
        themselves without the verse and therefore stood
        lamely in the verse.

CELIA   But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name
        should be hanged and carved upon these trees?

ROSALIND        I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder
        before you came; for look here what I found on a
        palm-tree. I was never so be-rhymed since
        Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I
        can hardly remember.

CELIA   Trow you who hath done this?

ROSALIND        Is it a man?

CELIA   And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck.
        Change you colour?

ROSALIND        I prithee, who?

CELIA   O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to
        meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes
        and so encounter.

ROSALIND        Nay, but who is it?

CELIA   Is it possible?

ROSALIND        Nay, I prithee now with most petitionary vehemence,
        tell me who it is.

CELIA   O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful
        wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that,
        out of all hooping!

ROSALIND        Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am
        caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and hose in
        my disposition? One inch of delay more is a
        South-sea of discovery; I prithee, tell me who is it
        quickly, and speak apace. I would thou couldst
        stammer, that thou mightst pour this concealed man
        out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-
        mouthed bottle, either too much at once, or none at
        all. I prithee, take the cork out of thy mouth that
        may drink thy tidings.

CELIA   So you may put a man in your belly.

ROSALIND        Is he of God's making? What manner of man? Is his
        head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard?

CELIA   Nay, he hath but a little beard.

ROSALIND        Why, God will send more, if the man will be
        thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, if
        thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin.

CELIA   It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler's
        heels and your heart both in an instant.

ROSALIND        Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak, sad brow and
        true maid.

CELIA   I' faith, coz, 'tis he.

ROSALIND        Orlando?

CELIA   Orlando.

ROSALIND        Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and
        hose? What did he when thou sawest him? What said
        he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes
        him here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he?
        How parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see
        him again? Answer me in one word.

CELIA   You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first: 'tis a
        word too great for any mouth of this age's size. To
        say ay and no to these particulars is more than to
        answer in a catechism.

ROSALIND        But doth he know that I am in this forest and in
        man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the
        day he wrestled?

CELIA   It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the
        propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my
        finding him, and relish it with good observance.
        I found him under a tree, like a dropped acorn.

ROSALIND        It may well be called Jove's tree, when it drops
        forth such fruit.

CELIA   Give me audience, good madam.

ROSALIND        Proceed.

CELIA   There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded knight.

ROSALIND        Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well
        becomes the ground.

CELIA   Cry 'holla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets
        unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter.

ROSALIND        O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.

CELIA   I would sing my song without a burden: thou bringest
        me out of tune.

ROSALIND        Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must
        speak. Sweet, say on.

CELIA   You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here?

        [Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES]

ROSALIND        'Tis he: slink by, and note him.

JAQUES  I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had
        as lief have been myself alone.

ORLANDO And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you
        too for your society.

JAQUES  God be wi' you: let's meet as little as we can.

ORLANDO I do desire we may be better strangers.

JAQUES  I pray you, mar no more trees with writing
        love-songs in their barks.

ORLANDO I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading
        them ill-favouredly.

JAQUES  Rosalind is your love's name?

ORLANDO Yes, just.

JAQUES  I do not like her name.

ORLANDO There was no thought of pleasing you when she was
        christened.

JAQUES  What stature is she of?

ORLANDO Just as high as my heart.

JAQUES  You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been
        acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conned them
        out of rings?

ORLANDO Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from
        whence you have studied your questions.

JAQUES  You have a nimble wit: I think 'twas made of
        Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? and
        we two will rail against our mistress the world and
        all our misery.

ORLANDO I will chide no breather in the world but myself,
        against whom I know most faults.

JAQUES  The worst fault you have is to be in love.

ORLANDO 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue.
        I am weary of you.

JAQUES  By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found
        you.

ORLANDO He is drowned in the brook: look but in, and you
        shall see him.

JAQUES  There I shall see mine own figure.

ORLANDO Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.

JAQUES  I'll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good
        Signior Love.

ORLANDO I am glad of your departure: adieu, good Monsieur
        Melancholy.

        [Exit JAQUES]

ROSALIND        [Aside to CELIA]  I will speak to him, like a saucy
        lackey and under that habit play the knave with him.
        Do you hear, forester?

ORLANDO Very well: what would you?

ROSALIND        I pray you, what is't o'clock?

ORLANDO You should ask me what time o' day: there's no clock
        in the forest.

ROSALIND        Then there is no true lover in the forest; else
        sighing every minute and groaning every hour would
        detect the lazy foot of Time as well as a clock.

ORLANDO And why not the swift foot of Time? had not that
        been as proper?

ROSALIND        By no means, sir: Time travels in divers paces with
        divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles
        withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops
        withal and who he stands still withal.

ORLANDO I prithee, who doth he trot withal?

ROSALIND        Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the
        contract of her marriage and the day it is
        solemnized: if the interim be but a se'nnight,
        Time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of
        seven year.

ORLANDO Who ambles Time withal?

ROSALIND        With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich man that
        hath not the gout, for the one sleeps easily because
        he cannot study, and the other lives merrily because
        he feels no pain, the one lacking the burden of lean
        and wasteful learning, the other knowing no burden
        of heavy tedious penury; these Time ambles withal.

ORLANDO Who doth he gallop withal?

ROSALIND        With a thief to the gallows, for though he go as
        softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there.

ORLANDO Who stays it still withal?

ROSALIND        With lawyers in the vacation, for they sleep between
        term and term and then they perceive not how Time moves.

ORLANDO Where dwell you, pretty youth?

ROSALIND        With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the
        skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.

ORLANDO Are you native of this place?

ROSALIND        As the cony that you see dwell where she is kindled.

ORLANDO Your accent is something finer than you could
        purchase in so removed a dwelling.

ROSALIND        I have been told so of many: but indeed an old
        religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was
        in his youth an inland man; one that knew courtship
        too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard
        him read many lectures against it, and I thank God
        I am not a woman, to be touched with so many
        giddy offences as he hath generally taxed their
        whole sex withal.

ORLANDO Can you remember any of the principal evils that he
        laid to the charge of women?

ROSALIND        There were none principal; they were all like one
        another as half-pence are, every one fault seeming
        monstrous till his fellow fault came to match it.

ORLANDO I prithee, recount some of them.

ROSALIND        No, I will not cast away my physic but on those that
        are sick. There is a man haunts the forest, that
        abuses our young plants with carving 'Rosalind' on
        their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns and elegies
        on brambles, all, forsooth, deifying the name of
        Rosalind: if I could meet that fancy-monger I would
        give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the
        quotidian of love upon him.

ORLANDO I am he that is so love-shaked: I pray you tell me
        your remedy.

ROSALIND        There is none of my uncle's marks upon you: he
        taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage
        of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner.

ORLANDO What were his marks?

ROSALIND        A lean cheek, which you have not, a blue eye and
        sunken, which you have not, an unquestionable
        spirit, which you have not, a beard neglected,
        which you have not; but I pardon you for that, for
        simply your having in beard is a younger brother's
        revenue: then your hose should be ungartered, your
        bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe
        untied and every thing about you demonstrating a
        careless desolation; but you are no such man; you
        are rather point-device in your accoutrements as
        loving yourself than seeming the lover of any other.

ORLANDO Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.

ROSALIND        Me believe it! you may as soon make her that you
        love believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to
        do than to confess she does: that is one of the
        points in the which women still give the lie to
        their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he
        that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind
        is so admired?

ORLANDO I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of
        Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he.

ROSALIND        But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak?

ORLANDO Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.

ROSALIND        Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves
        as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do: and
        the reason why they are not so punished and cured
        is, that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers
        are in love too. Yet I profess curing it by counsel.

ORLANDO Did you ever cure any so?

ROSALIND        Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to imagine me
        his love, his mistress; and I set him every day to
        woo me: at which time would I, being but a moonish
        youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing
        and liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow,
        inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles, for every
        passion something and for no passion truly any
        thing, as boys and women are for the most part
        cattle of this colour; would now like him, now loathe
        him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now weep
        for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor
        from his mad humour of love to a living humour of
        madness; which was, to forswear the full stream of
        the world, and to live in a nook merely monastic.
        And thus I cured him; and this way will I take upon
        me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's
        heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't.

ORLANDO I would not be cured, youth.

ROSALIND        I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind
        and come every day to my cote and woo me.

ORLANDO Now, by the faith of my love, I will: tell me
        where it is.

ROSALIND        Go with me to it and I'll show it you and by the way
        you shall tell me where in the forest you live.
        Will you go?

ORLANDO With all my heart, good youth.

ROSALIND        Nay you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you go?

        [Exeunt]




        AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE III       The forest.


        [Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES behind]

TOUCHSTONE      Come apace, good Audrey: I will fetch up your
        goats, Audrey. And how, Audrey? am I the man yet?
        doth my simple feature content you?

AUDREY  Your features! Lord warrant us! what features!

TOUCHSTONE      I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most
        capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.

JAQUES  [Aside]  O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove
        in a thatched house!

TOUCHSTONE      When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a
        man's good wit seconded with the forward child
        Understanding, it strikes a man more dead than a
        great reckoning in a little room. Truly, I would
        the gods had made thee poetical.

AUDREY  I do not know what 'poetical' is: is it honest in
        deed and word? is it a true thing?

TOUCHSTONE      No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most
        feigning; and lovers are given to poetry, and what
        they swear in poetry may be said as lovers they do feign.

AUDREY  Do you wish then that the gods had made me poetical?

TOUCHSTONE      I do, truly; for thou swearest to me thou art
        honest: now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some
        hope thou didst feign.

AUDREY  Would you not have me honest?

TOUCHSTONE      No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favoured; for
        honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar.

JAQUES  [Aside]  A material fool!

AUDREY   Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods
        make me honest.

TOUCHSTONE      Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut
        were to put good meat into an unclean dish.

AUDREY  I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul.

TOUCHSTONE      Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness!
        sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may
        be, I will marry thee, and to that end I have been
        with Sir Oliver Martext, the vicar of the next
        village, who hath promised to meet me in this place
        of the forest and to couple us.

JAQUES  [Aside]  I would fain see this meeting.

AUDREY  Well, the gods give us joy!

TOUCHSTONE      Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart,
        stagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple
        but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But what
        though? Courage! As horns are odious, they are
        necessary. It is said, 'many a man knows no end of
        his goods:' right; many a man has good horns, and
        knows no end of them. Well, that is the dowry of
        his wife; 'tis none of his own getting. Horns?
        Even so. Poor men alone? No, no; the noblest deer
        hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man
        therefore blessed? No: as a walled town is more
        worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a
        married man more honourable than the bare brow of a
        bachelor; and by how much defence is better than no
        skill, by so much is a horn more precious than to
        want. Here comes Sir Oliver.

        [Enter SIR OLIVER MARTEXT]

        Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met: will you
        dispatch us here under this tree, or shall we go
        with you to your chapel?

SIR OLIVER MARTEXT      Is there none here to give the woman?

TOUCHSTONE      I will not take her on gift of any man.

SIR OLIVER MARTEXT      Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful.

JAQUES  [Advancing]

        Proceed, proceed        I'll give her.

TOUCHSTONE      Good even, good Master What-ye-call't: how do you,
        sir? You are very well met: God 'ild you for your
        last company: I am very glad to see you: even a
        toy in hand here, sir: nay, pray be covered.

JAQUES  Will you be married, motley?

TOUCHSTONE      As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb and
        the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and
        as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling.

JAQUES  And will you, being a man of your breeding, be
        married under a bush like a beggar? Get you to
        church, and have a good priest that can tell you
        what marriage is: this fellow will but join you
        together as they join wainscot; then one of you will
        prove a shrunk panel and, like green timber, warp, warp.

TOUCHSTONE      [Aside]  I am not in the mind but I were better to be
        married of him than of another: for he is not like
        to marry me well; and not being well married, it
        will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife.

JAQUES  Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.

TOUCHSTONE      'Come, sweet Audrey:
        We must be married, or we must live in bawdry.
        Farewell, good Master Oliver: not,--
        O sweet Oliver,
        O brave Oliver,
        Leave me not behind thee: but,--
        Wind away,
        Begone, I say,
        I will not to wedding with thee.

        [Exeunt JAQUES, TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]

SIR OLIVER MARTEXT      'Tis no matter: ne'er a fantastical knave of them
        all shall flout me out of my calling.

        [Exit]




        AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE IV        The forest.


        [Enter ROSALIND and CELIA]

ROSALIND        Never talk to me; I will weep.

CELIA   Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider
        that tears do not become a man.

ROSALIND        But have I not cause to weep?

CELIA   As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep.

ROSALIND        His very hair is of the dissembling colour.

CELIA   Something browner than Judas's marry, his kisses are
        Judas's own children.

ROSALIND        I' faith, his hair is of a good colour.

CELIA   An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the only colour.

ROSALIND        And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch
        of holy bread.

CELIA   He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a nun
        of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously;
        the very ice of chastity is in them.

ROSALIND        But why did he swear he would come this morning, and
        comes not?

CELIA   Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.

ROSALIND        Do you think so?

CELIA   Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a
        horse-stealer, but for his verity in love, I do
        think him as concave as a covered goblet or a
        worm-eaten nut.

ROSALIND        Not true in love?

CELIA   Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in.

ROSALIND        You have heard him swear downright he was.

CELIA   'Was' is not 'is:' besides, the oath of a lover is
        no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are
        both the confirmer of false reckonings. He attends
        here in the forest on the duke your father.

ROSALIND        I met the duke yesterday and had much question with
        him: he asked me of what parentage I was; I told
        him, of as good as he; so he laughed and let me go.
        But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a
        man as Orlando?

CELIA   O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses,
        speaks brave words, swears brave oaths and breaks
        them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of
        his lover; as a puisny tilter, that spurs his horse
        but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble
        goose: but all's brave that youth mounts and folly
        guides. Who comes here?

        [Enter CORIN]

CORIN   Mistress and master, you have oft inquired
        After the shepherd that complain'd of love,
        Who you saw sitting by me on the turf,
        Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
        That was his mistress.

CELIA   Well, and what of him?

CORIN   If you will see a pageant truly play'd,
        Between the pale complexion of true love
        And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain,
        Go hence a little and I shall conduct you,
        If you will mark it.

ROSALIND        O, come, let us remove:
        The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.
        Bring us to this sight, and you shall say
        I'll prove a busy actor in their play.

        [Exeunt]




        AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE V Another part of the forest.


        [Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE]

SILVIUS Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe;
        Say that you love me not, but say not so
        In bitterness. The common executioner,
        Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard,
        Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck
        But first begs pardon: will you sterner be
        Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?

        [Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, behind]

PHEBE   I would not be thy executioner:
        I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
        Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye:
        'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,
        That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things,
        Who shut their coward gates on atomies,
        Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers!
        Now I do frown on thee with all my heart;
        And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee:
        Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down;
        Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame,
        Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers!
        Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee:
        Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
        Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush,
        The cicatrice and capable impressure
        Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes,
        Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not,
        Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes
        That can do hurt.

SILVIUS                   O dear Phebe,
        If ever,--as that ever may be near,--
        You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy,
        Then shall you know the wounds invisible
        That love's keen arrows make.

PHEBE   But till that time
        Come not thou near me: and when that time comes,
        Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not;
        As till that time I shall not pity thee.

ROSALIND        And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother,
        That you insult, exult, and all at once,
        Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty,--
        As, by my faith, I see no more in you
        Than without candle may go dark to bed--
        Must you be therefore proud and pitiless?
        Why, what means this? Why do you look on me?
        I see no more in you than in the ordinary
        Of nature's sale-work. 'Od's my little life,
        I think she means to tangle my eyes too!
        No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it:
        'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair,
        Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream,
        That can entame my spirits to your worship.
        You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her,
        Like foggy south puffing with wind and rain?
        You are a thousand times a properer man
        Than she a woman: 'tis such fools as you
        That makes the world full of ill-favour'd children:
        'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her;
        And out of you she sees herself more proper
        Than any of her lineaments can show her.
        But, mistress, know yourself: down on your knees,
        And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love:
        For I must tell you friendly in your ear,
        Sell when you can: you are not for all markets:
        Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer:
        Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.
        So take her to thee, shepherd: fare you well.

PHEBE   Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together:
        I had rather hear you chide than this man woo.

ROSALIND        He's fallen in love with your foulness and she'll
        fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as
        she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce her
        with bitter words. Why look you so upon me?

PHEBE   For no ill will I bear you.

ROSALIND        I pray you, do not fall in love with me,
        For I am falser than vows made in wine:
        Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house,
        'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by.
        Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard.
        Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better,
        And be not proud: though all the world could see,
        None could be so abused in sight as he.
        Come, to our flock.

        [Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA and CORIN]

PHEBE   Dead Shepherd, now I find thy saw of might,
        'Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?'

SILVIUS Sweet Phebe,--

PHEBE                     Ha, what say'st thou, Silvius?

SILVIUS Sweet Phebe, pity me.

PHEBE   Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.

SILVIUS Wherever sorrow is, relief would be:
        If you do sorrow at my grief in love,
        By giving love your sorrow and my grief
        Were both extermined.

PHEBE   Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly?

SILVIUS I would have you.

PHEBE                     Why, that were covetousness.
        Silvius, the time was that I hated thee,
        And yet it is not that I bear thee love;
        But since that thou canst talk of love so well,
        Thy company, which erst was irksome to me,
        I will endure, and I'll employ thee too:
        But do not look for further recompense
        Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd.

SILVIUS So holy and so perfect is my love,
        And I in such a poverty of grace,
        That I shall think it a most plenteous crop
        To glean the broken ears after the man
        That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then
        A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon.

PHEBE   Know'st now the youth that spoke to me erewhile?

SILVIUS Not very well, but I have met him oft;
        And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds
        That the old carlot once was master of.

PHEBE   Think not I love him, though I ask for him:
        'Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well;
        But what care I for words? yet words do well
        When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.
        It is a pretty youth: not very pretty:
        But, sure, he's proud, and yet his pride becomes him:
        He'll make a proper man: the best thing in him
        Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue
        Did make offence his eye did heal it up.
        He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall:
        His leg is but so so; and yet 'tis well:
        There was a pretty redness in his lip,
        A little riper and more lusty red
        Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference
        Between the constant red and mingled damask.
        There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him
        In parcels as I did, would have gone near
        To fall in love with him; but, for my part,
        I love him not nor hate him not; and yet
        I have more cause to hate him than to love him:
        For what had he to do to chide at me?
        He said mine eyes were black and my hair black:
        And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me:
        I marvel why I answer'd not again:
        But that's all one; omittance is no quittance.
        I'll write to him a very taunting letter,
        And thou shalt bear it: wilt thou, Silvius?

SILVIUS Phebe, with all my heart.

PHEBE   I'll write it straight;
        The matter's in my head and in my heart:
        I will be bitter with him and passing short.
        Go with me, Silvius.

        [Exeunt]




        AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT IV



SCENE I The forest.


        [Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES]

JAQUES  I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted
        with thee.

ROSALIND        They say you are a melancholy fellow.

JAQUES  I am so; I do love it better than laughing.

ROSALIND        Those that are in extremity of either are abominable
        fellows and betray themselves to every modern
        censure worse than drunkards.

JAQUES  Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.

ROSALIND        Why then, 'tis good to be a post.

JAQUES  I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is
        emulation, nor the musician's, which is fantastical,
        nor the courtier's, which is proud, nor the
        soldier's, which is ambitious, nor the lawyer's,
        which is politic, nor the lady's, which is nice, nor
        the lover's, which is all these: but it is a
        melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples,
        extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry's
        contemplation of my travels, in which my often
        rumination wraps me m a most humorous sadness.

ROSALIND        A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to
        be sad: I fear you have sold your own lands to see
        other men's; then, to have seen much and to have
        nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands.

JAQUES  Yes, I have gained my experience.

ROSALIND        And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have
        a fool to make me merry than experience to make me
        sad; and to travel for it too!

        [Enter ORLANDO]

ORLANDO Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind!

JAQUES  Nay, then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse.

        [Exit]

ROSALIND        Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: look you lisp and
        wear strange suits, disable all the benefits of your
        own country, be out of love with your nativity and
        almost chide God for making you that countenance you
        are, or I will scarce think you have swam in a
        gondola. Why, how now, Orlando! where have you been
        all this while? You a lover! An you serve me such
        another trick, never come in my sight more.

ORLANDO My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise.

ROSALIND        Break an hour's promise in love! He that will
        divide a minute into a thousand parts and break but
        a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the
        affairs of love, it may be said of him that Cupid
        hath clapped him o' the shoulder, but I'll warrant
        him heart-whole.

ORLANDO Pardon me, dear Rosalind.

ROSALIND        Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight: I
        had as lief be wooed of a snail.

ORLANDO Of a snail?

ROSALIND        Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he
        carries his house on his head; a better jointure,
        I think, than you make a woman: besides he brings
        his destiny with him.

ORLANDO What's that?

ROSALIND        Why, horns, which such as you are fain to be
        beholding to your wives for: but he comes armed in
        his fortune and prevents the slander of his wife.

ORLANDO Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous.

ROSALIND        And I am your Rosalind.

CELIA   It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a
        Rosalind of a better leer than you.

ROSALIND        Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday
        humour and like enough to consent. What would you
        say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind?

ORLANDO I would kiss before I spoke.

ROSALIND        Nay, you were better speak first, and when you were
        gravelled for lack of matter, you might take
        occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are
        out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking--God
        warn us!--matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.

ORLANDO How if the kiss be denied?

ROSALIND        Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.

ORLANDO Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress?

ROSALIND        Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, or
        I should think my honesty ranker than my wit.

ORLANDO What, of my suit?

ROSALIND        Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit.
        Am not I your Rosalind?

ORLANDO I take some joy to say you are, because I would be
        talking of her.

ROSALIND        Well in her person I say I will not have you.

ORLANDO Then in mine own person I die.

ROSALIND        No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is
        almost six thousand years old, and in all this time
        there was not any man died in his own person,
        videlicit, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains
        dashed out with a Grecian club; yet he did what he
        could to die before, and he is one of the patterns
        of love. Leander, he would have lived many a fair
        year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been
        for a hot midsummer night; for, good youth, he went
        but forth to wash him in the Hellespont and being
        taken with the cramp was drowned and the foolish
        coroners of that age found it was 'Hero of Sestos.'
        But these are all lies: men have died from time to
        time and worms have eaten them, but not for love.

ORLANDO I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind,
        for, I protest, her frown might kill me.

ROSALIND        By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now
        I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on
        disposition, and ask me what you will. I will grant
        it.

ORLANDO Then love me, Rosalind.

ROSALIND        Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all.

ORLANDO And wilt thou have me?

ROSALIND        Ay, and twenty such.

ORLANDO What sayest thou?

ROSALIND        Are you not good?

ORLANDO I hope so.

ROSALIND        Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?
        Come, sister, you shall be the priest and marry us.
        Give me your hand, Orlando. What do you say, sister?

ORLANDO Pray thee, marry us.

CELIA   I cannot say the words.

ROSALIND        You must begin, 'Will you, Orlando--'

CELIA   Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind?

ORLANDO I will.

ROSALIND        Ay, but when?

ORLANDO Why now; as fast as she can marry us.

ROSALIND        Then you must say 'I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.'

ORLANDO I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.

ROSALIND        I might ask you for your commission; but I do take
        thee, Orlando, for my husband: there's a girl goes
        before the priest; and certainly a woman's thought
        runs before her actions.

ORLANDO So do all thoughts; they are winged.

ROSALIND        Now tell me how long you would have her after you
        have possessed her.

ORLANDO For ever and a day.

ROSALIND        Say 'a day,' without the 'ever.' No, no, Orlando;
        men are April when they woo, December when they wed:
        maids are May when they are maids, but the sky
        changes when they are wives. I will be more jealous
        of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen,
        more clamorous than a parrot against rain, more
        new-fangled than an ape, more giddy in my desires
        than a monkey: I will weep for nothing, like Diana
        in the fountain, and I will do that when you are
        disposed to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and
        that when thou art inclined to sleep.

ORLANDO But will my Rosalind do so?

ROSALIND        By my life, she will do as I do.

ORLANDO O, but she is wise.

ROSALIND        Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the
        wiser, the waywarder: make the doors upon a woman's
        wit and it will out at the casement; shut that and
        'twill out at the key-hole; stop that, 'twill fly
        with the smoke out at the chimney.

ORLANDO A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say
        'Wit, whither wilt?'

ROSALIND        Nay, you might keep that cheque for it till you met
        your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed.

ORLANDO And what wit could wit have to excuse that?

ROSALIND        Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You shall
        never take her without her answer, unless you take
        her without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot
        make her fault her husband's occasion, let her
        never nurse her child herself, for she will breed
        it like a fool!

ORLANDO For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee.

ROSALIND        Alas! dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours.

ORLANDO I must attend the duke at dinner: by two o'clock I
        will be with thee again.

ROSALIND        Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew what you
        would prove: my friends told me as much, and I
        thought no less: that flattering tongue of yours
        won me: 'tis but one cast away, and so, come,
        death! Two o'clock is your hour?

ORLANDO Ay, sweet Rosalind.

ROSALIND        By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend
        me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous,
        if you break one jot of your promise or come one
        minute behind your hour, I will think you the most
        pathetical break-promise and the most hollow lover
        and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind that
        may be chosen out of the gross band of the
        unfaithful: therefore beware my censure and keep
        your promise.

ORLANDO With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my
        Rosalind: so adieu.

ROSALIND        Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such
        offenders, and let Time try: adieu.

        [Exit ORLANDO]

CELIA   You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate:
        we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your
        head, and show the world what the bird hath done to
        her own nest.

ROSALIND        O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou
        didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But
        it cannot be sounded: my affection hath an unknown
        bottom, like the bay of Portugal.

CELIA   Or rather, bottomless, that as fast as you pour
        affection in, it runs out.

ROSALIND        No, that same wicked bastard of Venus that was begot
        of thought, conceived of spleen and born of madness,
        that blind rascally boy that abuses every one's eyes
        because his own are out, let him be judge how deep I
        am in love. I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out
        of the sight of Orlando: I'll go find a shadow and
        sigh till he come.

CELIA   And I'll sleep.

        [Exeunt]




        AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT IV



SCENE II        The forest.


        [Enter JAQUES, Lords, and Foresters]

JAQUES  Which is he that killed the deer?

A Lord  Sir, it was I.

JAQUES  Let's present him to the duke, like a Roman
        conqueror; and it would do well to set the deer's
        horns upon his head, for a branch of victory. Have
        you no song, forester, for this purpose?

Forester        Yes, sir.

JAQUES  Sing it: 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it
        make noise enough.
        
        SONG.
Forester        What shall he have that kill'd the deer?
        His leather skin and horns to wear.
        Then sing him home;

        [The rest shall bear this burden]

        Take thou no scorn to wear the horn;
        It was a crest ere thou wast born:
        Thy father's father wore it,
        And thy father bore it:
        The horn, the horn, the lusty horn
        Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.

        [Exeunt]




        AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT IV



SCENE III       The forest.


        [Enter ROSALIND and CELIA]

ROSALIND        How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? and
        here much Orlando!

CELIA   I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he
        hath ta'en his bow and arrows and is gone forth to
        sleep. Look, who comes here.

        [Enter SILVIUS]

SILVIUS My errand is to you, fair youth;
        My gentle Phebe bid me give you this:
        I know not the contents; but, as I guess
        By the stern brow and waspish action
        Which she did use as she was writing of it,
        It bears an angry tenor: pardon me:
        I am but as a guiltless messenger.

ROSALIND        Patience herself would startle at this letter
        And play the swaggerer; bear this, bear all:
        She says I am not fair, that I lack manners;
        She calls me proud, and that she could not love me,
        Were man as rare as phoenix. 'Od's my will!
        Her love is not the hare that I do hunt:
        Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well,
        This is a letter of your own device.

SILVIUS No, I protest, I know not the contents:
        Phebe did write it.

ROSALIND        Come, come, you are a fool
        And turn'd into the extremity of love.
        I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand.
        A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think
        That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands:
        She has a huswife's hand; but that's no matter:
        I say she never did invent this letter;
        This is a man's invention and his hand.

SILVIUS Sure, it is hers.

ROSALIND        Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style.
        A style for-challengers; why, she defies me,
        Like Turk to Christian: women's gentle brain
        Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention
        Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect
        Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter?

SILVIUS So please you, for I never heard it yet;
        Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty.

ROSALIND        She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes.

        [Reads]

        Art thou god to shepherd turn'd,
        That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?
        Can a woman rail thus?

SILVIUS Call you this railing?

ROSALIND        [Reads]

        Why, thy godhead laid apart,
        Warr'st thou with a woman's heart?
        Did you ever hear such railing?
        Whiles the eye of man did woo me,
        That could do no vengeance to me.
        Meaning me a beast.
        If the scorn of your bright eyne
        Have power to raise such love in mine,
        Alack, in me what strange effect
        Would they work in mild aspect!
        Whiles you chid me, I did love;
        How then might your prayers move!
        He that brings this love to thee
        Little knows this love in me:
        And by him seal up thy mind;
        Whether that thy youth and kind
        Will the faithful offer take
        Of me and all that I can make;
        Or else by him my love deny,
        And then I'll study how to die.

SILVIUS Call you this chiding?

CELIA   Alas, poor shepherd!

ROSALIND        Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity. Wilt
        thou love such a woman? What, to make thee an
        instrument and play false strains upon thee! not to
        be endured! Well, go your way to her, for I see
        love hath made thee a tame snake, and say this to
        her: that if she love me, I charge her to love
        thee; if she will not, I will never have her unless
        thou entreat for her. If you be a true lover,
        hence, and not a word; for here comes more company.

        [Exit SILVIUS]

        [Enter OLIVER]

OLIVER  Good morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you know,
        Where in the purlieus of this forest stands
        A sheep-cote fenced about with olive trees?

CELIA   West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom:
        The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream
        Left on your right hand brings you to the place.
        But at this hour the house doth keep itself;
        There's none within.

OLIVER  If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
        Then should I know you by description;
        Such garments and such years: 'The boy is fair,
        Of female favour, and bestows himself
        Like a ripe sister: the woman low
        And browner than her brother.' Are not you
        The owner of the house I did inquire for?

CELIA   It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are.

OLIVER  Orlando doth commend him to you both,
        And to that youth he calls his Rosalind
        He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he?

ROSALIND        I am: what must we understand by this?

OLIVER  Some of my shame; if you will know of me
        What man I am, and how, and why, and where
        This handkercher was stain'd.

CELIA   I pray you, tell it.

OLIVER  When last the young Orlando parted from you
        He left a promise to return again
        Within an hour, and pacing through the forest,
        Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy,
        Lo, what befell! he threw his eye aside,
        And mark what object did present itself:
        Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age
        And high top bald with dry antiquity,
        A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,
        Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck
        A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself,
        Who with her head nimble in threats approach'd
        The opening of his mouth; but suddenly,
        Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself,
        And with indented glides did slip away
        Into a bush: under which bush's shade
        A lioness, with udders all drawn dry,
        Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch,
        When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis
        The royal disposition of that beast
        To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead:
        This seen, Orlando did approach the man
        And found it was his brother, his elder brother.

CELIA   O, I have heard him speak of that same brother;
        And he did render him the most unnatural
        That lived amongst men.

OLIVER  And well he might so do,
        For well I know he was unnatural.

ROSALIND        But, to Orlando: did he leave him there,
        Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness?

OLIVER  Twice did he turn his back and purposed so;
        But kindness, nobler ever than revenge,
        And nature, stronger than his just occasion,
        Made him give battle to the lioness,
        Who quickly fell before him: in which hurtling
        From miserable slumber I awaked.

CELIA   Are you his brother?

ROSALIND        Wast you he rescued?

CELIA   Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him?

OLIVER  'Twas I; but 'tis not I I do not shame
        To tell you what I was, since my conversion
        So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am.

ROSALIND        But, for the bloody napkin?

OLIVER  By and by.
        When from the first to last betwixt us two
        Tears our recountments had most kindly bathed,
        As how I came into that desert place:--
        In brief, he led me to the gentle duke,
        Who gave me fresh array and entertainment,
        Committing me unto my brother's love;
        Who led me instantly unto his cave,
        There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm
        The lioness had torn some flesh away,
        Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted
        And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind.
        Brief, I recover'd him, bound up his wound;
        And, after some small space, being strong at heart,
        He sent me hither, stranger as I am,
        To tell this story, that you might excuse
        His broken promise, and to give this napkin
        Dyed in his blood unto the shepherd youth
        That he in sport doth call his Rosalind.

        [ROSALIND swoons]

CELIA   Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede!

OLIVER  Many will swoon when they do look on blood.

CELIA   There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede!

OLIVER  Look, he recovers.

ROSALIND        I would I were at home.

CELIA   We'll lead you thither.
        I pray you, will you take him by the arm?

OLIVER  Be of good cheer, youth: you a man! you lack a
        man's heart.

ROSALIND        I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would
        think this was well counterfeited! I pray you, tell
        your brother how well I counterfeited. Heigh-ho!

OLIVER  This was not counterfeit: there is too great
        testimony in your complexion that it was a passion
        of earnest.

ROSALIND        Counterfeit, I assure you.

OLIVER  Well then, take a good heart and counterfeit to be a man.

ROSALIND        So I do: but, i' faith, I should have been a woman by right.

CELIA   Come, you look paler and paler: pray you, draw
        homewards. Good sir, go with us.

OLIVER  That will I, for I must bear answer back
        How you excuse my brother, Rosalind.

ROSALIND        I shall devise something: but, I pray you, commend
        my counterfeiting to him. Will you go?

        [Exeunt]




        AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT V



SCENE I The forest.


        [Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]

TOUCHSTONE      We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey.

AUDREY  Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old
        gentleman's saying.

TOUCHSTONE      A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile
        Martext. But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the
        forest lays claim to you.

AUDREY  Ay, I know who 'tis; he hath no interest in me in
        the world: here comes the man you mean.

TOUCHSTONE      It is meat and drink to me to see a clown: by my
        troth, we that have good wits have much to answer
        for; we shall be flouting; we cannot hold.

        [Enter WILLIAM]

WILLIAM Good even, Audrey.

AUDREY  God ye good even, William.

WILLIAM And good even to you, sir.

TOUCHSTONE      Good even, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover thy
        head; nay, prithee, be covered. How old are you, friend?

WILLIAM Five and twenty, sir.

TOUCHSTONE      A ripe age. Is thy name William?

WILLIAM William, sir.

TOUCHSTONE      A fair name. Wast born i' the forest here?

WILLIAM Ay, sir, I thank God.

TOUCHSTONE      'Thank God;' a good answer. Art rich?

WILLIAM Faith, sir, so so.

TOUCHSTONE      'So so' is good, very good, very excellent good; and
        yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thou wise?

WILLIAM Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit.

TOUCHSTONE      Why, thou sayest well. I do now remember a saying,
        'The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man
        knows himself to be a fool.' The heathen
        philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a grape,
        would open his lips when he put it into his mouth;
        meaning thereby that grapes were made to eat and
        lips to open. You do love this maid?

WILLIAM I do, sir.

TOUCHSTONE      Give me your hand. Art thou learned?

WILLIAM No, sir.

TOUCHSTONE      Then learn this of me: to have, is to have; for it
        is a figure in rhetoric that drink, being poured out
        of a cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty
        the other; for all your writers do consent that ipse
        is he: now, you are not ipse, for I am he.

WILLIAM Which he, sir?

TOUCHSTONE      He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, you
        clown, abandon,--which is in the vulgar leave,--the
        society,--which in the boorish is company,--of this
        female,--which in the common is woman; which
        together is, abandon the society of this female, or,
        clown, thou perishest; or, to thy better
        understanding, diest; or, to wit I kill thee, make
        thee away, translate thy life into death, thy
        liberty into bondage: I will deal in poison with
        thee, or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy
        with thee in faction; I will o'errun thee with
        policy; I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways:
        therefore tremble and depart.

AUDREY  Do, good William.

WILLIAM God rest you merry, sir.

        [Exit]

        [Enter CORIN]

CORIN   Our master and mistress seeks you; come, away, away!

TOUCHSTONE      Trip, Audrey! trip, Audrey! I attend, I attend.

        [Exeunt]




        AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT V



SCENE II        The forest.


        [Enter ORLANDO and OLIVER]

ORLANDO Is't possible that on so little acquaintance you
        should like her? that but seeing you should love
        her? and loving woo? and, wooing, she should
        grant? and will you persever to enjoy her?

OLIVER  Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the
        poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden
        wooing, nor her sudden consenting; but say with me,
        I love Aliena; say with her that she loves me;
        consent with both that we may enjoy each other: it
        shall be to your good; for my father's house and all
        the revenue that was old Sir Rowland's will I
        estate upon you, and here live and die a shepherd.

ORLANDO You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow:
        thither will I invite the duke and all's contented
        followers. Go you and prepare Aliena; for look
        you, here comes my Rosalind.

        [Enter ROSALIND]

ROSALIND        God save you, brother.

OLIVER  And you, fair sister.

        [Exit]

ROSALIND        O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee
        wear thy heart in a scarf!

ORLANDO It is my arm.

ROSALIND        I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws
        of a lion.

ORLANDO Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady.

ROSALIND        Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to
        swoon when he showed me your handkerchief?

ORLANDO Ay, and greater wonders than that.

ROSALIND        O, I know where you are: nay, 'tis true: there was
        never any thing so sudden but the fight of two rams
        and Caesar's thrasonical brag of 'I came, saw, and
        overcame:' for your brother and my sister no sooner
        met but they looked, no sooner looked but they
        loved, no sooner loved but they sighed, no sooner
        sighed but they asked one another the reason, no
        sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy;
        and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs
        to marriage which they will climb incontinent, or
        else be incontinent before marriage: they are in
        the very wrath of love and they will together; clubs
        cannot part them.

ORLANDO They shall be married to-morrow, and I will bid the
        duke to the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a thing it
        is to look into happiness through another man's
        eyes! By so much the more shall I to-morrow be at
        the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I shall
        think my brother happy in having what he wishes for.

ROSALIND        Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind?

ORLANDO I can live no longer by thinking.

ROSALIND        I will weary you then no longer with idle talking.
        Know of me then, for now I speak to some purpose,
        that I know you are a gentleman of good conceit: I
        speak not this that you should bear a good opinion
        of my knowledge, insomuch I say I know you are;
        neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may in
        some little measure draw a belief from you, to do
        yourself good and not to grace me. Believe then, if
        you please, that I can do strange things: I have,
        since I was three year old, conversed with a
        magician, most profound in his art and yet not
        damnable. If you do love Rosalind so near the heart
        as your gesture cries it out, when your brother
        marries Aliena, shall you marry her: I know into
        what straits of fortune she is driven; and it is
        not impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient
        to you, to set her before your eyes tomorrow human
        as she is and without any danger.

ORLANDO Speakest thou in sober meanings?

ROSALIND        By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, though I
        say I am a magician. Therefore, put you in your
        best array: bid your friends; for if you will be
        married to-morrow, you shall, and to Rosalind, if you will.

        [Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE]

        Look, here comes a lover of mine and a lover of hers.

PHEBE   Youth, you have done me much ungentleness,
        To show the letter that I writ to you.

ROSALIND        I care not if I have: it is my study
        To seem despiteful and ungentle to you:
        You are there followed by a faithful shepherd;
        Look upon him, love him; he worships you.

PHEBE   Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love.

SILVIUS It is to be all made of sighs and tears;
        And so am I for Phebe.

PHEBE   And I for Ganymede.

ORLANDO And I for Rosalind.

ROSALIND        And I for no woman.

SILVIUS It is to be all made of faith and service;
        And so am I for Phebe.

PHEBE   And I for Ganymede.

ORLANDO And I for Rosalind.

ROSALIND        And I for no woman.

SILVIUS It is to be all made of fantasy,
        All made of passion and all made of wishes,
        All adoration, duty, and observance,
        All humbleness, all patience and impatience,
        All purity, all trial, all observance;
        And so am I for Phebe.

PHEBE   And so am I for Ganymede.

ORLANDO And so am I for Rosalind.

ROSALIND        And so am I for no woman.

PHEBE   If this be so, why blame you me to love you?

SILVIUS If this be so, why blame you me to love you?

ORLANDO If this be so, why blame you me to love you?

ROSALIND        Who do you speak to, 'Why blame you me to love you?'

ORLANDO To her that is not here, nor doth not hear.

ROSALIND        Pray you, no more of this; 'tis like the howling
        of Irish wolves against the moon.

        [To SILVIUS]

        I will help you, if I can:

        [To PHEBE]

        I would love you, if I could. To-morrow meet me all together.

        [To PHEBE]

        I will marry you, if ever I marry woman, and I'll be
        married to-morrow:

        [To ORLANDO]

        I will satisfy you, if ever I satisfied man, and you
        shall be married to-morrow:

        [To SILVIUS]

        I will content you, if what pleases you contents
        you, and you shall be married to-morrow.

        [To ORLANDO]

        As you love Rosalind, meet:

        [To SILVIUS]

        as you love Phebe, meet: and as I love no woman,
        I'll meet. So fare you well: I have left you commands.

SILVIUS I'll not fail, if I live.

PHEBE   Nor I.

ORLANDO Nor I.

        [Exeunt]




        AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT V



SCENE III       The forest.


        [Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]

TOUCHSTONE      To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey; to-morrow will
        we be married.

AUDREY  I do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is
        no dishonest desire to desire to be a woman of the
        world. Here comes two of the banished duke's pages.

        [Enter two Pages]

First Page      Well met, honest gentleman.

TOUCHSTONE      By my troth, well met. Come, sit, sit, and a song.

Second Page     We are for you: sit i' the middle.

First Page      Shall we clap into't roundly, without hawking or
        spitting or saying we are hoarse, which are the only
        prologues to a bad voice?

Second Page     I'faith, i'faith; and both in a tune, like two
        gipsies on a horse.
        
        SONG.
        It was a lover and his lass,
        With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
        That o'er the green corn-field did pass
        In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
        When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding:
        Sweet lovers love the spring.

        Between the acres of the rye,
        With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino
        These pretty country folks would lie,
        In spring time, &c.

        This carol they began that hour,
        With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
        How that a life was but a flower
        In spring time, &c.

        And therefore take the present time,
        With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino;
        For love is crowned with the prime
        In spring time, &c.

TOUCHSTONE      Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no great
        matter in the ditty, yet the note was very
        untuneable.

First Page      You are deceived, sir: we kept time, we lost not our time.

TOUCHSTONE      By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear
        such a foolish song. God be wi' you; and God mend
        your voices! Come, Audrey.

        [Exeunt]




        AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT V



SCENE IV        The forest.


        [Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, JAQUES, ORLANDO, OLIVER,
        and CELIA]

DUKE SENIOR     Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy
        Can do all this that he hath promised?

ORLANDO I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not;
        As those that fear they hope, and know they fear.

        [Enter ROSALIND, SILVIUS, and PHEBE]

ROSALIND        Patience once more, whiles our compact is urged:
        You say, if I bring in your Rosalind,
        You will bestow her on Orlando here?

DUKE SENIOR     That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her.

ROSALIND        And you say, you will have her, when I bring her?

ORLANDO That would I, were I of all kingdoms king.

ROSALIND        You say, you'll marry me, if I be willing?

PHEBE   That will I, should I die the hour after.

ROSALIND        But if you do refuse to marry me,
        You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd?

PHEBE   So is the bargain.

ROSALIND        You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she will?

SILVIUS Though to have her and death were both one thing.

ROSALIND        I have promised to make all this matter even.
        Keep you your word, O duke, to give your daughter;
        You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter:
        Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me,
        Or else refusing me, to wed this shepherd:
        Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her.
        If she refuse me: and from hence I go,
        To make these doubts all even.

        [Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA]

DUKE SENIOR     I do remember in this shepherd boy
        Some lively touches of my daughter's favour.

ORLANDO My lord, the first time that I ever saw him
        Methought he was a brother to your daughter:
        But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born,
        And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments
        Of many desperate studies by his uncle,
        Whom he reports to be a great magician,
        Obscured in the circle of this forest.

        [Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]

JAQUES  There is, sure, another flood toward, and these
        couples are coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of
        very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools.

TOUCHSTONE      Salutation and greeting to you all!

JAQUES  Good my lord, bid him welcome: this is the
        motley-minded gentleman that I have so often met in
        the forest: he hath been a courtier, he swears.

TOUCHSTONE      If any man doubt that, let him put me to my
        purgation. I have trod a measure; I have flattered
        a lady; I have been politic with my friend, smooth
        with mine enemy; I have undone three tailors; I have
        had four quarrels, and like to have fought one.

JAQUES  And how was that ta'en up?

TOUCHSTONE      Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the
        seventh cause.

JAQUES  How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this fellow.

DUKE SENIOR     I like him very well.

TOUCHSTONE      God 'ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I
        press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country
        copulatives, to swear and to forswear: according as
        marriage binds and blood breaks: a poor virgin,
        sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own; a poor
        humour of mine, sir, to take that that no man else
        will: rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a
        poor house; as your pearl in your foul oyster.

DUKE SENIOR     By my faith, he is very swift and sententious.

TOUCHSTONE      According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such dulcet diseases.

JAQUES  But, for the seventh cause; how did you find the
        quarrel on the seventh cause?

TOUCHSTONE      Upon a lie seven times removed:--bear your body more
        seeming, Audrey:--as thus, sir. I did dislike the
        cut of a certain courtier's beard: he sent me word,
        if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the
        mind it was: this is called the Retort Courteous.
        If I sent him word again 'it was not well cut,' he
        would send me word, he cut it to please himself:
        this is called the Quip Modest. If again 'it was
        not well cut,' he disabled my judgment: this is
        called the Reply Churlish. If again 'it was not
        well cut,' he would answer, I spake not true: this
        is called the Reproof Valiant. If again 'it was not
        well cut,' he would say I lied: this is called the
        Counter-cheque Quarrelsome: and so to the Lie
        Circumstantial and the Lie Direct.

JAQUES  And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut?

TOUCHSTONE      I durst go no further than the Lie Circumstantial,
        nor he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we
        measured swords and parted.

JAQUES  Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie?

TOUCHSTONE      O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book; as you have
        books for good manners: I will name you the degrees.
        The first, the Retort Courteous; the second, the
        Quip Modest; the third, the Reply Churlish; the
        fourth, the Reproof Valiant; the fifth, the
        Countercheque Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with
        Circumstance; the seventh, the Lie Direct. All
        these you may avoid but the Lie Direct; and you may
        avoid that too, with an If. I knew when seven
        justices could not take up a quarrel, but when the
        parties were met themselves, one of them thought but
        of an If, as, 'If you said so, then I said so;' and
        they shook hands and swore brothers. Your If is the
        only peacemaker; much virtue in If.

JAQUES  Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's as good at
        any thing and yet a fool.

DUKE SENIOR     He uses his folly like a stalking-horse and under
        the presentation of that he shoots his wit.

        [Enter HYMEN, ROSALIND, and CELIA]

        [Still Music]

HYMEN           Then is there mirth in heaven,
        When earthly things made even
        Atone together.
        Good duke, receive thy daughter
        Hymen from heaven brought her,
        Yea, brought her hither,
        That thou mightst join her hand with his
        Whose heart within his bosom is.

ROSALIND        [To DUKE SENIOR]  To you I give myself, for I am yours.

        [To ORLANDO]

        To you I give myself, for I am yours.

DUKE SENIOR     If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter.

ORLANDO If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind.

PHEBE   If sight and shape be true,
        Why then, my love adieu!

ROSALIND        I'll have no father, if you be not he:
        I'll have no husband, if you be not he:
        Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she.

HYMEN           Peace, ho! I bar confusion:
        'Tis I must make conclusion
        Of these most strange events:
        Here's eight that must take hands
        To join in Hymen's bands,
        If truth holds true contents.
        You and you no cross shall part:
        You and you are heart in heart
        You to his love must accord,
        Or have a woman to your lord:
        You and you are sure together,
        As the winter to foul weather.
        Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing,
        Feed yourselves with questioning;
        That reason wonder may diminish,
        How thus we met, and these things finish.
        
        SONG.
        Wedding is great Juno's crown:
        O blessed bond of board and bed!
        'Tis Hymen peoples every town;
        High wedlock then be honoured:
        Honour, high honour and renown,
        To Hymen, god of every town!

DUKE SENIOR     O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me!
        Even daughter, welcome, in no less degree.

PHEBE   I will not eat my word, now thou art mine;
        Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine.

        [Enter JAQUES DE BOYS]

JAQUES DE BOYS  Let me have audience for a word or two:
        I am the second son of old Sir Rowland,
        That bring these tidings to this fair assembly.
        Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day
        Men of great worth resorted to this forest,
        Address'd a mighty power; which were on foot,
        In his own conduct, purposely to take
        His brother here and put him to the sword:
        And to the skirts of this wild wood he came;
        Where meeting with an old religious man,
        After some question with him, was converted
        Both from his enterprise and from the world,
        His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother,
        And all their lands restored to them again
        That were with him exiled. This to be true,
        I do engage my life.

DUKE SENIOR     Welcome, young man;
        Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding:
        To one his lands withheld, and to the other
        A land itself at large, a potent dukedom.
        First, in this forest, let us do those ends
        That here were well begun and well begot:
        And after, every of this happy number
        That have endured shrewd days and nights with us
        Shall share the good of our returned fortune,
        According to the measure of their states.
        Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity
        And fall into our rustic revelry.
        Play, music! And you, brides and bridegrooms all,
        With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall.

JAQUES  Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly,
        The duke hath put on a religious life
        And thrown into neglect the pompous court?

JAQUES DE BOYS  He hath.

JAQUES  To him will I : out of these convertites
        There is much matter to be heard and learn'd.

        [To DUKE SENIOR]

        You to your former honour I bequeath;
        Your patience and your virtue well deserves it:

        [To ORLANDO]

        You to a love that your true faith doth merit:

        [To OLIVER]

        You to your land and love and great allies:

        [To SILVIUS]

        You to a long and well-deserved bed:

        [To TOUCHSTONE]

        And you to wrangling; for thy loving voyage
        Is but for two months victuall'd. So, to your pleasures:
        I am for other than for dancing measures.

DUKE SENIOR     Stay, Jaques, stay.

JAQUES  To see no pastime I     what you would have
        I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave.

        [Exit]

DUKE SENIOR     Proceed, proceed: we will begin these rites,
        As we do trust they'll end, in true delights.

        [A dance]




        AS YOU LIKE IT

        EPILOGUE


ROSALIND        It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue;
        but it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord
        the prologue. If it be true that good wine needs
        no bush, 'tis true that a good play needs no
        epilogue; yet to good wine they do use good bushes,
        and good plays prove the better by the help of good
        epilogues. What a case am I in then, that am
        neither a good epilogue nor cannot insinuate with
        you in the behalf of a good play! I am not
        furnished like a beggar, therefore to beg will not
        become me: my way is to conjure you; and I'll begin
        with the women. I charge you, O women, for the love
        you bear to men, to like as much of this play as
        please you: and I charge you, O men, for the love
        you bear to women--as I perceive by your simpering,
        none of you hates them--that between you and the
        women the play may please. If I were a woman I
        would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased
        me, complexions that liked me and breaths that I
        defied not: and, I am sure, as many as have good
        beards or good faces or sweet breaths will, for my
        kind offer, when I make curtsy, bid me farewell.

        [Exeunt]