As you Like it. Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616 University of Oxford Text Archive
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ota@oucs.ox.ac.uk http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/5700 1106026993 9781106026996 Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License Revised version of The texts were originally prepared by Trevor Howard-Hill for use in his single volume concordances to Shakespeare (OUP, 1969f). They have since been reformatted to modern standards and carefully proofread by staff of Oxford University Press' Shakespeare Department for use in the new "Old Spelling" Oxford Shakespeare, under the general editorship of Dr Stanley Wells: The complete works / William Shakespeare; general editors, Stanley Wells and Gary Taylor ; editors Stanley Wells ... [et al.] ; with introductions by Stanley Wells. -- Oxford : Clarendon Press, 1986. -- (Oxford Shakespeare). -- ISBN 0-19-812926-2 As you Like it. Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616 Lee, Sidney, Sir, 1859-1926 xxxv, 908 p. : facsims. ; 39 cm. Clarendon Press Oxford 1902 "One thousand copies of this facsimile have been printed"--verso of half t.p. Facsim. reprint of ed. published, London : printed by Issac Iaggard and Ed.[ward] Blount, 1623 with original t.p.: Mr. William Shakespeares comedies, histories, & tragedies Original colophon reads: Printed at the charges of W.[illiam] Iaggard, Ed.[ward] Blount, I.[ohn] Smithweeke [i.e. Smethwick], and W.[illiam] Aspley, 1623 Contents: The tempest. The two gentlemen of Verona. The merry wives of Windsor. Measvre, for measure. The comedie of errors. Much adoe about nothing. Loues labour's lost. A midsommer nights dreame. The merchant of Venice. As you like it. The taming of the shrew. All's well, that ends well. Twelfe night, or what you will. The winters tale. The life and death of King Iohn. The life and death of King Richard the second. The first part of Henry the fourth. The second part of Henry the fourth. The life of Henry the fift. The first part of Henry the sixt. The second part of Henry the sixt. The third part of Henry the sixt. The tragedy of Richard the third. The famous history of the life of King Henry the eight. The tragedie of Troylus and Cressida. The tragedy of Coriolanvs. The lamentable tragedy of Titus Andronicus. The tragedie of Romeo and Ivliet. The life of Tymon of Athens. The tragedie of Ivlivs Caesar. The tragedie of Macbeth. The tragedie of Hamlet, Prince of Denmarke. The tragedie of King Lear. The tragedie of Othello, the moore of Venice. The tragedie of Anthonie, and Cleopatra. The tragedie of Cymbeline Lower case y with smaller lower case u above Abbreviation for thou in Elizabethan typesetting entity ythou Lower case y with smaller lower case e above Abbreviation for the in Elizabethan typesetting entity ythe Lower case y with smaller lower case t above Abbreviation for that in Elizabethan typesetting entity ythat Lower case w with smaller lower case c above Abbreviation for which in Elizabethan typesetting entity wwhich University of Oxford Text Archive Subject Headings Library of Congress Subject Headings English Plays -- England -- 16th century Plays -- England -- 17th century Comedies -- England -- 16th century Comedies -- England -- 17th century Tragedies -- England -- 16th century Tragedies -- England -- 17th century Header normalised As you Like it.
Actus primus. Scoena Prima. Enter Orlando and Adam. Orlando. As I remember Adam, it was vpon this fashionbequeathed me by will, but poore a thousandCrownes, and as thou saist, charged my bro-ther on his blessing to breed mee well: andthere begins my sadnesse: My brother Iaques he keepesat schoole, and report speakes goldenly of his profit:for my part, he keepes me rustically at home, or (to speakmore properly) staies me heere at home vnkept: for callyou that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that dif-fers not from the stalling of an Oxe? his horses are bredbetter, for besides that they are faire with their feeding,they are taught their mannage, and to that end Ridersdeerely hir'd: but I (his brother) gaine nothing vnderhim but growth, for the which his Animals on hisdunghils are as much bound to him as I: besides this no-thing that he so plentifully giues me, the something thatnature gaue mee, his countenance seemes to take fromme: hee lets mee feede with his Hindes, barres mee theplace of a brother, and as much as in him lies, mines mygentility with my education. This is it Adam thatgrieues me, and the spirit of my Father, which I thinkeis within mee, begins to mutinie against this seruitude.I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wiseremedy how to auoid it. Enter Oliuer. Adam. Yonder comes my Master, your brother. Orlan. Goe a-part Adam, and thou shalt heare howhe will shake me vp. Oli. Now Sir, what make you heere? Orl. Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing. Oli. What mar you then sir? Orl. Marry sir, I am helping you to mar that whichGod made, a poore vnworthy brother of yours withidlenesse. Oliuer. Marry sir be better employed, and be naught a while. Orlan. Shall I keepe your hogs, and eat huskes withthem? what prodigall portion haue I spent, that I shouldcome to such penury? Oli. Know you where you are sir? Orl. O sir, very well: heere in your Orchard. Oli. Know you before whom sir? Orl. I, better then him I am before knowes mee: Iknow you are my eldest brother, and in the gentle con-dition of bloud you should so know me: the courtesie ofnations allowes you my better, in that you are the firstborne, but the same tradition takes not away my bloud,were there twenty brothers betwixt vs: I haue as muchof my father in mee, as you, albeit I confesse your com-ming before me is neerer to his reuerence. Oli. What Boy. Orl. Come, come elder brother, you are too yong in this. Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me villaine? Orl. I am no villaine: I am the yongest sonne of Sir Rowland de Boys, he was my father, and he is thrice a vil-laine that saies such a father begot villaines: wert thounot my brother, I would not take this hand from thythroat, till this other had puld out thy tongue for sayingso, thou hast raild on thy selfe. Adam. Sweet Masters bee patient, for your Fathersremembrance, be at accord. Oli. Let me goe I say. Orl. I will not till I please: you shall heare mee: myfather charg'd you in his will to giue me good educati-on: you haue train'd me like a pezant, obscuring andhiding from me all gentleman-like qualities: the spiritof my father growes strong in mee, and I will no longerendure it: therefore allow me such exercises as may be-come a gentleman, or giue mee the poore allottery myfather left me by testament, with that I will goe buy myfortunes. Oli. And what wilt thou do? beg when that is spent?Well sir, get you in. I will not long be troubled withyou: you shall haue some part of your will, I pray youleaue me. Orl. I will no further offend you, then becomes meefor my good. Oli. Get you with him, you olde dogge. Adam. Is old dogge my reward: most true, I hauelost my teeth in your seruice: God be with my olde ma-ster, he would not haue spoke such a word. Ex. Orl. Ad. Oli. Is it euen so, begin you to grow vpon me? I willphysicke your ranckenesse, and yet giue no thousandcrownes neyther: holla Dennis. Enter Dennis. Den. Calls your worship? Oli. Was not Charles the Dukes Wrastler heere tospeake with me? Den. So please you, he is heere at the doore, and im-portunes accesse to you. Oli. Call him in: 'twill be a good way: and to mor-row the wrastling is. Enter Charles. Cha. Good morrow to your worship. Oli. Good Mounsier Charles: what's the new newesat the new Court? Charles. There's no newes at the Court Sir, but theolde newes: that is, the old Duke is banished by his yon-ger brother the new Duke, and three or foure louing Lords haue put themselues into voluntary exile withhim, whose lands and reuenues enrich the new Duke,therefore he giues them good leaue to wander. Oli. Can you tell if Rosalind the Dukes daughter beebanished with her Father? Cha. O no; for the Dukes daughter her Cosen soloues her, being euer from their Cradles bred together,that hee would haue followed her exile, or haue died tostay behind her; she is at the Court, and no lesse belouedof her Vncle, then his owne daughter, and neuer two La-dies loued as they doe. Oli. Where will the old Duke liue? Cha. They say hee is already in the Forrest of Arden, and a many merry men with him; and there they liuelike the old Robin Hood of England: they say many yongGentlemen flocke to him euery day, and fleet the timecarelesly as they did in the golden world. Oli. What, you wrastle to morrow before the newDuke. Cha. Marry doe I sir: and I came to acquaint youwith a matter: I am giuen sir secretly to vnderstand, thatyour yonger brother Orlando hath a disposition to comein disguis'd against mee to try a fall: to morrow sir Iwrastle for my credit, and hee that escapes me withoutsome broken limbe, shall acquit him well: your brotheris but young and tender, and for your loue I would beeloth to foyle him, as I must for my owne honour if heecome in: therefore out of my loue to you, I came hitherto acquaint you withall, that either you might stay himfrom his intendment, or brooke such disgrace well as heshall runne into, in that it is a thing of his owne search,and altogether against my will. Oli. Charles , I thanke thee for thy loue to me, whichthou shalt finde I will most kindly requite: I had myselfe notice of my Brothers purpose heerein, and haue byvnder-hand meanes laboured to disswade him from it;but he is resolute. Ile tell thee Charles, it is the stubbor-nest yong fellow of France, full of ambition, an enuiousemulator of euery mans good parts, a secret & villanouscontriuer against mee his naturall brother: therefore vsethy discretion, I had as liefe thou didst breake his neckeas his finger. And thou wert best looke to't; for if thoudost him any slight disgrace, or if hee doe not mightiliegrace himselfe on thee, hee will practise against thee bypoyson, entrap thee by some treacherous deuise, and ne-uer leaue thee till he hath tane thy life by some indirectmeanes or other: for I assure thee, (and almost withteares I speake it) there is not one so young, and so vil-lanous this day liuing. I speake but brotherly of him,but should I anathomize him to thee, as hee is, I mustblush, and weepe, and thou must looke pale andwonder. Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to you: if heecome to morrow, Ile giue him his payment: if euer heegoe alone againe, Ile neuer wrastle for prize more: andso God keepe your worship. Exit. Farewell good Charles. Now will I stirre this Game-ster: I hope I shall see an end of him; for my soule (yetI know not why) hates nothing more then he: yet hee'sgentle, neuer school'd, and yet learned, full of nobledeuise, of all sorts enchantingly beloued, and indeedso much in the heart of the world, and especially of myowne people, who best know him, that I am altogethermisprised: but it shall not be so long, this wrastler shallcleare all: nothing remaines, but that I kindle the boythither, which now Ile goe about. Exit.
Scoena Secunda. Enter Rosalind, and Cellia. Cel. I pray thee Rosalind, sweet my Coz, be merry. Ros. Deere Cellia; I show more mirth then I am mi-stresse of, and would you yet were merrier: vnlesse youcould teach me to forget a banished father, you must notlearne mee how to remember any extraordinary plea-sure. Cel. Heerein I see thou lou'st mee not with the fullwaight that I loue thee; if my Vncle thy banished fatherhad banished thy Vncle the Duke my Father, so thouhadst beene still with mee, I could haue taught my loueto take thy father for mine; so wouldst thou, if the truthof thy loue to me were so righteously temper'd, as mineis to thee. Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate,to reioyce in yours. Cel. You know my Father hath no childe, but I, nornone is like to haue; and truely when he dies, thou shaltbe his heire; for what hee hath taken away from thy fa-ther perforce, I will render thee againe in affection: bymine honor I will, and when I breake that oath, let meeturne monster: therefore my sweet Rose, my deare Rose, be merry. Ros. From henceforth I will Coz, and deuise sports:let me see, what thinke you of falling in Loue? Cel. Marry I prethee doe, to make sport withall: butloue no man in good earnest, nor no further in sport ney-ther, then with safety of a pure blush, thou maist in ho-nor come off againe. Ros. What shall be our sport then? Cel. Let vs sit and mocke the good houswife For-tune from her wheele, that her gifts may henceforth beebestowed equally. Ros. I would wee could doe so: for her benefits aremightily misplaced, and the bountifull blinde womandoth most mistake in her gifts to women. Cel. 'Tis true, for those that she makes faire, she scarcemakes honest, & those that she makes honest, she makesvery illfauouredly. Ros. Nay now thou goest from Fortunes office to Na-tures: Fortune reignes in gifts of the world, not in thelineaments of Nature. Enter Clowne. Cel. No; when Nature hath made a faire creature,may she not by Fortune fall into the fire? though naturehath giuen vs wit to flout at Fortune, hath not Fortunesent in this foole to cut off the argument? Ros. Indeed there is fortune too hard for nature, whenfortune makes natures naturall, the cutter off of natureswitte. Cel. Peraduenture this is not Fortunes work neither,but Natures, who perceiueth our naturall wits too dullto reason of such goddesses, hath sent this Naturall forour whetstone: for alwaies the dulnesse of the foole, isthe whetstone of the wits. How now Witte, whetherwander you? Clow. Mistresse, you must come away to your father. Cel. Were you made the messenger? Clo. No by mine honor, but I was bid to come for you Ros. Where learned you that oath foole? Clo. Of a certaine Knight, that swore by his Honourthey were good Pan-cakes, and swore by his Honor theMustard was naught: Now Ile stand to it, the Pancakeswere naught, and the Mustard was good, and yet wasnot the Knight forsworne. Cel. How proue you that in the great heape of yourknowledge? Ros. I marry, now vnmuzzle your wisedome. Clo. Stand you both forth now: stroke your chinnes,and sweare by your beards that I am a knaue. Cel. By our beards (if we had them) thou art. Clo. By my knauerie (if I had it) then I were: but ifyou sweare by that that is not, you are not forsworn: nomore was this knight swearing by his Honor, for he ne-uer had anie; or if he had, he had sworne it away, beforeeuer he saw those Pancakes, or that Mustard. Cel. Prethee, who is't that thou means't? Clo. One that old Fredericke your Father loues. Ros. My Fathers loue is enough to honor him enough;speake no more of him, you'l be whipt for taxation oneof these daies. Clo. The more pittie that fooles may not speak wise-ly, what Wisemen do foolishly. Cel. By my troth thou saiest true: For, since the littlewit that fooles haue was silenced, the little foolerie thatwise men haue makes a great shew; Heere comes Mon-sieur the Beu. Enter le Beau. Ros. With his mouth full of newes. Cel. Which he will put on vs, as Pigeons feed theiryoung. Ros. Then shal we be newes-cram'd. Cel. All the better: we shalbe the more Marketable. Boon-iour Monsieur le Beu, what's the newes? Le Beu. Faire Princesse,you haue lost much good sport. Cel. Sport: of what colour? Le Beu. What colour Madame? How shall I aun-swer you? Ros. As wit and fortune will. Clo. Or as the destinies decrees. Cel. Well said, that was laid on with a trowell. Clo. Nay, if I keepe not my ranke. Ros. Thou loosest thy old smell. Le Beu. You amaze me Ladies: I would haue toldyou of good wrastling, which you haue lost the sight of. Ros. Yet tell vs the manner of the Wrastling. Le Beu. I wil tell you the beginning: and if it pleaseyour Ladiships, you may see the end, for the best is yetto doe, and heere where you are, they are comming toperforme it. Cel. Well, the beginning that is dead and buried. Le Beu. There comes an old man, and his three sons. Cel. I could match this beginning with an old tale. Le Beu. Three proper yong men, of excellent growthand presence. Ros. With bils on their neckes: Be it knowne vntoall men by these presents. Le Beu. The eldest of the three, wrastled with Charles the Dukes Wrastler, which Charles in a moment threwhim, and broke three of his ribbes, that there is littlehope of life in him: So he seru'd the second, and so thethird: yonder they lie, the poore old man their Father,making such pittiful dole ouer them, that all the behol-ders take his part with weeping. Ros. Alas. Clo. But what is the sport Monsieur, that the Ladieshaue lost? Le Beu. Why this that I speake of. Clo. Thus men may grow wiser euery day. It is thefirst time that euer I heard breaking of ribbes was sportfor Ladies. Cel. Or I, I promise thee. Ros. But is there any else longs to see this brokenMusicke in his sides? Is there yet another doates vponrib-breaking? Shall we see this wrastling Cosin? Le Beu. You must if you stay heere, for heere is theplace appointed for the wrastling, and they are ready toperforme it. Cel. Yonder sure they are comming. Let vs now stayand see it. Flourish. Enter Duke, Lords, Orlando, Charles,and Attendants. Duke. Come on, since the youth will not be intreatedHis owne perill on his forwardnesse. Ros. Is yonder the man? Le Beu. Euen he, Madam. Cel. Alas, he is too yong: yet he looks successefully Du. How now daughter, and Cousin:Are you crept hither to see the wrastling? Ros. I my Liege, so please you giue vs leaue. Du. You wil take little delight in it, I can tell youthere is such oddes in the man: In pitie of the challen-gers youth, I would faine disswade him, but he will notbee entreated. Speake to him Ladies, see if you canmooue him. Cel. Call him hether good Monsieuer Le Beu. Duke. Do so: Ile not be by. Le Beu. Monsieur the Challenger, the Princesse calsfor you. Orl. I attend them with all respect and dutie. Ros. Young man, haue you challeng'd Charles theWrastler? Orl. No faire Princesse: he is the generall challenger,I come but in as others do, to try with him the strengthof my youth. Cel. Yong Gentleman, your spirits are too bold foryour yeares: you haue seene cruell proofe of this mansstrength, if you saw your selfe with your eies, or knewyour selfe with your iudgment, the feare of your aduen-ture would counsel you to a more equall enterprise. Wepray you for your owne sake to embrace your own safe-tie, and giue ouer this attempt. Ros. Do yong Sir, your reputation shall not thereforebe misprised: we wil make it our suite to the Duke, thatthe wrastling might not go forward. Orl. I beseech you, punish mee not with your hardethoughts, wherein I confesse me much guiltie to denieso faire and excellent Ladies anie thing. But let yourfaire eies, and gentle wishes go with mee to my triall;wherein if I bee foil'd, there is but one sham'd that wasneuer gracious: if kil'd, but one dead that is willing tobe so: I shall do my friends no wrong, for I haue none tolament me: the world no iniurie, for in it I haue nothing:onely in the world I fil vp a place, which may bee bettersupplied, when I haue made it emptie. Ros. The little strength that I haue, I would it werewith you. Cel. And mine to eeke out hers. Ros. Fare you well: praie heauen I be deceiu'd in you. Cel. Your hearts desires be with you. Char. Come, where is this yong gallant, that is sodesirous to lie with his mother earth? Orl. Readie Sir, but his will hath in it a more modestworking. Duk. You shall trie but one fall. Cha. No, I warrant your Grace you shall not entreathim to a second, that haue so mightilie perswaded himfrom a first. Orl. You meane to mocke me after: you should nothaue mockt me before: but come your waies. Ros. Now Hercules, be thy speede yong man. Cel. I would I were inuisible, to catch the strong fel-low by the legge. Wrastle. Ros. Oh excellent yong man. Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eie, I can tell whoshould downe. Shout. Duk. No more, no more. Orl. Yes I beseech your Grace, I am not yet wellbreath'd. Duk. How do'st thou Charles? Le Beu. He cannot speake my Lord. Duk. Beare him awaie:What is thy name yong man? Orl. Orlando my Liege, the yongest sonne of Sir Ro-land de Boys. Duk. I would thou hadst beene son to some man else,The world esteem'd thy father honourable,But I did finde him still mine enemie:Thou should'st haue better pleas'd me with this deede,Hadst thou descended from another house:But fare thee well, thou art a gallant youth,I would thou had'st told me of another Father. Exit Duke. Cel. Were I my Father (Coze) would I do this? Orl. I am more proud to be Sir Rolands sonne,His yongest sonne, and would not change that callingTo be adopted heire to Fredricke. Ros. My Father lou'd Sir Roland as his soule,And all the world was of my Fathers minde,Had I before knowne this yong man his sonne,I should haue giuen him teares vnto entreaties,Ere he should thus haue ventur'd. Cel. Gentle Cosen,Let vs goe thanke him, and encourage him:My Fathers rough and enuious dispositionSticks me at heart: Sir, you haue well deseru'd,If you doe keepe your promises in loue;But iustly as you haue exceeded all promise,Your Mistris shall be happie. Ros. Gentleman,Weare this for me: one out of suites with fortuneThat could giue more, but that her hand lacks meanes.Shall we goe Coze? Cel. I: fare you well faire Gentleman. Orl. Can I not say, I thanke you? My better partsAre all throwne downe, and that which here stands vpIs but a quintine, a meere liuelesse blocke. Ros. He cals vs back: my pride fell with my fortunes,Ile aske him what he would: Did you call Sir?Sir, you haue wrastled well, and ouerthrowneMore then your enemies. Cel. Will you goe Coze? Ros. Haue with you: fare you well. Exit. Orl. What passion hangs these waights vpo[n] my toong?I cannot speake to her, yet she vrg'd conference. Enter Le Beu. O poore Orlando! thou art ouerthrowneOr Charles, or something weaker masters thee. Le Beu. Good Sir, I do in friendship counsaile youTo leaue this place; Albeit you haue deseru'dHigh commendation, true applause, and loue;Yet such is now the Dukes condition,That he misconsters all that you haue done:The Duke is humorous, what he is indeedeMore suites you to conceiue, then I to speake of. Orl. I thanke you Sir; and pray you tell me this,Which of the two was daughter of the Duke,That here was at the Wrastling? Le Beu. Neither his daughter, if we iudge by manners,But yet indeede the taller is his daughter,The other is daughter to the banish'd Duke,And here detain'd by her vsurping VncleTo keepe his daughter companie, whose louesAre deerer then the naturall bond of Sisters:But I can tell you, that of late this DukeHath tane displeasure 'gainst his gentle Neece,Grounded vpon no other argument,But that the people praise her for her vertues,And pittie her, for her good Fathers sake;And on my life his malice 'gainst the LadyWill sodainly breake forth: Sir, fare you well,Hereafter in a better world then this,I shall desire more loue and knowledge of you. Orl. I rest much bounden to you: fare you well.Thus must I from the smoake into the smother,From tyrant Duke, vnto a tyrant Brother.But heauenly Rosaline. Exit
Scena Tertius. Enter Celia and Rosaline. Cel. Why Cosen, why Rosaline: Cupid haue mercie,Not a word? Ros. Not one to throw at a dog. Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast awayvpon curs, throw some of them at me; come lame meewith reasons. Ros. Then there were two Cosens laid vp, when theone should be lam'd with reasons, and the other madwithout any. Cel. But is all this for your Father? Ros. No, some of it is for my childes Father: Ohhow full of briers is this working day world. Cel. They are but burs, Cosen, throwne vpon theein holiday foolerie, if we walke not in the trodden pathsour very petty-coates will catch them. Ros. I could shake them off my coate, these burs arein my heart. Cel. Hem them away. Ros. I would try if I could cry hem, and haue him. Cel. Come, come, wrastle with thy affections. Ros. O they take the part of a better wrastler thenmy selfe. Cel. O, a good wish vpon you: you will trie in time in dispight of a fall: but turning these iests out of seruice,let vs talke in good earnest: Is it possible on such a so-daine, you should fall into so strong a liking with old Sir Roulands yongest sonne? Ros. The Duke my Father lou'd his Father deerelie. Cel. Doth it therefore ensue that you should loue hisSonne deerelie? By this kinde of chase, I should hatehim, for my father hated his father deerely; yet I hatenot Orlando. Ros. No faith, hate him not for my sake. Cel. Why should I not? doth he not deserue well? Enter Duke with Lords. Ros. Let me loue him for that, and do you loue himBecause I doe. Looke, here comes the Duke. Cel. With his eies full of anger. Duk. Mistris, dispatch you with your safest haste,And get you from our Court. Ros. Me Vncle. Duk. You Cosen,Within these ten daies if that thou beest foundSo neere our publike Court as twentie miles,Thou diest for it. Ros. I doe beseech your GraceLet me the knowledge of my fault beare with me:If with my selfe I hold intelligence,Or haue acquaintance with mine owne desires,If that I doe not dreame, or be not franticke,(As I doe trust I am not) then deere Vncle,Neuer so much as in a thought vnborne,Did I offend your highnesse. Duk. Thus doe all Traitors,If their purgation did consist in words,They are as innocent as grace it selfe;Let is suffice thee that I trust thee not. Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a Traitor;Tell me whereon the likelihoods depends? Duk. Thou art thy Fathers daughter, there's enough. Ros. So was I when your highnes took his Dukdome,So was I when your highnesse banisht him;Treason is not inherited my Lord,Or if we did deriue it from our friends,What's that to me, my Father was no Traitor,Then good my Leige, mistake me not so much,To thinke my pouertie is treacherous. Cel. Deere Soueraigne heare me speake. Duk. I Celia, we staid her for your sake,Else had she with her Father rang'd along. Cel. I did not then intreat to haue her stay,It was your pleasure, and your owne remorse,I was too yong that time to value her,But now I know her: if she be a Traitor,Why so am I: we still haue slept together,Rose at an instant, learn'd, plaid, eate together,And wheresoere we went, like Iunos Swans,Still we went coupled and inseperable. Duk. She is too subtile for thee, and her smoothnes;Her verie silence, and her patience,Speake to the people, and they pittie her:Thou art a foole, she robs thee of thy name,And thou wilt show more bright, & seem more vertuousWhen she is gone: then open not thy lipsFirme, and irreuocable is my doombe,Which I haue past vpon her, she is banish'd. Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me my Leige,I cannot liue out of her companie. Duk. You are a foole: you Neice prouide your selfe,If you out-stay the time, vpon mine honor,And in the greatnesse of my word you die. Exit Duke, &c. Cel. O my poore Rosaline, whether wilt thou goe?Wilt thou change Fathers? I will giue thee mine:I charge thee be not thou more grieu'd then I am. Ros. I haue more cause. Cel. Thou hast not Cosen,Prethee be cheerefull; know'st thou not the DukeHath banish'd me his daughter? Ros. That he hath not. Cel. No, hath not? Rosaline lacks then the loueWhich teacheth thee that thou and I am one,Shall we be sundred? shall we part sweete girle?No, let my Father seeke another heire:Therefore deuise with me how we may flieWhether to goe, and what to beare with vs,And doe not seeke to take your change vpon you,To beare your griefes your selfe, and leaue me out:For by this heauen, now at our sorrowes pale;Say what thou canst, Ile goe along with thee. Ros. Why, whether shall we goe? Cel. To seeke my Vncle in the Forrest of Arden. Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to vs,(Maides as we are) to trauell forth so farre?Beautie prouoketh theeues sooner then gold. Cel. Ile put my selfe in poore and meane attire,And with a kinde of vmber smirch my face,The like doe you, so shall we passe along,And neuer stir assailants. Ros. Were it not better,Because that I am more then common tall,That I did suite me all points like a man,A gallant curtelax vpon my thigh,A bore-speare in my hand, and in my heartLye there what hidden womans feare there will,Weele haue a swashing and a marshall outside,As manie other mannish cowards haue,That doe outface it with their semblances. Cel. What shall I call thee when thou art a man? Ros. Ile haue no worse a name then Ioues owne Page,And therefore looke you call me Ganimed. But what will you be call'd? Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state:No longer Celia, but Aliena. Ros. But Cosen, what if we assaid to stealeThe clownish Foole out of your Fathers Court:Would he not be a comfort to our trauaile? Cel. Heele goe along ore the wide world with me,Leaue me alone to woe him; Let's awayAnd get our Iewels and our wealth together,Deuise the fittest time, and safest wayTo hide vs from pursuite that will be madeAfter my flight: now goe in we contentTo libertie, and not to banishment. Exeunt.
Actus Secundus. Scoena Prima. Enter Duke Senior: Amyens, and two or three Lordslike Forresters. Duk.Sen. Now my Coe-mates, and brothers in exile:Hath not old custome made this life more sweete Then that of painted pompe? Are not these woodsMore free from perill then the enuious Court?Heere feele we not the penaltie of Adam, The seasons difference, as the Icie phangeAnd churlish chiding of the winters winde,Which when it bites and blowes vpon my bodyEuen till I shrinke with cold, I smile, and sayThis is no flattery: these are counsellorsThat feelingly perswade me what I am:Sweet are the vses of aduersitieWhich like the toad, ougly and venemous,Weares yet a precious Iewell in his head:And this our life exempt from publike haunt,Findes tongues in trees, bookes in the running brookes,Sermons in stones, and good in euery thing. Amien. I would not change it, happy is your GraceThat can translate the stubbornnesse of fortuneInto so quiet and so sweet a stile. Du.Sen. Come, shall we goe and kill vs venison?And yet it irkes me the poore dapled foolesBeing natiue Burgers of this desert City,Should in their owne confines with forked headsHaue their round hanches goard. 1.Lord. Indeed my LordThe melancholy Iaques grieues at that,And in that kinde sweares you doe more vsurpeThen doth your brother that hath banish'd you:To day my Lord of Amiens, and my selfe,Did steale behinde him as he lay alongVnder an oake, whose anticke roote peepes outVpon the brooke that brawles along this wood,To the which place a poore sequestred StagThat from the Hunters aime had tane a hurt,Did come to languish; and indeed my LordThe wretched annimall heau'd forth such groanesThat their discharge did stretch his leatherne coatAlmost to bursting, and the big round tearesCours'd one another downe his innocent noseIn pitteous chase: and thus the hairie foole,Much marked of the melancholie Iaques, Stood on th' extremest verge of the swift brooke,Augmenting it with teares. Du.Sen. But what said Iaques?Did he not moralize this spectacle? 1.Lord. O yes, into a thousand similies.First, for his weeping into the needlesse streame;Poore Deere quoth he, thou mak'st a testamentAs worldlings doe, giuing thy sum of moreTo that which had too much: then being there alone,Left and abandoned of his veluet friend;'Tis right quoth he, thus miserie doth partThe Fluxe of companie: anon a carelesse HeardFull of the pasture, iumps along by himAnd neuer staies to greet him: I quoth Iaques, Sweepe on you fat and greazie Citizens,'Tis iust the fashion; wherefore doe you lookeVpon that poore and broken bankrupt there?Thus most inuectiuely he pierceth throughThe body of Countrie, Citie, Court,Yea, and of this our life, swearing that weAre meere vsurpers, tyrants, and whats worseTo fright the Annimals, and to kill them vpIn their assign'd and natiue dwelling place. D.Sen. And did you leaue him in this contemplation? 2.Lord. We did my Lord, weeping and commentingVpon the sobbing Deere. Du.Sen. Show me the place,I loue to cope him in these sullen fits,For then he's full of matter. 1.Lor. Ile bring you to him strait. Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter Duke, with Lords. Duk. Can it be possible that no man saw them?It cannot be, some villaines of my CourtAre of consent and sufferance in this. 1.Lo. I cannot heare of any that did see her,The Ladies her attendants of her chamberSaw her a bed, and in the morning early,They found the bed vntreasur'd of their Mistris. 2.Lor. My Lord, the roynish Clown, at whom so oft,Your Grace was wont to laugh is also missing, Hisperia the Princesse GentlewomanConfesses that she secretly ore-heardYour daughter and her Cosen much commendThe parts and graces of the WrastlerThat did but lately foile the synowie Charles, And she beleeues where euer they are goneThat youth is surely in their companie. Duk. Send to his brother, fetch that gallant hither,If he be absent, bring his Brother to me,Ile make him finde him: do this sodainly;And let not search and inquisition quaile,To bring againe these foolish runawaies. Exeunt.
Scena Tertia. Enter Orlando and Adam. Orl. Who's there? Ad. What my yong Master, oh my gentle master,Oh my sweet master, O you memorieOf old Sir Rowland; why, what make you here?Why are you vertuous? Why do people loue you?And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant?Why would you be so fond to ouercomeThe bonnie priser of the humorous Duke?Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.Know you not Master, to seeme kinde of men,Their graces serue them but as enemies,No more doe yours: your vertues gentle MasterAre sanctified and holy traitors to you:Oh what a world is this, when what is comelyEnuenoms him that beares it?Why, what's the matter? Ad. O vnhappie youth,Come not within these doores: within this roofeThe enemie of all your graces liuesYour brother, no, no brother, yet the sonne(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 meanes,To burne the lodging where you vse to lye,And you within it: if he faile of that He will haue other meanes to cut you off;I ouerheard him: and his practises:This is no place, this house is but a butcherie;Abhorre it, feare it, doe not enter it. Ad. Why whether Adam would'st thou haue me go? Ad. No matter whether, so you come not here. Orl. What, would'st thou haue me go & beg my food,Or with a base and boistrous Sword enforceA theeuish liuing on the common rode?This I must do, or know not what to do:Yet this I will not do, do how I can,I rather will subiect me to the maliceOf a diuerted blood, and bloudie brother. Ad. But do not so: I haue fiue hundred Crownes,The thriftie hire I saued vnder your Father,Which I did store to be my foster Nurse,When seruice should in my old limbs lie lame,And vnregarded age in corners throwne,Take that, and he that doth the Rauens feede,Yea prouidently caters for the Sparrow,Be comfort to my age: here is the gold,All this I giue you, let me be your seruant,Though I looke old, yet I am strong and lustie;For in my youth I neuer did applyHot, and rebellious liquors in my bloud,Nor did not with vnbashfull forehead woe,The meanes of weaknesse and debilitie,Therefore my age is as a lustie winter,Frostie, but kindely; let me goe with you,Ile doe the seruice of a yonger manIn all your businesse and necessities. Orl. Oh good old man, how well in thee appearesThe constant seruice of the antique world,When seruice sweate for dutie, not for meede:Thou art not for the fashion of these times,Where none will sweate, but for promotion,And hauing that do choake their seruice vp,Euen with the hauing, it is not so with thee:But poore old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree,That cannot so much as a blossome yeelde,In lieu of all thy paines and husbandrie,But come thy waies, weele goe along together,And ere we haue thy youthfull wages spent,Weele light vpon some setled low content. Ad. Master goe on, and I will follow theeTo the last gaspe with truth and loyaltie,From seauentie yeeres, till now almost fourescoreHere liued I, but now liue here no moreAt seauenteene yeeres, many their fortunes seekeBut at fourescore, it is too late a weeke,Yet fortune cannot recompence me betterThen to die well, and not my Masters debter. Exeunt.
Scena Quarta. Enter Rosaline for Ganimed, Celia for Aliena, andClowne, alias Touchstone. Ros. O Iupiter, how merry are my spirits? Clo. I care not for my spirits, if my legges were notwearie. Ros. I could finde in my heart to disgrace my mansapparell, and to cry like a woman: but I must comfortthe weaker vessell, as doublet and hose ought to show itselfe coragious to petty-coate; therefore courage, good Aliena. Cel. I pray you beare with me, I cannot goe no fur-ther. Clo. For my part, I had rather beare with you, thenbeare you: yet I should beare no crosse if I did beareyou, for I thinke you haue no money in your purse. Ros. Well, this is the Forrest of Arden. Clo. I, now am I in Arden, the more foole I, when Iwas at home I was in a better place, but Trauellers mustbe content. Enter Corin and Siluius. Ros. I, be so good Touchstone: Look you, who comeshere, a yong man and an old in solemne talke. Cor. That is the way to make her scorne you still. Sil. Oh Corin, that thou knew'st how I do loue her. Cor. I partly guesse: for I haue lou'd ere now. Sil. No Corin, being old, thou canst not guesse,Though in thy youth thou wast as true a louerAs euer sigh'd vpon a midnight pillow:But if thy loue were euer like to mine,As sure I thinke did neuer man loue so:How many actions most ridiculous,Hast thou beene drawne to by thy fantasie? Cor. Into a thousand that I haue forgotten. Sil. Oh thou didst then neuer loue so hartily,If thou remembrest not the slightest folly,That euer loue did make thee run into,Thou hast not lou'd.Or if thou hast not sat as I doe now,Wearing thy hearer in thy Mistris praise,Thou hast not lou'd.Or if thou hast not broke from companie,Abruptly as my passion now makes me,Thou hast not lou'd.O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe. Exit. Ros. Alas poore Shepheard searching of they would,I haue by hard aduenture found mine owne. Clo. And I mine: I remember when I was in loue, Ibroke my sword vpon a stone, and bid him take that forcomming a night to Iane Smile, and I remember the kis-sing of her batler, and the Cowes dugs that her prettiechopt hands had milk'd; and I remember the wooingof a peascod instead of her, from whom I tooke twocods, and giuing her them againe, said with weepingteares, weare these for my sake: wee that are true Lo-uers, runne into strange capers; but as all is mortall innature, so is all nature in loue, mortall in folly. Ros. Thou speak'st wiser then thou art ware of. Clo. Nay, I shall nere be ware of mine owne wit, tillI breake my shins against it. Ros. Ioue, Ioue, this Shepherds passion,Is much vpon my fashion. Clo. And mine, but it growes something stale withmee. Cel. I pray you, one of you question yon'd man,If he for gold will giue vs any foode,I faint almost to death. Clo. Holla; you Clowne. Ros. Peace foole, he's not thy kinsman. Cor. Who cals? Clo. Your betters Sir. Cor. Else are they very wretched. Ros. Peace I say; good euen to your friend. Cor. And to you gentle Sir, and to you all. Ros. I prethee Shepheard, if that loue or goldCan in this desert place buy entertainment,Bring vs where we may rest our selues, and feed:Here's a yong maid with trauaile much oppressed,And faints for succour. Cor. Faire Sir, I pittie her,And wish for her sake more then for mine owne,My fortunes were more able to releeue her:But I am shepheard to another man,And do not sheere the Fleeces that I graze:My master is of churlish disposition,And little wreakes to finde the way to heauenBy doing deeds of hospitalitie.Besides his Coate, his Flockes, and bounds of feedeAre now on sale, and at our sheep-coat nowBy reason of his absence there is nothingThat you will feed on: but what is, come see,And in my voice most welcome shall you be. Ros. What is he that shall buy his flocke and pasture? Cor. That yong Swaine that you saw heere but ere-while, That little cares for buying any thing. Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honestie,Buy thou the Cottage, pasture, and the flocke,And thou shalt haue to pay for it of vs. Cel. And we will mend thy wages:I like this place, and willingly couldWaste my time in it. Cor. Assuredly the thing is to be sold:Go with me, if you like vpon report,The soile, the profit, and this kinde of life,I will your very faithfull Feeder be,And buy it with your Gold right sodainly. Exeunt.
Scena Quinta. Enter, Amyens, Iaques, & others. Song. Vnder the greene wood tree,who loues to lye with mee,And turne his merrie Note,vnto the sweet Birds throte:Come hither, come hither, come hither:Heere shall he see no enemie,But Winter and rough Weather. Iaq. More, more, I pre'thee more. Amy. It will make you melancholly Monsieur Iaques Iaq. I thanke it: More, I prethee more,I can sucke melancholly out of a song,As a Weazel suckes egges: More, I pre'thee more. Amy. My voice is ragged, I know I cannot pleaseyou. Iaq. I do not desire you to please me,I do desire you to sing:Come, more, another stanzo: Cal you 'em stanzo's? Amy. What you wil Monsieur Iaques. Iaq. Nay, I care not for their names, they owe meenothing. Wil you sing? Amy. More at your request, then to please my selfe. Iaq. Well then, if euer I thanke any man, Ile thankeyou: but that they cal complement is like th' encounterof two dog-Apes. And when a man thankes me hartily,me thinkes I haue giuen him a penie, and he renders methe beggerly thankes. Come sing; and you that wil nothold your tongues. Amy. Wel, Ile end the song. Sirs, couer the while,the Duke wil drinke vnder this tree; he hath bin all thisday to looke you. Iaq. And I haue bin all this day to auoid him:He is too disputeable for my companie:I thinke of as many matters as he, but I giueHeauen thankes, and make no boast of them.Come, warble, come. Song. Altogether heere. Who doth ambition shunne,and loues to liue i'th Sunne:Seeking the food he eates,and pleas'd with what he gets:Come hither, come hither, come hither,Heere shall he see. &c. Iaq. Ile giue you a verse to this note,That I made yesterday in despight of my Inuention. Amy. And Ile sing it. Amy. Thus it goes. If it do come to passe, that any man turne Asse:Leauing his wealth and ease,A stubborne will to please,Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame:Heere shall he see, grosse fooles as he, And if he will come to me. Amy. What's that Ducdame? Iaq. 'Tis a Greeke inuocation, to call fools into a cir-cle. Ile go sleepe if I can: if I cannot, Ile raile against allthe first borne of Egypt. Amy. And Ile go seeke the Duke,His banket is prepar'd. Exeunt
Scena Sexta. Enter Orlando, & Adam. Adam. Deere Master, I can go no further:O I die for food. Heere lie I downe,And measure out my graue. Farwel kinde master. Orl. Why how now Adam? No greater heart in thee:Liue a little, comfort a little, cheere thy selfe a little.If this vncouth Forrest yeeld any thing sauage,I wil either be food for it, or bring it for foode to thee:Thy conceite is neerer death, then thy powers.For my sake be comfortable, hold death a whileAt the armes end: I wil heere be with thee presently,And if I bring thee not something to eate,I wil giue thee leaue to die: but if thou diestBefore I come, thou art a mocker of my labor.Wel said, thou look'st cheerely,And Ile be with thee quickly: yet thou liestIn the bleake aire. Come, I wil beare theeTo some shelter, and thou shalt not dieFor lacke of a dinner,If there liue any thing in this Desert.Cheerely good Adam. Exeunt
Scena Septima. Enter Duke Sen. & Lord, like Out-lawes. Du.Sen. I thinke he be transform'd into a beast,For I can no where finde him, like a man. 1.Lord. My Lord, he is but euen now gone hence,Heere was he merry, hearing of a Song. Du.Sen. If he compact of iarres, grow Musicall,We shall haue shortly discord in the Spheares:Go seeke him, tell him I would speake with him. Enter Iaques. 1.Lord. He saues my labor by his owne approach. Du.Sen. Why how now Monsieur, what a life is thisThat your poore friends must woe your companie,What, you looke merrily. Iaq. A Foole, a foole: I met a foole i'th Forrest,A motley Foole (a miserable world:)As I do liue by foode, I met a foole,Who laid him downe, and bask'd him in the Sun,And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good termes,In good set termes, and yet a motley foole.Good morrow foole (quoth I:) no Sir, quoth he,Call me not foole, till heauen hath sent me fortune,And then he drew a diall from his poake,And looking on it, with lacke-lustre eye,Sayes, very wisely, it is ten a clocke:Thus we may see (quoth he) how the world wagges:'Tis but an houre agoe, since it was nine,And after one houre more, 'twill be eleuen,And so from houre to houre, we ripe, and ripe,And then from houre to houre, we rot, and rot,And thereby hangs a tale. When I did heareThe motley Foole, thus morall on the time,My Lungs began to crow like Chanticleere,That Fooles should be so deepe contemplatiue:And I did laugh, sans intermissionAn houre by his diall. Oh noble foole,A worthy foole: Motley's the onely weare. Du.Sen. What foole is this? Iaq. O worthie Foole: One that hath bin a CourtierAnd sayes, if Ladies be but yong, and faire,They haue the gift to know it: and in his braine,Which is as drie as the remainder bisketAfter a voyage: He hath strange places cram'dWith obseruation, the which he ventsIn mangled formes. O that I were a foole,I am ambitious for a motley coat. Du.Sen. Thou shalt haue one. Iaq. It is my onely suite,Prouided that you weed your better iudgementsOf all opinion that growes ranke in them,That I am wise. I must haue libertyWithall, as large a Charter as the winde,To blow on whom I please, for so fooles haue:And they that are most gauled with my folly,They most must laugh: And why sir must they so?The why is plaine, as way to Parish Church:Hee, that a Foole doth very wisely hit,Doth very foolishly, although he smartSeeme senselesse of the bob. If not,The Wise-mans folly is anathomiz'dEuen by the squandring glances of the foole.Inuest me in my motley: Giue me leaueTo speake my minde, and I will through and throughCleanse the foule bodie of th' infected world,If they will patiently receiue my medicine. Du.Sen. Fie on thee. I can tell what thou wouldst do. Iaq. What, for a Counter, would I do, but good? Du.Sen. Most mischeeuous foule sin, in chiding sin:For thou thy selfe hast bene a Libertine,As sensuall as the brutish sting it selfe,And all th' imbossed sores, and headed euils,That thou with license of free foot hast caught,Would'st thou disgorge into the generall world. Iaq. Why who cries out on pride,That can therein taxe any priuate party:Doth it not flow as hugely as the Sea,Till that the wearie verie meanes do ebbe.What woman in the Citie do I name,When that I say the City woman bearesThe cost of Princes on vnworthy shoulders?Who can come in, and say that I meane her,When such a one as shee, such is her neighbor?Or what is he of basest function,That sayes his brauerie is not on my cost,Thinking that I meane him, but therein suitesHis folly to the mettle of my speech,There then, how then, what then, let me see whereinMy tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right,Then he hath wrong'd himselfe: if he be free,Why then my taxing like a wild-goose fliesVnclaim'd of any man. But who come here? Enter Orlando. Orl. Forbeare, and eate no more. Iaq. Why I haue eate none yet. Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be seru'd. Iaq. Of what kinde should this Cocke come of? Du.Sen. Art thou thus bolden'd man by thy distres?Or else a rude despiser of good manners,That in ciuility thou seem'st so emptie? Orl. You touch'd my veine at first, the thorny pointOf bare distresse, hath tane from me the shewOf smooth ciuility: yet am I in-land bred,And know some nourture: But forbeare, I say,He dies that touches any of this fruite,Till I, and my affaires are answered. Iaq. And you will not be answer'd with reason,I must dye. Du.Sen. What would you haue?Your gentlenesse shall force, more then your forceMoue vs to gentlenesse. Orl. I almost die for food, and let me haue it. Du.Sen. Sit downe and feed, & welcom to our table Orl. Speake you so gently? Pardon me I pray you,I thought that all things had bin sauage heere,And therefore put I on the countenanceOf sterne command'ment. But what ere you areThat in this desert inaccessible,Vnder the shade of melancholly boughes,Loose, and neglect the creeping houres of time:If euer you haue look'd on better dayes:If euer beene where bels haue knoll'd to Church:If euer sate at any good mans feast:If euer from your eye-lids wip'd a teare,And know what 'tis to pittie, and be pittied:Let gentlenesse my strong enforcement be,In the which hope, I blush, and hide my Sword. Du.Sen. True is it, that we haue seene better dayes,And haue with holy bell bin knowld to Church,And sat at good mens feasts, and wip'd our eiesOf drops, that sacred pity hath engendred:And therefore sit you downe in gentlenesse,And take vpon command, what helpe we haueThat to your wanting may be ministred. Orl. Then but forbeare your food a little while:Whiles (like a Doe) I go to finde my Fawne,And giue it food. There is an old poore man,Who after me, hath many a weary steppeLimpt in pure loue: till he be first suffic'd,Opprest with two weake euils, age, and hunger,I will not touch a bit. Duke Sen. Go finde him out,And we will nothing waste till you returne. Orl. I thanke ye, and be blest for your good comfort. Du.Sen. Thou seest, we are not all alone vnhappie:This wide and vniuersall TheaterPresents more wofull Pageants then the SceaneWherein we play in. Ia. All the world's a stage,And all the men and women, meerely Players;They haue their Exits and their Entrances,And one man in his time playes many parts,His Acts being seuen ages. At first the Infant,Mewling, and puking in the Nurses armes:Then, the whining Schoole-boy with his SatchellAnd shining morning face, creeping like snaileVnwillingly to schoole. And then the Louer,Sighing like Furnace, with a wofull balladMade to his Mistresse eye-brow. Then, a Soldier,Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the Pard,Ielous in honor, sodaine, and quicke in quarrell,Seeking the bubble ReputationEuen in the Canons mouth: And then, the IusticeIn faire round belly, with good Capon lin'd,With eyes seuere, and beard of formall cut,Full of wise sawes, and moderne instances,And so he playes his part. The sixt age shiftsInto the leane and slipper'd Pantaloone,With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side,His youthfull hose well sau'd, a world too wide,For his shrunke shanke, and his bigge manly voice,Turning againe toward childish trebble pipes,And whistles in his sound. Last Scene of all,That ends this strange euentfull historie,Is second childishnesse, and meere obliuion,Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans euery thing. Enter Orlando with Adam. Du.Sen. Welcome: set downe your venerable bur-then, and let him feede. Orl. I thanke you most for him. Ad. So had you neede,I scarce can speake to thanke you for my selfe. Du.Sen. Welcome, fall too: I wil not trouble you,As yet to question you about your fortunes:Giue vs some Musicke, and good Cozen, sing. Song. Blow, blow, thou winter winde,Thou art not so vnkinde, as mans ingratitudeThy tooth is not so keene, because thou art not seene,although thy breath be rude.Heigh ho, sing heigh ho, vnto the greene holly,Most frendship, is fayning; most Louing, meere folly:The heigh ho, the holly,This Life is most iolly.Freize, freize, thou bitter skie that dost not bight so nighas benefitts forgot:Though thou the waters warpe, thy sting is not so sharpe,as freind remembred not.Heigh ho, sing, &c. Duke Sen. If that you were the good Sir Rowlands son,As you haue whisper'd faithfully you were,And as mine eye doth his effigies witnesse,Most truly limn'd, and liuing in your face,Be truly welcome hither: I am the DukeThat lou'd your Father, the residue of your fortune,Go to my Caue, and tell mee. Good old man,Thou art right welcome, as thy masters is:Support him by the arme: giue me your hand,And let me all your fortunes vnderstand. Exeunt.
Actus Tertius. Scena Prima. Enter Duke, Lords, & Oliuer. Du. Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be:But were I not the better part made mercie,I should not seeke an absent argumentOf my reuenge, thou present: but looke to it,Finde out thy brother wheresoere he is,Seeke him with Candle: bring him dead, or liuingWithin this tweluemonth, or turne thou no moreTo seeke a liuing in our Territorie.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 thinke against thee. Ol. Oh that your Highnesse knew my heart in this:I neuer lou'd my brother in my life. Duke. More villaine thou. Well push him out of doresAnd let my officers of such a natureMake an extent vpon his house and Lands:Do this expediently, and turne him going. Exeunt
Scena Secunda. Enter Orlando. Orl. Hang there my verse, in witnesse of my loue,And thou thrice crowned Queene of night surueyWith thy chaste eye, from thy pale spheare aboueThy Huntresse name, that my full life doth sway.O Rosalind, these Trees shall be my Bookes,And in their barkes my thoughts Ile charracter,That euerie eye, which in this Forrest lookes,Shall see thy vertue witnest euery where.Run, run Orlando, carue on euery Tree,The faire, the chaste, and vnexpressiue shee. Exit Enter Corin & Clowne. Co. And how like you this shepherds life Mr Touchstone? Clow. Truely Shepheard, in respect of it selfe, it is agood life; but in respect that it is a shepheards life, it isnaught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it verie well:but in respect that it is priuate, it is a very vild life. Nowin respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth mee well: but inrespect it is not in the Court, it is tedious. As it is a sparelife (looke you) it fits my humor well: but as there is nomore plentie in it, it goes much against my stomacke. Has't any Philosophie in thee shepheard? Cor. No more, but that I know the more one sickens,the worse at ease he is: and that hee that wants money,meanes, and content, is without three good frends. Thatthe propertie of raine is to wet, and fire to burne: Thatgood pasture makes fat sheepe: and that a great cause ofthe night, is lacke of the Sunne: That hee that hath lear-ned no wit by Nature, nor Art, may complaine of goodbreeding, or comes of a very dull kindred. Clo. Such a one is a naturall Philosopher: Was't euer in Court, Shepheard? Cor. No truly. Clo. Then thou art damn'd. Cor. Nay, I hope. Clo. Truly thou art damn'd, like an ill roasted Egge,all on one side. Cor. For not being at Court? your reason. Clo. Why, if thou neuer was't at Court, thou neuersaw'st good manners: if thou neuer saw'st good maners,then thy manners must be wicked, and wickednes is sin,and sinne is damnation: Thou art in a parlous state shep-heard. Cor. Not a whit Touchstone, those that are good ma-ners at the Court, are as ridiculous in the Countrey, asthe behauiour of the Countrie is most mockeable at theCourt. You told me, you salute not at the Court, butyou kisse your hands; that courtesie would be vncleanlieif Courtiers were shepheards. Clo. Instance, briefly: come, instance. Cor. Why we are still handling our Ewes, and theirFels you know are greasie. Clo. Why do not your Courtiers hands sweate? andis not the grease of a Mutton, as wholesome as the sweatof a man? Shallow, shallow: A better instance I say:Come. Cor. Besides, our hands are hard. Clo. Your lips wil feele them the sooner. Shallow a-gen: a more sounder instance, come. Cor. And they are often tarr'd ouer, with the surgeryof our sheepe: and would you haue vs kisse Tarre? TheCourtiers hands are perfum'd with Ciuet. Clo. Most shallow man: Thou wormes meate in re-spect of a good peece of flesh indeed: learne of the wiseand perpend: Ciuet is of a baser birth then Tarre, theverie vncleanly fluxe of a Cat. Mend the instance Shep-heard. Cor. You haue too Courtly a wit, for me, Ile rest. Clo. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God helpe thee shallowman: God make incision in thee, thou art raw. Cor. Sir, I am a true Labourer, I earne that I eate: getthat I weare; owe no man hate, enuie no mans happi-nesse: glad of other mens good content with my harme:and the greatest of my pride, is to see my Ewes graze, &my Lambes sucke. Clo. That is another simple sinne in you, to bring theEwes and the Rammes together, and to offer to get yourliuing, by the copulation of Cattle, to be bawd to a Bel-weather, and to betray a shee-Lambe of a tweluemonthto a crooked-pated olde Cuckoldly Ramme, out of allreasonable match. If thou bee'st not damn'd for this, thediuell himselfe will haue no shepherds, I cannot see elsehow thou shouldst scape. Cor. Heere comes yong Mr Ganimed, my new Mistris-ses Brother. Enter Rosalind. Ros. From the east to westerne Inde,no iewel is like Rosalinde,Hir worth being mounted on the winde,through all the world beares Rosalinde.All the pictures fairest Linde,are but blacke to Rosalinde:Let no face bee kept in mind,but the faire of Rosalinde. Clo. Ile rime you so, eight yeares together; dinners,and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted: it is the rightButter-womens ranke to Market. Ros. Out Foole. Clo. For a taste. If a Hart doe lacke a Hinde,Let him seeke out Rosalinde:If the Cat will after kinde,so be sure will Rosalinde:Wintred garments must be linde,so must slender Rosalinde:They that reap must sheafe and binde,then to cart with Rosalinde.Sweetest nut, hath sowrest rinde,such a nut is Rosalinde.He that sweetest rose will finde,must finde Loues pricke, & Rosalinde. This is the verie false gallop of Verses, why doe you in-fect your selfe with them? Ros. Peace you dull foole, I found them on a tree. Clo. Truely the tree yeelds bad fruite. Ros. Ile graffe it with you, and then I shall graffe itwith a Medler: then it will be the earliest fruit i'th coun-try: for you'l be rotten ere you bee halfe ripe, and that'sthe right vertue of the Medler. Clo. You haue said: but whether wisely or no, let theForrest iudge. Enter Celia with a writing. Ros. Peace, here comes my sister reading, stand aside. Cel. Why should this Desert bee,for it is vnpeopled? Noe:Tonges Ile hang on euerie tree,that shall ciuill sayings shoe.Some, how briefe the Life of manruns his erring pilgrimage,That the stretching of a span,buckles in his summe of age.Some of violated vowes,twixt the soules of friend, and friend:But vpon the fairest bowes,or at euerie sentence end; Will I Rosalinda write,teaching all that reade, to knowThe quintessence of euerie sprite,heauen would in little show.Therefore heauen Nature charg'd,that one bodie should be fill'dWith all Graces wide enlarg'd,nature presently distill'd Helens cheeke, but not his heart, Cleopatra's Maiestie: Attalanta's better part,sad Lucrecia's Modestie.Thus Rosalinde of manie parts,by Heauenly Synode was deuis'd,Of manie faces, eyes, and hearts,to haue the touches deerest pris'd.Heauen would that shee these gifts should haue,and I to liue and die her slaue. Ros. O most gentle Iupiter, what tedious homilie ofLoue haue you wearied your parishioners withall, andneuer cri'de, haue patience good people. Cel. How now backe friends: Shepheard, go off a lit-tle: go with him sirrah. Clo. Come Shepheard, let vs make an honorable re-treit, though not with bagge and baggage, yet withscrip and scrippage. Exit. Cel. Didst thou heare these verses? Ros. O yes, I heard them all, and more too, for someof them had in them more feete then the Verses wouldbeare. Cel. That's no matter: the feet might beare the verses. Ros. I, but the feet were lame, and could not bearethemselues without the verse, and therefore stood lame-ly in the verse. Cel. But didst thou heare without wondering, howthy name should be hang'd and carued vpon these trees? Ros. I was seuen of the nine daies out of the wonder,before you came: for looke heere what I found on aPalme tree; I was neuer so berim'd since Pythagoras timethat I was an Irish Rat, which I can hardly remember. Cel. Tro you, who hath done this? Ros. Is it a man? Cel. And a chaine that you once wore about his neck:change you colour? Ros. I pre'thee who? Cel. O Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for friends tomeete; but Mountaines may bee remoou'd with Earth-quakes, and so encounter. Ros. Nay, but who is it? Cel. Is it possible? Ros. Nay, I pre'thee now, with most petitionary ve-hemence, tell me who it is. Cel. O wonderfull, wonderfull, and most wonderfullwonderfull, and yet againe wonderful, and after that outof all hooping. Ros. Good my complection, dost thou think thoughI am caparison'd like a man, I haue a doublet and hose inmy disposition? One inch of delay more, is a South-seaof discouerie. I pre'thee tell me, who is it quickely, andspeake apace: I would thou couldst stammer, that thoumight'st powre this conceal'd man out of thy mouth, asWine comes out of a narrow-mouth'd bottle: either toomuch at once, or none at all. I pre'thee take the Corkeout of thy mouth, that I may drinke thy tydings. Cel. So you may put a man in your belly. Ros. Is he of Gods making? What manner of man?Is his head worth a hat? Or his chin worth a beard? Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard. Ros. Why God will send more, if the man will beethankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, if thoudelay me not the knowledge of his chin. Cel. It is yong Orlando, that tript vp the Wrastlersheeles, and your heart, both in an instant. Ros. Nay, but the diuell take mocking: speake saddebrow, and true maid. Cel. I'faith (Coz) tis he. Ros. Orlando? Cel. Orlando. Ros. Alas the day, what shall I do with my doublet &hose? What did he when thou saw'st him? What saydehe? How look'd he? Wherein went he? What makes heeheere? Did he aske for me? Where remaines he? Howparted he with thee? And when shalt thou see him a-gaine? Answer me in one word. Cel. You must borrow me Gargantuas mouth first:'tis a Word too great for any mouth of this Ages size, tosay I and no, to these particulars, is more then to answerin a Catechisme. Ros. But doth he know that I am in this Forrest, andin mans apparrell? Looks he as freshly, as he did the dayhe Wrastled? Cel. It is as easie to count Atomies as to resolue thepropositions of a Louer: but take a taste of my findinghim, and rellish it with good obseruance. I found himvnder a tree like a drop'd Acorne. Ros. It may wel be cal'd Ioues tree, when it droppesforth fruite. Cel. Giue me audience, good Madam. Ros. Proceed. Cel. There lay hee stretch'd along like a Woundedknight. Ros. Though it be pittie to see such a sight, it wellbecomes the ground. Cel. Cry holla, to the tongue, I prethee: it curuettesvnseasonably. He was furnish'd like a Hunter. Ros. O ominous, he comes to kill my Hart. Cel. I would sing my song without a burthen, thoubring'st me out of tune. Ros. Do you not know I am a woman, when I thinke,I must speake: sweet, say on. Enter Orlando & Iaques. Cel. You bring me out. Soft, comes he not heere? Ros. 'Tis he, slinke by, and note him. Iaq. I thanke you for your company, but good faithI had as liefe haue beene my selfe alone. Orl. And so had I: but yet for fashion sakeI thanke you too, for your societie. Iaq. God buy you, let's meet as little as we can. Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers. Iaq. I pray you marre no more trees with WritingLoue-songs in their barkes. Orl. I pray you marre no moe of my verses with rea-ding them ill-fauouredly. Iaq. Rosalinde is your loues name? Orl. Yes, Iust. Iaq. I do not like her name. Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you when shewas christen'd. Iaq. What stature is she of? Orl. Iust as high as my heart. Iaq. You are ful of prety answers: haue you not bin ac-quainted with goldsmiths wiues, & cond the[m] out of rings Orl. Not so: but I answer you right painted cloath,from whence you haue studied your questions. Iaq. You haue a nimble wit; I thinke 'twas made of Attalanta's heeles. Will you sitte downe with me, andwee two, will raile against our Mistris the world, and allour miserie. Orl. I wil chide no breather in the world but my selfe against whom I know most faults. Iaq. The worst fault you haue, is to be in loue. Orl. 'Tis a fault I will not change, for your best ver-tue: I am wearie of you. Iaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a Foole, when Ifound you. Orl. He is drown'd in the brooke, looke but in, andyou shall see him. Iaq. There I shal see mine owne figure. Orl. Which I take to be either a foole, or a Cipher. Iaq. Ile tarrie no longer with you, farewell good sig-nior Loue. Orl. I am glad of your departure: Adieu good Mon-sieur Melancholly. Ros. I wil speake to him like a sawcie Lacky, and vn-der that habit play the knaue with him, do you hear Forrester. Orl. Verie wel, what would you? Ros. I pray you, what i'st a clocke? Orl. You should aske me what time o' day: there's noclocke in the Forrest. Ros. Then there is no true Louer in the Forrest, elsesighing euerie minute, and groaning euerie houre wolddetect the lazie foot of time, as wel as a clocke. Orl. And why not the swift foote of time? Had notthat bin as proper? Ros. By no meanes sir; Time trauels in diuers paces,with diuers persons: Ile tel you who Time ambles with-all, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal,and who he stands stil withall. Orl. I prethee, who doth he trot withal? Ros. Marry he trots hard with a yong maid, betweenthe contract of her marriage, and the day it is solemnizd:if the interim be but a sennight, Times pace is so hard,that it seemes the length of seuen yeare. Orl. Who ambles Time withal? Ros. With a Priest that lacks Latine, and a rich manthat hath not the Gowt: for the one sleepes easily be-cause he cannot study, and the other liues merrily, be-cause he feeles no paine: the one lacking the burthen ofleane and wasteful Learning; the other knowing no bur-then of heauie tedious penurie. These Time ambleswithal. Orl. Who doth he gallop withal? Ros. With a theefe to the gallowes: for though heego as softly as foot can fall, he thinkes himselfe too soonthere. Orl. Who staies it stil withal? Ros. With Lawiers in the vacation: for they sleepebetweene Terme and Terme, and then they perceiue nothow time moues. Orl. Where dwel you prettie youth? Ros. With this Shepheardesse my sister: heere in theskirts of the Forrest, like fringe vpon a petticoat. Orl. Are you natiue of this place? Ros. As the Conie that you see dwell where shee iskindled. Orl. Your accent is something finer, then you couldpurchase in so remoued a dwelling. Ros. I haue bin told so of many: but indeed, an oldereligious Vnckle of mine taught me to speake, who wasin his youth an inland man, one that knew Courtship toowell: for there he fel in loue. I haue heard him read ma-ny Lectors against it, and I thanke God, I am not a Wo-man to be touch'd with so many giddie offences as heehath generally tax'd their whole sex withal. Orl. Can you remember any of the principall euils,that he laid to the charge of women? Ros. There were none principal, they were all likeone another, as halfepence are, euerie one fault seemingmonstrous, til his fellow-fault came to match it. Orl. I prethee recount some of them. Ros. No: I wil not cast away my physick, but on thosethat are sicke. There is a man haunts the Forrest, that a-buses our yong plants with caruing Rosalinde on theirbarkes; hangs Oades vpon Hauthornes, and Elegies onbrambles; all (forsooth) defying the name of Rosalinde. If I could meet that Fancie-monger, I would giue himsome good counsel, for he seemes to haue the Quotidianof Loue vpon him. Orl. I am he that is so Loue-shak'd, I pray you telme your remedie. Ros. There is none of my Vnckles markes vpon you:he taught me how to know a man in loue: in which cageof rushes, I am sure you art not prisoner. Orl. What were his markes? Ros. A leane cheeke, which you haue not: a blew eieand sunken, which you haue not: an vnquestionable spi-rit, which you haue not: a beard neglected, which youhaue not: (but I pardon you for that, for simply your ha-uing in beard, is a yonger brothers reuennew) then yourhose should be vngarter'd, your bonnet vnbanded, yoursleeue vnbutton'd, your shoo vnti'de, and euerie thingabout you, demonstrating a carelesse desolation: but youare no such man; you are rather point deuice in your ac-coustrements, as louing your selfe, then seeming the Lo-uer of any other. Orl. Faire youth, I would I could make thee beleeue I Loue. Ros. Me beleeue it? You may assoone make her thatyou Loue beleeue it, which I warrant she is apter to do,then to confesse she do's: that is one of the points, in thewhich women stil giue the lie to their consciences. Butin good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on theTrees, wherein Rosalind is so admired? Orl. I sweare to thee youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that vnfortunate he. Ros. But are you so much in loue, as your rimes speak? Orl. Neither rime nor reason can expresse how much. Ros. Loue is meerely a madnesse, and I tel you, de-serues as wel a darke house, and a whip, as madmen do:and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured, isthat the Lunacie is so ordinarie, that the whippers are inloue too: yet I professe curing it by counsel. Orl. Did you euer cure any so? Ros. Yes one, and in this manner. Hee was to ima-gine me his Loue, his Mistris: and I set him euerie dayto woe me. At which time would I, being but a moonishyouth, greeue, be effeminate, changeable, longing, andliking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, fulof teares, full of smiles; for euerie passion something, andfor no passion truly any thing, as boyes and women arefor the most part, cattle of this colour: would now likehim, now loath him: then entertaine him, then forswearhim: now weepe for him, then spit at him; that I drauemy Sutor from his mad humor of loue, to a liuing humorof madnes, which was to forsweare the ful stream of the world,and to liue in a nooke meerly Monastick: and thus I cur'dhim, and this way wil I take vpon mee to wash your Li-uer as cleane as a sound sheepes heart, that there shal notbe one spot of Loue in't. Orl. I would not be cured, youth. Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosa-lind, and come euerie day to my Coat, and woe me. Orlan. Now by the faith of my loue, I will; Tel mewhere it is. Ros. Go with me to it, and Ile shew it you: and bythe way, you shal tell me, where in the Forrest you liue:Wil you go? Orl. With all my heart, good youth. Ros. Nay, you must call mee Rosalind: Come sister,will you go? Exeunt.
Scoena Tertia. Enter Clowne, Audrey, & Iaques. Clo. Come apace good Audrey, I wil fetch vp yourGoates, Audrey: and how Audrey am I the man yet?Doth my simple feature content you? Aud. Your features, Lord warrant vs: what features? Clo. I am heere with thee, and thy Goats, as the mostcapricious Poet honest Ouid was among the Gothes. Iaq. O knowledge ill inhabited, worse then Ioue ina thatch'd house. Clo. When a mans verses cannot be vnderstood, nora mans good wit seconded with the forward childe, vn-derstanding: it strikes a man more dead then a great rec-koning in a little roome: truly, I would the Gods haddemade thee poeticall. Aud. I do not know what Poetical is: is it honest indeed and word: is it a true thing? Clo. No trulie: for the truest poetrie is the most fai-ning, and Louers are giuen to Poetrie: and what theysweare in Poetrie, may be said as Louers, they do feigne. Aud. Do you wish then that the Gods had made mePoeticall? Clow. I do truly: for thou swear'st to me thou art ho-nest: Now if thou wert a Poet, I might haue some hopethou didst feigne. Aud. Would you not haue me honest? Clo. No truly, vnlesse thou wert hard fauour'd: forhonestie coupled to beautie, is to haue Honie a sawce toSugar. Iaq. A materiall foole. Aud. Well, I am not faire, and therefore I pray theGods make me honest. Clo. Truly, and to cast away honestie vppon a fouleslut, were to put good meate into an vncleane dish. Aud. I am not a slut, though I thanke the Goddes Iam foule. Clo. Well, praised be the Gods, for thy foulnesse; slut-tishnesse may come heereafter. But be it, as it may bee,I wil marrie thee: and to that end, I haue bin with Sir Oliuer Mar-text, the Vicar of the next village, who hathpromis'd to meete me in this place of the Forrest, and tocouple vs. Iaq. I would faine see this meeting. Aud. Wel, the Gods giue vs ioy. Clo. Amen. A man may if he were of a fearful heart,stagger in this attempt: for heere wee haue no Templebut the wood, no assembly but horne-beasts. But whatthough? Courage. As hornes are odious, they are neces-sarie. It is said, many a man knowes no end of his goods;right: Many a man has good Hornes, and knows no endof them. Well, that is the dowrie of his wife, 'tis noneof his owne getting; hornes, euen so poore men alone:No, no, the noblest Deere hath them as huge as the Ras-call: Is the single man therefore blessed? No, as a wall'dTowne is more worthier then a village, so is the fore-head of a married man, more honourable then the barebrow of a Batcheller: and by how much defence is bet-ter then no skill, by so much is a horne more preciousthen to want. Enter Sir Oliuer Mar-text. Heere comes Sir Oliuer: Sir Oliuer Mar-text you arewel met. Will you dispatch vs heere vnder this tree, orshal we go with you to your Chappell? Ol. Is there none heere to giue the woman? Clo. I wil not take her on guift of any man. Ol. Truly she must be giuen, or the marriage is notlawfull. Iaq. Proceed, proceede: Ile giue her. Clo. Good euen good Mr what ye cal't: how do youSir, you are verie well met: goddild you for your lastcompanie, I am verie glad to see you, euen a toy in handheere Sir: Nay, pray be couer'd. Iaq. Wil you be married, Motley? Clo. As the Oxe hath his bow sir, the horse his curb,and the Falcon her bels, so man hath his desires, and asPigeons bill, so wedlocke would be nibling. Iaq. And wil you (being a man of your breeding) bemarried vnder a bush like a begger? Get you to church,and haue a good Priest that can tel you what marriage is,this fellow wil but ioyne you together, as they ioyneWainscot, then one of you wil proue a shrunke pannell,and like greene timber, warpe, warpe. Clo. I am not in the minde, but I were better to beemarried of him then of another, for he is not like to mar-rie me wel: and not being wel married, it wil be a goodexcuse for me heereafter, to leaue my wife. Iaq. Goe thou with mee,And let me counsel thee. Ol. Come sweete Audrey, We must be married, or we must liue in baudrey:Farewel good Mr Oliuer: Not O sweet Oliuer, O braue Oliuer leaue me not behind thee: But winde away, beegone I say, I wil not to wedding with thee. Ol. 'Tis no matter; Ne're a fantastical knaue of themall shal flout me out of my calling. Exeunt
Scoena Quarta. Enter Rosalind & Celia. Ros. Neuer talke to me, I wil weepe. Cel. Do I prethee, but yet haue the grace to consider,that teares do not become a man. Ros. But haue I not cause to weepe? Cel. As good cause as one would desire,Therefore weepe. Ros. His very haireIs of the dissembling colour. Cel. Something browner then Iudasses:Marrie his kisses are Iudasses owne children. Ros. I'faith his haire is of a good colour. Cel. An excellent colour:Your Chessenut was euer the onely colour: Ros. And his kissing is as ful of sanctitie,As the touch of holy bread. Cel. Hee hath bought a paire of cast lips of Diana: aNun of winters sisterhood kisses not more religiouslie,the very yce of chastity is in them. Rosa. But why did hee sweare hee would come thismorning, and comes not? Cel. Nay certainly there is no truth in him. Ros. Doe you thinke so? Cel. Yes, I thinke he is not a picke purse, nor a horse-stealer,but for his verity in loue, I doe thinke him asconcaue as a couered goblet, or a Worme-eaten nut. Ros. Not true in loue? Cel. Yes, when he is in, but I thinke he is not in. Ros. You haue heard him sweare downright he was. Cel. Was, is not is: besides, the oath of Louer is nostronger then the word of a Tapster, they are both theconfirmer of false reckonings, he attends here in the for-rest on the Duke your father. Ros. I met the Duke yesterday, and had much que-stion with him: he askt me of what parentage I was; Itold him of as good as he, so he laugh'd and let mee goe.But what talke wee of Fathers, when there is such a manas Orlando? Cel. O that's a braue man, hee writes braue verses,speakes braue words, sweares braue oathes, and breakesthem brauely, quite trauers athwart the heart of his lo-uer, as a puisny Tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side,breakes his staffe like a noble goose; but all's braue thatyouth mounts, and folly guides: who comes heere? Enter Corin. Corin. Mistresse and Master, you haue oft enquiredAfter the Shepheard that complain'd of loue,Who you saw sitting by me on the Turph,Praising the proud disdainfull ShepherdesseThat was his Mistresse. Cel. Well: and what of him? Cor. If you will see a pageant truely plaidBetweene the pale complexion of true Loue,And the red glowe of scorne and prowd disdaine,Goe hence a little, and I shall conduct youIf you will marke it. Ros. O come, let vs remoue,The sight of Louers feedeth those in loue:Bring vs to this sight, and you shall sayIle proue a busie actor in their play. Exeunt.
Scena Quinta. Enter Siluius and Phebe. Sil. Sweet Phebe doe not scorne me, do not Phebe Say that you loue me not, but say not soIn bitternesse; the common executionerWhose heart th' accustom'd sight of death makes hardFalls not the axe vpon the humbled neck,But first begs pardon: will you sterner beThen he that dies and liues by bloody drops? Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Corin. Phe. I would not be thy executioner,I flye thee, for I would not iniure thee:Thou tellst me there is murder in mine eye,'Tis pretty sure, and very probable,That eyes that are the frailst, and softest things,Who shut their coward gates on atomyes,Should be called tyrants, butchers, murtherers.Now I doe frowne on thee with all my heart,And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee:Now counterfeit to swound, why now fall downe,Or if thou canst not, oh for shame, for shame,Lye not, to say mine eyes are murtherers:Now shew the wound mine eye hath made in thee,Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remainesSome scarre of it: Leane vpon a rushThe Cicatrice and capable impressureThy palme some moment keepes: but now mine eyesWhich I haue darted at thee, hurt thee not,Nor I am sure there is no force in eyesThat can doe hurt. Sil. O deere Phebe, If euer (as that euer may be neere)You meet in some fresh cheeke the power of fancie,Then shall you know the wounds inuisibleThat Loues keene arrows make. Phe. But till that timeCome not thou neere me: and when that time comes,Afflict me with thy mockes, pitty me not,As till that time I shall not pitty thee. Ros. And why I pray you? who might be your motherThat you insult, exult, and all at onceOuer the wretched? what though you haue no beautyAs by my faith, I see no more in youThen without Candle may goe darke to bed:Must you be therefore prowd and pittilesse?Why what meanes this? why do you looke on me?I see no more in you then in the ordinaryOf Natures sale-worke? 'ods my little life,I thinke she meanes to tangle my eies too:No faith proud Mistresse, hope not after it,'Tis not your inkie browes, your blacke silke haire,Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheeke of creameThat can entame my spirits to your worship:You foolish Shepheard, wherefore do you follow herLike foggy South, puffing with winde and raine,You are a thousand times a properer manThen she a woman. 'Tis such fooles as youThat makes the world full of ill-fauourd children:'Tis not her glasse, but you that flatters her,And out of you she sees her selfe more properThen any of her lineaments can show her:But Mistris, know your selfe, downe on your kneesAnd thanke heauen, fasting, for a good mans loue;For I must tell you friendly in your eare,Sell when you can, you are not for all markets:Cry the man mercy, loue him, take his offer,Foule is most foule, being foule to be a scoffer.So take her to thee Shepheard, fareyouwell. Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a yere together,I had rather here you chide, then this man wooe. Ros. Hees falne in loue with your foulnesse, & shee'llFall in loue with my anger. If it be so, as fastAs she answeres thee with frowning lookes, ile sauceHer with bitter words: why looke you so vpon me? Phe. For no ill will I beare you. Ros. I pray you do not fall in loue with mee,For I am falser then vowes made in wine:Besides, I like you not: if you will know my house,'Tis at the tufft of Oliues, here hard by:Will you goe Sister? Shepheard ply her hard: Come Sister: Shepheardesse, looke on him betterAnd be not proud, though all the world could see,None could be so abus'd in sight as hee.Come, to our flocke, Exit. Phe. Dead Shepheard, now I find thy saw of might,Who euer lov'd, that lou'd not at first sight? Sil. Sweet Phebe. Phe. Hah: what saist thou Siluius? Sil. Sweet Phebe pitty me. Phe. Why I am sorry for thee gentle Siluius. Sil. Where euer sorrow is, reliefe would be:If you doe sorrow at my griefe in loue,By giuing loue your sorrow, and my griefeWere both extermin'd. Phe. Thou hast my loue, is not that neighbourly? Sil. I would haue you. Phe. Why that were couetousnesse: Siluius; the time was, that I hated thee;And yet it is not, that I beare thee loue,But since that thou canst talke of loue so well,Thy company, which erst was irkesome to meI will endure; and Ile employ thee too:But doe not looke for further recompenceThen thine owne gladnesse, that thou art employd. Sil. So holy, and so perfect is my loue,And I in such a pouerty of grace,That I shall thinke it a most plenteous cropTo gleane the broken eares after the manThat the maine haruest reapes: loose now and thenA scattred smile, and that Ile liue vpon. Phe. Knowst thou the youth that spoke to mee yere-while? Sil. Not very well, but I haue met him oft,And he hath bought the Cottage and the boundsThat the old Carlot once was Master of. Phe. Thinke not I loue him, though I ask for him,'Tis but a peeuish boy, yet he talkes well,But what care I for words? yet words do wellWhen he that speakes them pleases those that heare:It is a pretty youth, not very prettie,But sure hee's proud, and yet his pride becomes him;Hee'll make a proper man: the best thing in himIs his complexion: and faster then his tongueDid make offence, his eye did heale it vp:He is not very tall, yet for his yeeres hee's tall:His leg is but so so, and yet 'tis well:There was a pretty rednesse in his lip,A little riper, and more lustie redThen that mixt in his cheeke: 'twas iust the differenceBetwixt the constant red, and mingled Damaske.There be some women Siluius, had they markt himIn parcells as I did, would haue gone neereTo fall in loue with him: but for my partI loue him not, nor hate him not: and yetHaue more cause to hate him then to loue him,For what had he to doe to chide at me?He said mine eyes were black, and my haire blacke,And now I am remembred, scorn'd at me:I maruell why I answer'd not againe,But that's all one: omittance is no quittance:Ile write to him a very tanting Letter,And thou shalt beare it, wilt thou Siluius? Sil. Phebe, with all my heart. Phe. Ile write it strait:The matter's in my head, and in my heart,I will be bitter with him, and passing short;Goe with me Siluius. Exeunt.
Actus Quartus. Scena Prima. Enter Rosalind, and Celia, and Iaques. Iaq. I prethee, pretty youth, let me better acquaintedwith thee. Ros They say you are a melancholly fellow. Iaq. I am so: I doe loue it better then laughing. Ros. Those that are in extremity of either, are abho-minable fellowes, and betray themselues to euery mo-derne censure, worse then drunkards. Iaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. Ros. Why then 'tis good to be a poste. Iaq. I haue neither the Schollers melancholy, whichis emulation: nor the Musitians, which is fantasticall;nor the Courtiers, which is proud: nor the Souldiers,which is ambitious: nor the Lawiers, which is politick:nor the Ladies, which is nice: nor the Louers, whichis all these: but it is a melancholy of mine owne, com-pounded of many simples, extracted from many obiects,and indeed the sundrie contemplation of my trauells, inwhich by often rumination, wraps me in a most humo-rous sadnesse. Ros. A Traueller: by my faith you haue great rea-son to be sad: I feare you haue sold your owne Lands,to see other mens; then to haue seene much, and to hauenothing, is to haue rich eyes and poore hands. Iaq. Yes, I haue gain'd my experience. Enter Orlando. Ros. And your experience makes you sad: I had ra-ther haue a foole to make me merrie, then experience tomake me sad, and to trauaile for it too. Orl. Good day, and happinesse, deere Rosalind. Iaq. Nay then God buy you, and you talke in blankeverse. Ros. Farewell Mounsieur Trauellor: looke youlispe, and weare strange suites; disable all the benefitsof your owne Countrie: be out of loue with yournatiuitie, and almost chide God for making you thatcountenance you are; or I will scarce thinke you haueswam in a Gundello. Why how now Orlando, wherehaue you bin all this while? you a louer? and youserue me such another tricke, neuer come in my sightmore. Orl. My faire Rosalind, I come within an houre of mypromise. Ros. Breake an houres promise in loue? hee thatwill diuide a minute into a thousand parts, and breakebut a part of the thousand part of a minute in the affairsof loue, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapthim oth' shoulder, but Ile warrant him heart hole. Orl. Pardon me deere Rosalind. Ros. Nay, and you be so tardie, come no more in mysight, I had as liefe be woo'd of a Snaile. Orl. Of a Snaile? Ros. I, of a Snaile: for though he comes slowly, heecarries his house on his head; a better ioyncture I thinkethen you make a woman: besides, he brings his destiniewith him. Orl. What's that? Ros. Why hornes: which such as you are faine to be be-holding to your wiues for: but he comes armed in hisfortune, and preuents the slander of his wife. Orl. Vertue is no horne-maker: and my Rosalind isvertuous. Ros. And I am your Rosalind. Cel. It pleases him to call you so: but he hath a Rosa-lind of a better leere then you. Ros. Come, wooe me, wooe mee: for now I am in aholy-day humor, and like enough to consent: Whatwould you say to me now, and I were your verie, verie Rosalind? Orl. I would kisse before I spoke. Ros. Nay, you were better speake first, and when youwere grauel'd, for lacke of matter, you might take oc-casion to kisse: verie good Orators when they are out,they will spit, and for louers, lacking (God warne vs)matter, the cleanliest shift is to kisse. Orl. How if the kisse be denide? Ros. Then she puts you to entreatie, and there beginsnew matter. Orl. Who could be out, being before his belouedMistris? Ros. Marrie that should you if I were your Mistris,or I should thinke my honestie ranker then my wit. Orl. What, of my suite? Ros. Not out of your apparrell, and yet out of yoursuite:Am not I your Rosalind? Orl. I take some ioy to say you are, because I wouldbe talking of her. Ros. Well, in her person, I say I will not haue you. Orl. Then in mine owne person, I die. Ros. No faith, die by Attorney: the poore world isalmost six thousand yeeres old, and in all this time therewas not anie man died in his owne person (videlicet) ina loue cause: Troilous had his braines dash'd out with aGrecian club, yet he did what hee could to die before,and he is one of the patternes of loue. Leander, he wouldhaue liu'd manie a faire yeere though Hero had turn'dNun; if it had not bin for a hot Midsomer-night, for(good youth) he went but forth to wash him in the Hel-lespont, and being taken with the crampe, was droun'd,and the foolish Chronoclers of that age, found it was Hero of Cestos. But these are all lies, men haue diedfrom time to time, and wormes haue eaten them, but notfor loue. Orl. I would not haue my right Rosalind of this mind,for I protest her frowne might kill me. Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a flie: but come,now I will be your Rosalind in a more comming-on dis-position: and aske me what you will, I will grant it. Orl. Then loue me Rosalind. Ros. Yes faith will I, fridaies and saterdaies, and all. Orl. And wilt thou haue me? Ros. I, and twentie such. Orl. What saiest thou? Ros. Are you not good? Orl. I hope so. Rosalind. Why then, can one desire too much of agood thing: Come sister, you shall be the Priest, andmarrie vs: giue me your hand Orlando: What doe yousay sister? Orl. Pray thee marrie vs. Cel. I cannot say the words. Ros. You must begin, will you Orlando. Cel. Goe too: wil you Orlando, haue to wife this Ro-salind? Orl. I will. Ros. I, but when? Orl. Why now, as fast as she can marrie vs. Ros. Then you must say, I take thee Rosalind forwife. Orl. I take thee Rosalind for wife. Ros. I might aske you for your Commission,But I doe take thee Orlando for my husband: there's agirle goes before the Priest, and certainely a Womansthought runs before her actions. Orl. So do all thoughts, they are wing'd. Ros. Now tell me how long you would haue her, af-ter you haue possest her? Orl. For euer, and a day. Ros. Say a day, without the euer: no, no Orlando, menare Aprill when they woe, December when they wed:Maides are May when they are maides, but the sky chan-ges when they are wiues: I will bee more iealous ofthee, then a Barbary cocke-pidgeon ouer his hen, moreclamorous then a Parrat against raine, more new-fang-led then an ape, more giddy in my desires, then a mon-key: I will weepe for nothing, like Diana in the Foun-taine, & I wil do that when you are dispos'd to be merry:I will laugh like a Hyen, and that when thou art inclin'dto sleepe. Orl. But will my Rosalind doe so? Ros. By my life, she will doe as I doe. Orl. O but she is wise. Ros. Or else shee could not haue the wit to doe this:the wiser, the waywarder: make the doores vpon a wo-mans wit, and it will out at the casement: shut that, and'twill out at the key-hole: stop that, 'twill flie with thesmoake out at the chimney. Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he mightsay, wit whether wil't? Ros. Nay, you might keepe that checke for it, till youmet your wiues wit going to your neighbours bed. Orl. And what wit could wit haue, to excuse that? Rosa. Marry to say, she came to seeke you there: youshall neuer take her without her answer, vnlesse you takeher without her tongue: o that woman that cannotmake her fault her husbands occasion, let her neuer nurseher childe her selfe, for she will breed it like a foole. Orl. For these two houres Rosalinde, I wil leaue thee. Ros. Alas, deere loue, I cannot lacke thee two houres. Orl. I must attend the Duke at dinner, by two a clockI will be with thee againe. Ros. I, goe your waies, goe your waies: I knew whatyou would proue, my friends told mee as much, and Ithought no lesse: that flattering tongue of yours wonneme: 'tis but one cast away, and so come death: two o'clocke is your howre. Orl. I, sweet Rosalind. Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so Godmend mee, and by all pretty oathes that are not dange-rous, if you breake one iot of your promise, or come oneminute behinde your houre, I will thinke you the mostpatheticall breake-promise, and the most hollow louer,and the most vnworthy of her you call Rosalinde, thatmay bee chosen out of the grosse band of the vnfaith-full: therefore beware my censure, and keep your pro-mise. Orl. With no lesse religion, then if thou wert indeedmy Rosalind: so adieu. Ros. Well, Time is the olde Iustice that examines allsuch offenders, and let time try: adieu. Exit. Cel. You haue simply misus'd our sexe in your loue-prate: we must haue your doublet and hose pluckt oueryour head, and shew the world what the bird hath doneto her owne neast. Ros. O coz, coz, coz: my pretty little coz, that thoudidst know how many fathome deepe I am in loue: butit cannot bee sounded: my affection hath an vnknownebottome, like the Bay of Portugall. Cel. Or rather bottomlesse, that as fast as you poureaffection in, it runs out. Ros. No, that same wicked Bastard of Venus, that wasbegot of thought, conceiu'd of spleene, and borne ofmadnesse, that blinde rascally boy, that abuses eueryones eyes, because his owne are out, let him bee iudge,how deepe I am in loue: ile tell thee Aliena, I cannot beout of the sight of Orlando: Ile goe finde a shadow, andsigh till he come. Cel. And Ile sleepe. Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter Iaques and Lords, Forresters. Iaq. Which is he that killed the Deare? Lord. Sir, it was I. Iaq. Let's present him to the Duke like a RomaneConquerour, and it would doe well to set the Deareshorns vpon his head, for a branch of victory; haue youno song Forrester for this purpose? Lord. Yes Sir. Iaq. Sing it: 'tis no matter how it bee in tune, so itmake noyse enough. Musicke, Song. What shall he haue that kild the Deare?His Leather skin, and hornes to weare:Then sing him home, the rest shall beare this burthen;Take thou no scorne to weare the horne,It was a crest ere thou wast borne,Thy fathers father wore it,And thy father bore it,The horne, the horne, the lusty horne,Is not a thing to laugh to scorne. Exeunt.
Scoena Tertia. Enter Rosalind and Celia. Ros. How say you now, is it not past two a clock?And heere much Orlando. Cel. I warrant you, with pure loue, & troubled brain, Enter Siluius. He hath t'ane his bow and arrowes, and is gone forthTo sleepe: looke who comes heere. Sil. My errand is to you, faire youth,My gentle Phebe, did bid me giue you this:I know not the contents, but as I guesseBy the sterne brow, and waspish actionWhich she did vse, as she was writing of it,It beares an angry tenure; pardon me,I am but as a guiltlesse messenger. Ros. Patience her selfe would startle at this letter,And play the swaggerer, beare this, beare all:Shee saies I am not faire, that I lacke manners,She calls me proud, and that she could not loue meWere man as rare as Phenix: 'od's my will,Her loue is not the Hare that I doe hunt,Why writes she so to me? well Shepheard, well,This is a Letter of your owne deuice. Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents, Phebe did write it. Ros. Come, come, you are a foole,And turn'd into the extremity of loue.I saw her hand, she has a leatherne hand,A freestone coloured hand: I verily did thinkeThat her old gloues were on, but twas her hands:She has a huswiues hand, but that's no matter:I say she neuer did inuent this letter,This is a mans inuention, and his hand. Sil. Sure it is hers. Ros. Why, tis a boysterous and a cruell stile,A stile for challengers: why, she defies me,Like Turke to Christian: womens gentle braineCould not drop forth such giant rude inuention,Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effectThen in their countenance: will you heare the letter? Sil. So please you, for I neuer heard it yet:Yet heard too much of Phebes crueltie. Ros. She Phebes me: marke how the tyrant writes. Read. Art thou god, to Shepherd turn'd?That a maidens heart hath burn'd. Can a woman raile thus? Sil. Call you this railing? Ros. Read. Why, thy godhead laid a part,War'st thou with a womans heart? Did you euer heare such railing? Whiles the eye of man did wooe me,That could do no vengeance to me. Meaning me a beast. If the scorne of your bright eineHaue power to raise such loue in mine,Alacke, in me, what strange effectWould they worke in milde aspect?Whiles you chid me, I did loue,How then might your praiers moue?He that brings this loue to thee,Little knowes this Loue in me:And by him seale vp thy minde,Whether that thy youth and kinde Will the faithfull offer takeOf me, and all that I can make,Or else by him my loue denie,And then Ile studie how to die. Sil. Call you this chiding? Cel. Alas poore Shepheard. Ros. Doe you pitty him? No, he deserues no pitty:wilt thou loue such a woman? what to make thee an in-strument, and play false straines vpon thee? not to be en-dur'd.Well, goe your way to her; (for I see Loue hathmade thee a tame snake) and say this to her; That if sheloue me, I charge her to loue thee: if she will not, I willneuer haue her, vnlesse thou intreat for her: if you bee atrue louer hence, and not a word; for here comes morecompany. Exit. Sil. Enter Oliuer. Oliu. Good morrow, faire ones: pray you, (if you know) Where in the Purlews of this Forrest, stands A sheep-coat, fenc'd about with Oliue-trees. Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbor bottomThe ranke of Oziers, by the murmuring streameLeft on your right hand, brings you to the place:But at this howre, the house doth keepe it selfe,There's none within. Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,Then should I know you by description,Such garments, and such yeeres: the boy is faire,Of femall fauour, and bestowes himselfeLike a ripe sister: the woman lowAnd browner then her brother: are not youThe owner of the house I did enquire for? Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are. Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both,And to that youth hee calls his Rosalind, He sends this bloudy napkin; are you he? Ros. I am: what must we vnderstand by this? Oli. Some of my shame, if you will know of meWhat man I am, and how, and why, and whereThis handkercher was stain'd. Cel. I pray you tell it. Oli. When last the yong Orlando parted from you,He left a promise to returne againeWithin an houre, and pacing through the Forrest,Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancie,Loe what befell: he threw his eye aside,And marke what obiect did present it selfeVnder an old Oake, whose bows were moss'd with ageAnd high top, bald with drie antiquitie:A wretched ragged man, ore-growne with haireLay sleeping on his back; about his neckeA greene and guilded snake had wreath'd it selfe,Who with her head, nimble in threats approach'dThe opening of his mouth: but sodainlySeeing Orlando, it vnlink'd it selfe,And with indented glides, did slip awayInto a bush, vnder which bushes shadeA Lyonnesse, with vdders all drawne drie,Lay cowching head on ground, with catlike watchWhen that the sleeping man should stirre; for 'tisThe royall disposition of that beastTo prey on nothing, that doth seeme as dead:This seene, Orlando did approach the man,And found it was his brother, his elder brother. Cel. O I haue heard him speake of that same brother,And he did render him the most vnnaturallThat liu'd amongst men. Oli. And well he might so doe,For well I know he was vnnaturall. Ros. But to Orlando: did he leaue him thereFood to the suck'd and hungry Lyonnesse? Oli. Twice did he turne his backe, and purpos'd so:But kindnesse, nobler euer then reuenge,And Nature stronger then his iust occasion,Made him giue battell to the Lyonnesse:Who quickly fell before him, in which hurtlingFrom miserable slumber I awaked. Cel. Are you his brother? Ros. Was't you he rescu'd? Cel. Was't you that did so oft contriue to kill him? Oli. 'Twas I: but 'tis not I: I doe not shameTo tell you what I was, since my conuersionSo sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. Ros. But for the bloody napkin? Oli. By and by:When from the first to last betwixt vs two,Teares our recountments had most kindely bath'd,As how I came into that Desert place.In briefe, he led me to the gentle Duke,Who gaue me fresh aray, and entertainment,Committing me vnto my brothers loue,Who led me instantly vnto his Caue,There stript himselfe, and heere vpon his armeThe Lyonnesse had torne some flesh away,Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted,And cride in fainting vpon Rosalinde. Briefe, I recouer'd him, bound vp his wound,And after some small space, being strong at heart,He sent me hither, stranger as I amTo tell this story, that you might excuseHis broken promise, and to giue this napkinDied in this bloud, vnto the Shepheard youth,That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. Cel. Why how now Ganimed, sweet Ganimed. Oli. Many will swoon when they do look on bloud. Cel. There is more in it; Cosen Ganimed. Oli. Looke, he recouers. Ros. I would I were at home. Cel. Wee'll lead you thither:I pray you will you take him by the arme. Oli. Be of good cheere youth: you a man?You lacke a mans heart. Ros. I doe so, I confesse it:Ah, sirra, a body would thinke this was well counterfei-ted, I pray you tell your brother how well I counterfei-ted: heigh-ho. Oli. This was not counterfeit, there is too great te-stimony in your complexion, that it was a passion of ear-nest. Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you. Oli. Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit tobe a man. Ros. So I doe: but yfaith, I should haue beene a wo-man by right. Cel. Come, you looke paler and paler: pray you drawhomewards: good sir, goe with vs. Oli. That will I: for I must beare answere backeHow you excuse my brother, Rosalind. Ros. I shall deuise something: but I pray you com-mend my counterfeiting to him: will you goe? Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Scena Prima. Enter Clowne and Awdrie. Clow. We shall finde a time Awdrie, patience gen-tle Awdrie. Awd. Faith the Priest was good enough, for all theolde gentlemans saying. Clow. A most wicked Sir Oliuer, Awdrie, a most vile Mar-text. But Awdrie, there is a youth heere in theForrest layes claime to you. Awd. I, I know who 'tis: he hath no interest in meein the world: here comes the man you meane. Enter William. Clo. It is meat and drinke to me to see a Clowne, by my troth, we that haue good wits, haue much to answerfor: we shall be flouting: we cannot hold. Will. Good eu'n Audrey. Aud. God ye good eu'n William. Will. And good eu'n to you Sir. Clo. Good eu'n gentle friend. Couer thy head, couerthy head: Nay prethee bee couer'd. How olde are youFriend? Will. Fiue and twentie Sir. Clo. A ripe age: Is thy name William? Will. William, sir. Clo. A faire name. Was't borne i'th Forrest heere? Will. I sir, I thanke God. Clo. Thanke God: A good answer:Art rich? Will. 'Faith sir, so, so. Cle. So, so, is good, very good, very excellent good:and yet it is not, it is but so, so:Art thou wise? Will. I sir, I haue a prettie wit. Clo. Why, thou saist well. I do now remember a say-ing: The Foole doth thinke he is wise, but the wisemanknowes himselfe to be a Foole. The Heathen Philoso-pher, when he had a desire to eate a Grape, would openhis lips when he put it into his mouth, meaning there-by, that Grapes were made to eate, and lippes to open.You do loue this maid? Will. I do sir. Clo. Giue me your hand: Art thou Learned? Will. No sir. Clo. Then learne this of me, To haue, is to haue. Forit is a figure in Rhetoricke, that drink being powr'd outof a cup into a glasse, by filling the one, doth empty theother. For all your Writers do consent, that ipse is hee:now you are not ipse, for I am he. Will. Which he sir? Clo. He sir, that must marrie this woman: Thereforeyou Clowne, abandon: which is in the vulgar, leaue thesocietie: which in the boorish, is companie, of this fe-male: which in the common, is woman: which toge-ther, is, abandon the society of this Female, or Clownethou perishest: or to thy better vnderstanding, dyest; or(to wit) I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life in-to death, thy libertie into bondage: I will deale in poy-son with thee, or in bastinado, or in steele: I will bandywith thee in faction, I will ore-run thee with policie: Iwill kill thee a hundred and fifty wayes, therefore trem-ble and depart. Aud. Do good William. Will. God rest you merry sir. Exit Enter Corin. Cor. Our Master and Mistresse seekes you: come a-way, away. Clo. Trip Audry, trip Audry, I attend,I attend. Exeunt
Scoena Secunda. Enter Orlando & Oliuer. Orl. Is't possible, that on so little acquaintance youshould like her? that, but seeing, you should loue her?And louing woo? and wooing, she should graunt? Andwill you perseuer to enioy her? Ol. Neither call the giddinesse of it in question; thepouertie of her, the small acquaintance, my sodaine wo-ing, nor sodaine consenting: but say with mee, I loue Aliena: say with her, that she loues mee; consent withboth, that we may enioy each other: it shall be to yourgood: for my fathers house, and all the reuennew, thatwas old Sir Rowlands will I estate vpon you, and heereliue and die a Shepherd. Enter Rosalind. Orl. You haue my consent.Let your Wedding be to morrow: thither will IInuite the Duke, and all's contented followers:Go you, and prepare Aliena; for looke you,Heere comes my Rosalinde. Ros. God saue you brother. Ol. And you faire sister. Ros. Oh my deere Orlando, how it greeues me to seethee weare thy heart in a scarfe. Orl. It is my arme. Ros. I thought thy heart had beene wounded withthe clawes of a Lion. Orl. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a Lady. Ros. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeytedto sound, when he shew'd me your handkercher? Orl. I, and greater wonders then that. Ros. O, I know where you are: nay, tis true: therewas neuer any thing so sodaine, but the sight of twoRammes, and Cesars Thrasonicall bragge of I came, saw,and ouercome. For your brother, and my sister, no soo-ner met, but they look'd: no sooner look'd, but theylou'd; no sooner lou'd, but they sigh'd: no sooner sigh'dbut they ask'd one another the reason: no sooner knewthe reason, but they sought the remedie: and in thesedegrees, haue they made a paire of staires to marriage,which they will climbe incontinent, or else bee inconti-nent before marriage; they are in the verie wrath ofloue, and they will together. Clubbes cannot partthem. Orl. They shall be married to morrow: and I willbid the Duke to the Nuptiall. But O, how bitter a thingit is, to looke into happines through another mans eies:by so much the more shall I to morrow be at the heightof heart heauinesse, by how much I shal thinke my bro-ther happie, in hauing what he wishes for. Ros. Why then to morrow, I cannot serue your turnefor Rosalind? Orl. I can liue no longer by thinking. Ros. I will wearie you then no longer with idle tal-king. Know of me then (for now I speake to some pur-pose) that I know you are a Gentleman of good conceit:I speake not this, that you should beare a good opinionof my knowledge: insomuch (I say) I know you are: nei-ther do I labor for a greater esteeme then may in somelittle measure draw a beleefe from you, to do your selfegood, and not to grace me. Beleeue then, if you please,that I can do strange things: I haue since I was threeyeare old conuerst with a Magitian, most profound inhis Art, and yet not damnable. If you do loue Rosalinde so neere the hart, as your gesture cries it out: when yourbrother marries Aliena, shall you marrie her. I know in-to what straights of Fortune she is driuen, and it is notimpossible to me, if it appeare not inconuenient to you, to set her before your eyes to morrow, humane as she is,and without any danger. Orl. Speak'st thou in sober meanings? Ros. By my life I do, which I tender deerly, thoughI say I am a Magitian: Therefore put you in your best a-ray, bid your friends: for if you will be married to mor-row, you shall: and to Rosalind if you will. Enter Siluius & Phebe. Looke, here comes a Louer of mine, and a louer of hers. Phe. Youth, you haue done me much vngentlenesse,To shew the letter that I writ to you. Ros. I care not if I haue: it is my studieTo seeme despightfull and vngentle to you:you are there followed by a faithful shepheard,Looke vpon him, loue him: he worships you. Phe. Good shepheard, tell this youth what 'tis to loue Sil. It is to be all made of sighes and teares,And so am I for Phebe. Phe. And I for Ganimed. Orl. And I for Rosalind. Ros. And I for no woman. Sil. It is to be all made of faith and seruice,And so am I for Phebe. Phe. And I for Ganimed. Orl. And I for Rosalind. Ros. And I for no woman. Sil. It is to be all made of fantasie,All made of passion, and all made of wishes,All adoration, dutie, and obseruance,All humblenesse, all patience, and impatience,All puritie, all triall, all obseruance:And so am I for Phebe. Phe. And so am I for Ganimed. Orl. And so am I for Rosalind. Ros. And so am I for no woman. Phe. If this be so, why blame you me to loue you? Sil. If this be so, why blame you me to loue you? Orl. If this be so, why blame you me to loue you? Ros. Why do you speake too, Why blame you meeto loue you. Orl. To her, that is not heere, nor doth not heare. Ros. Pray you no more of this, 'tis like the howlingof Irish Wolues against the Moone: I will helpe youif I can: I would loue you if I could: To morrow meetme altogether: I wil marrie you, if euer I marrie Wo-man, and Ile be married to morrow: I will satisfie you,if euer I satisfi'd man, and you shall bee married to mor-row. I wil content you, if what pleases you contentsyou, and you shal be married to morrow: As you loue Rosalind meet, as you loue Phebe meet, and as I loue nowoman, Ile meet: so fare you wel: I haue left you com-mands. Sil. Ile not faile, if I liue. Phe. Nor I. Orl. Nor I. Exeunt.
Scoena Tertia. Enter Clowne and Audrey. Clo. To morrow is the ioyfull day Audrey, to morowwill we be married. Aud. I do desire it with all my heart: and I hope it isno dishonest desire, to desire to be a woman of the world?Heere come two of the banish'd Dukes Pages. Enter two Pages. 1.Pa. Wel met honest Gentleman. Clo. By my troth well met: come, sit, sit, and a song. 2.Pa. We are for you, sit i'th middle. 1.Pa. Shal we clap into't roundly, without hauking,or spitting, or saying we are hoarse, which are the onelyprologues to a bad voice. 2.Pa. I faith, y'faith, and both in a tune like twogipsies on a horse. Song. It was a Louer, and his lasse,With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,That o're the greene corne feild did passe,In the spring time, the onely pretty rang time.When Birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding.Sweet Louers loue the spring,And therefore take the present time.With a hey, & a ho, and a hey nonino,For loue is crowned with the prime.In spring time, &c.Betweene the acres of the Rie,With a hey, and a ho, & a hey nonino:These prettie Country folks would lie.In spring time, &c. This Carroll they began that houre,With a hey and a ho, & a hey nonino:How that a life was but a Flower,In spring time, &c. Clo. Truly yong Gentlemen, though there was nogreat matter in the dittie, yet the note was very vntunable 1.Pa. you are deceiu'd Sir, we kept time, we lost notour time. Clo. By my troth yes: I count it but time lost to hearesuch a foolish song. God buy you, and God mend yourvoices. Come Audrie. Exeunt.
Scena Quarta. Enter Duke Senior, Amyens, Iaques, Orlan-do, Oliuer, Celia. Du.Sen. Dost thou beleeue Orlando, that the boyCan do all this that he hath promised? Orl. I sometimes do beleeue, and somtimes do not,As those that feare they hope, and know they feare. Enter Rosalinde, Siluius, & Phebe. Ros. Patience once more, whiles our co[m]pact is vrg'd:You say, if I bring in your Rosalinde, You wil bestow her on Orlando heere? Du.Se. That would I, had I kingdoms to giue with hir. Ros. And you say you wil haue her, when I bring hir? Orl. That would I, were I of all kingdomes King. Ros. You say, you'l marrie me, if I be willing. Phe. That will I, should I die the houre after. Ros. But if you do refuse to marrie me,You'l giue your selfe to this most faithfull Shepheard. Phe. So is the bargaine. Ros. You say that you'l haue Phebe if she will. Sil. Though to haue her and death, were both onething. Ros. I haue promis'd to make all this matter euen:Keepe you your word, O Duke, to giue your daughter,You yours Orlando, to receiue his daughter:Keepe you your word Phebe, that you'l marrie me,Or else refusing me to wed this shepheard:Keepe your word Siluius, that you'l marrie herIf she refuse me, and from hence I goTo make these doubts all euen. Exit Ros. and Celia. Du.Sen. I do remember in this shepheard boy,Some liuely touches of my daughters fauour. Orl. My Lord, the first time that I euer saw him,Me thought he was a brother to your daughter:But my good Lord, this Boy is Forrest borne,And hath bin tutor'd in the rudimentsOf many desperate studies, by his vnckle,Whom he reports to be a great Magitian. Enter Clowne and Audrey. Obscured in the circle of this Forrest. Iaq. There is sure another flood toward, and thesecouples are comming to the Arke. Here comes a payreof verie strange beasts, which in all tongues, are call'dFooles. Clo. Salutation and greeting to you all. Iaq. Good my Lord, bid him welcome: This is theMotley-minded Gentleman, that I haue so often met inthe Forrest: he hath bin a Courtier he sweares. Clo. If any man doubt that, let him put mee to mypurgation, I haue trod a measure, I haue flattred a Lady,I haue bin politicke with my friend, smooth with mineenemie, I haue vndone three Tailors, I haue had fourequarrels, and like to haue fought one. Iaq. And how was that tane vp? Clo. 'Faith we met, and found the quarrel was vponthe seuenth cause. Iaq. How seuenth cause? Good my Lord, like thisfellow. Du.Se. I like him very well. Clo. God'ild you sir, I desire you of the like: I pressein heere sir, amongst the rest of the Country copulatiuesto sweare, and to forsweare, according as mariage bindsand blood breakes: a poore virgin sir, an il-fauor'd thingsir, but mine owne, a poore humour of mine sir, to takethat that no man else will: rich honestie dwels like a mi-ser sir, in a poore house, as your Pearle in your foule oy-ster. Du.Se. By my faith, he is very swift, and sententious Clo. According to the fooles bolt sir, and such dulcetdiseases. Iaq. But for the seuenth cause. How did you findethe quarrell on the seuenth cause? Clo. Vpon a lye, seuen times remoued: (beare yourbodie more seeming Audry) as thus sir: I did dislike thecut of a certaine Courtiers beard: he sent me word, if Isaid his beard was not cut well, hee was in the minde itwas: this is call'd the retort courteous. If I sent himword againe, it was not well cut, he wold send me wordhe cut it to please himselfe: this is call'd the quip modest.If againe, it was not well cut, he disabled my iudgment:this is called, the reply churlish. If againe it was not wellcut, he would answer I spake not true: this is call'd thereproofe valiant. If againe, it was not well cut, he woldsay, I lie: this is call'd the counter-checke quarrelsome:and so to lye circumstantiall, and the lye direct. Iaq. And how oft did you say his beard was not wellcut? Clo. I durst go no further then the lye circumstantial:nor he durst not giue me the lye direct: and so wee mea-sur'dswords, and parted. Iaq. Can you nominate in order now, the degrees ofthe lye. Clo. O sir, we quarrel in print, by the booke: as youhaue bookes for good manners: I will name you the de-grees. The first, the Retort courteous: the second, theQuip-modest: the third, the reply Churlish: the fourth,the Reproofe valiant: the fift, the Counterchecke quar-relsome: the sixt, the Lye with circumstance: the sea-uenth, the Lye direct: all these you may auoyd, but theLye direct: and you may auoide that too, with an If. Iknew when seuen Iustices could not take vp a Quarrell,but when the parties were met themselues, one of themthought but of an If; as if you saide so, then I saide so:and they shooke hands, and swore brothers. Your If, isthe onely peace-maker: much vertue in if. Iaq. Is not this a rare fellow my Lord? He's as goodat any thing, and yet a foole. Du.Se. He vses his folly like a stalking-horse, and vn-der the presentation of that he shoots his wit. Enter Hymen, Rosalind, and Celia. Still Musicke. Hymen. Then is there mirth in heauen,When earthly things made eauenattone together.Good Duke receiue thy daughter,Hymen from Heauen brought her,Yea brought her hether.That thou mightst ioyne his hand with his,Whose heart within his bosome is. Ros. To you I giue my selfe, for I am yours.To you I giue my selfe, for I am yours. Du.Se. If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter. Orl. If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind. Phe. If sight & shape be true, why then my loue adieu Ros. Ile haue no Father, if you be not he:Ile haue no Husband, if you be not he:Nor ne're wed woman, if you be not shee. Hy. Peace hoa: I barre confusion,'Tis I must make conclusionOf these most strange euents:Here's eight that must take hands,To ioyne in Hymens bands,If truth holds true contents.You and you, no crosse shall part;You and you, are hart in hart:You, to his loue must accord,Or haue a Woman to your Lord.You and you, are sure together,As the Winter to fowle Weather:Whiles a Wedlocke Hymne we sing,Feede your selues with questioning:That reason, wonder may diminishHow thus we met, and these things finish. Song. Wedding is great Iunos crowne,O blessed bond of boord and bed:'Tis Hymen peoples euerie towne,High wedlock then be honored:Honor, high honor and renowneTo Hymen, God of euerie Towne. Du.Se. O my deere Neece, welcome thou art to me,Euen daughter welcome, in no lesse degree. Phe. I wil not eate my word, now thou art mine,Thy faith, my fancie to thee doth combine. Enter Second Brother. 2.Bro. Let me haue audience for a word or two:I am the second sonne of old Sir Rowland, That bring these tidings to this faire assembly. Duke Frederick hearing how that euerie dayMen of great worth resorted to this forrest,Addrest a mightie power, which were on footeIn his owne conduct, purposely to takeHis brother heere, and put him to the sword:And to the skirts of this wilde Wood he came;Where, meeting with an old Religious man,After some question with him, was conuertedBoth from his enterprize, and from the world:His crowne bequeathing to his banish'd Brother,And all their Lands restor'd to him againeThat were with him exil'd. This to be true,I do engage my life. Du.Se. Welcome yong man:Thou offer'st fairely to thy brothers wedding:To one his lands with-held, and to the otherA land it selfe at large, a potent Dukedome.First, in this Forrest, let vs do those endsThat heere were well begun, and wel begot:And after, euery of this happie numberThat haue endur'd shrew'd daies, and nights with vs,Shal share the good of our returned fortune,According to the measure of their states.Meane time, forget this new-falne dignitie,And fall into our Rusticke Reuelrie:Play Musicke, and you Brides and Bride-groomes all,With measure heap'd in ioy, to'th Measures fall. Iaq. Sir, by your patience: if I heard you rightly,The Duke hath put on a Religious life,And throwne into neglect the pompous Court. 2.Bro. He hath. Iaq. To him will I: out of these conuertites,There is much matter to be heard, and learn'd:you to your former Honor, I bequeathyour patience, and your vertue, well deserues it.you to a loue, that your true faith doth merit:you to your land, and loue, and great allies:you to a long, and well-deserued bed:And you to wrangling, for thy louing voyageIs but for two moneths victuall'd: So to your pleasures,I am for other, then for dancing meazures. Du.Se. Stay, Iaques, stay. Iaq. To see no pastime, I: what you would haue,Ile stay to know, at your abandon'd caue. Exit. Du.Se. Proceed, proceed: wee'l begin these rights,As we do trust, they'l end in true delights. Exit Ros. It is not the fashion to see the Ladie the Epi-logue: but it is no more vnhandsome, then to see theLord the Prologue. If it be true, that good wine needsno bush, 'tis true, that a good play needes no Epilogue.Yet to good wine they do vse good bushes: and goodplayes proue the better by the helpe of good Epilogues:What a case am I in then, that am neither a good Epi-logue, nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalfe of agood play? I am not furnish'd like a Begger, thereforeto begge will not become mee. My way is to coniureyou, and Ile begin with the Women. I charge you (Owomen) for the loue you beare to men, to like as muchof this Play, as please you: And I charge you (O men)for the loue you beare to women (as I perceiue by yoursimpring, none of you hates them) that betweene you,and the women, the play may please. If I were a Wo-man, I would kisse as many of you as had beards thatpleas'd me, complexions that lik'd me, and breaths thatI defi'de not: And I am sure, as many as haue goodbeards, or good faces, or sweet breaths, will for my kindoffer, when I make curt'sie, bid me farewell. Exit.