AS YOU LIKE IT
SENIOR living in banishment.
FREDERICK his brother, an usurper of his dominions.
JAQUES } lords attending on the banished duke.
LE BEAU a
courtier attending upon Frederick.
wrestler to Frederick.
JAQUES, ORLANDO } sons of Sir Rowland de Boys.
DENNIS } servants to Oliver.
MARTEXT a vicar.
SILVIUS } shepherds.
country fellow in love with Audrey.
daughter to the banished duke.
daughter to Frederick.
pages, and attendants, &c.
[Scene: Oliver's house; Duke Frederick's court; and the Forest of
[Orchard of Oliver's house.]
[Enter ORLANDO and ADAM]
As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion
me by will but poor a thousand crowns,
thou sayest, charged my brother, on his
to breed me well: and there begins my
My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and
speaks goldenly of his profit: for my part,
me rustically at home, or, to speak more
stays me here at home unkept; for call you
keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that
not from the stalling of an ox? His horses
better; for, besides that they are fair
feeding, they are taught their manage,
that end riders dearly hired: but I, his
gain nothing under him but growth; for the
animals on his dunghills are as much
him as I. Besides this nothing that he so
gives me, the something that nature gave
countenance seems to take from me: he lets
with his hinds, bars me the place of a
and, as much as in him lies, mines my
with my education. This is it, Adam, that
me; and the spirit of my father, which I
within me, begins to mutiny against this
I will no longer endure it, though yet I
wise remedy how to avoid it.
Yonder comes my master, your brother.
Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will
Now, sir! what make you here?
Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing.
What mar you then, sir?
Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God
poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness.
Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile.
Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks with them?
prodigal portion have I spent, that I should
Know you where your are, sir?
O, sir, very well; here in your orchard.
Know you before whom, sir?
Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I know
you are my
eldest brother; and, in the gentle
of blood, you should so know me. The
of nations allows you my better, in that
the first-born; but the same tradition
away my blood, were there twenty brothers
us: I have as much of my father in me as
albeit, I confess, your coming before me is
Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this.
Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?
I am no villain; I am the youngest son of Sir
Boys; he was my father, and he is thrice
that says such a father begot villains.
not my brother, I would not take this hand
throat till this other had pulled out thy
saying so: thou hast railed on thyself.
Sweet masters, be patient: for your father's
be at accord.
Let me go, I say.
I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. My
charged you in his will to give me good
you have trained me like a peasant,
and hiding from me all gentleman-like
The spirit of my father grows strong in
me, and I
will no longer endure it: therefore allow
exercises as may become a gentleman, or
the poor allottery my father left me by
with that I will go buy my fortunes.
And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent?
get you in: I will not long be troubled
you shall have some part of your will: I
I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good.
Get you with him, you old dog.
Is 'old dog' my reward? Most true, I have lost my
your service. God be with my old master!
not have spoke such a word.
[Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM]
Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? I will
your rankness, and yet give no thousand
neither. Holla, Dennis!
Calls your worship?
Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, here to speak with me?
So please you, he is here at the door and importunes
Call him in.
'Twill be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is.
Good morrow to your worship.
Good Monsieur Charles, what's the new news at the
There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news:
the old duke is banished by his younger
the new duke; and three or four loving lords
themselves into voluntary exile with him,
lands and revenues enrich the new duke;
he gives them good leave to wander.
Can you tell if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, be
with her father?
O, no; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves
ever from their cradles bred together,
would have followed her exile, or have died
behind her. She is at the court, and no
beloved of her uncle than his own daughter; and
ladies loved as they do.
Where will the old duke live?
They say he is already in the forest of Arden, and
merry men with him; and there they live like
Robin Hood of England: they say many young
flock to him every day, and fleet the time
as they did in the golden world.
What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke?
Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a
am given, sir, secretly to understand
younger brother Orlando hath a disposition
to come in
disguised against me to try a fall.
sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he that
without some broken limb shall acquit him
brother is but young and tender; and,
love, I would be loath to foil him, as I
my own honour, if he come in: therefore,
out of my
love to you, I came hither to acquaint you
that either you might stay him from his
or brook such disgrace well as he shall
in that it is a thing of his own search
altogether against my will.
Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which
find I will most kindly requite. I had
notice of my brother's purpose herein and
underhand means laboured to dissuade him from
it, but he
is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles:
it is the
stubbornest young fellow of France, full
ambition, an envious emulator of every man's
parts, a secret and villanous contriver against
natural brother: therefore use thy
I had as lief thou didst break his neck
finger. And thou wert best look to't; for if
him any slight disgrace or if he do not
grace himself on thee, he will practise
thee by poison, entrap thee by some
device and never leave thee till he
thy life by some indirect means or other;
assure thee, and almost with tears I speak
is not one so young and so villanous this
living. I speak but brotherly of him; but
anatomize him to thee as he is, I must
weep and thou must look pale and wonder.
I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come
I'll give him his payment: if ever he go
again, I'll never wrestle for prize more: and
keep your worship!
Farewell, good Charles.
Now will I stir this gamester: I hope I shall see
an end of
him; for my soul, yet I know not why,
nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle, never
and yet learned, full of noble device, of
enchantingly beloved, and indeed so much
heart of the world, and especially of my own
who best know him, that I am altogether
but it shall not be so long; this
shall clear all: nothing remains but that
the boy thither; which now I'll go about.
[Lawn before the Duke's palace.]
[Enter CELIA and ROSALIND]
I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.
Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of;
you yet I were merrier? Unless you could
to forget a banished father, you must not
how to remember any extraordinary pleasure.
Herein I see thou lovest me not with the full weight
love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father,
banished thy uncle, the duke my father, so thou
still with me, I could have taught my
take thy father for mine: so wouldst thou,
truth of thy love to me were so righteously
as mine is to thee.
Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to
You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is
have: and, truly, when he dies, thou shalt
heir, for what he hath taken away from thy
perforce, I will render thee again in
by mine honour, I will; and when I break
let me turn monster: therefore, my
Rose, my dear Rose, be merry.
From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. Let
what think you of falling in love?
Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport withal: but
man in good earnest; nor no further in sport
than with safety of a pure blush thou mayst
come off again.
What shall be our sport, then?
Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from
that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally.
I would we could do so, for her benefits are
misplaced, and the bountiful blind woman
mistake in her gifts to women.
'Tis true; for those that she makes fair she scarce
honest, and those that she makes honest she
Nay, now thou goest from Fortune's office to
Fortune reigns in gifts of the world,
not in the
lineaments of Nature.
No? when Nature hath made a fair creature, may she
Fortune fall into the fire? Though Nature
us wit to flout at Fortune, hath not
sent in this fool to cut off the argument?
Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when
makes Nature's natural the cutter-off of
Peradventure this is not Fortune's work neither, but
who perceiveth our natural wits too dull
of such goddesses and hath sent this
for our whetstone; for always the dulness of
is the whetstone of the wits. How now,
whither wander you?
Mistress, you must come away to your father.
Were you made the messenger?
No, by mine honour, but I was bid to come for you.
Where learned you that oath, fool?
Of a certain knight that swore by his honour they
pancakes and swore by his honour the
was naught: now I'll stand to it, the
were naught and the mustard was good, and
not the knight forsworn.
How prove you that, in the great heap of your
Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom.
Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and
your beards that I am a knave.
By our beards, if we had them, thou art.
By my knavery, if I had it, then I were; but if you
that that is not, you are not forsworn: no
this knight swearing by his honour, for he
any; or if he had, he had sworn it away
ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard.
Prithee, who is't that thou meanest?
One that old Frederick, your father, loves.
My father's love is enough to honour him: enough!
more of him; you'll be whipped for taxation
The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely what
By my troth, thou sayest true; for since the little
fools have was silenced, the little foolery
men have makes a great show. Here comes
With his mouth full of news.
Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young.
Then shall we be news-crammed.
All the better; we shall be the more marketable.
[Enter LE BEAU]
Bon jour, Monsieur Le Beau: what's the news?
Fair princess, you have lost much good sport.
Sport! of what colour?
What colour, madam! how shall I answer you?
As wit and fortune will.
Or as the Destinies decree.
Well said: that was laid on with a trowel.
Nay, if I keep not my rank, --
Thou losest thy old smell.
You amaze me, ladies: I would have told you of good
which you have lost the sight of.
You tell us the manner of the wrestling.
I will tell you the beginning; and, if it please
ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is
yet to do;
and here, where you are, they are coming
Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried.
There comes an old man and his three sons, --
I could match this beginning with an old tale.
Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence.
With bills on their necks, 'Be it known unto all men
The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the
wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him
three of his ribs, that there is little
life in him: so he served the second, and
third. Yonder they lie; the poor old man,
father, making such pitiful dole over them
the beholders take his part with weeping.
But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies
Why, this that I speak of.
Thus men may grow wiser every day: it is the first
ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport
Or I, I promise thee.
But is there any else longs to see this broken music
sides? is there yet another dotes upon
Shall we see this wrestling, cousin?
You must, if you stay here; for here is the place
for the wrestling, and they are ready to
Yonder, sure, they are coming: let us now stay and see it.
[Flourish. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, ORLANDO, CHARLES, and
Come on: since the youth will not be entreated, his
on his forwardness.
Is yonder the man?
Even he, madam.
Alas, he is too young! yet he looks successfully.
How now, daughter and cousin! are you crept hither
to see the
Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave.
You will take little delight in it, I can tell you;
such odds in the man. In pity of the
youth I would fain dissuade him, but he
be entreated. Speak to him, ladies; see if
Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau.
Do so: I'll not be by.
Monsieur the challenger, the princesses call for you.
I attend them with all respect and duty.
Young man, have you challenged Charles the wrestler?
No, fair princess; he is the general challenger: I
in, as others do, to try with him the
of my youth.
Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your
have seen cruel proof of this man's
if you saw yourself with your eyes or
yourself with your judgment, the fear of your
would counsel you to a more equal
We pray you, for your own sake, to
your own safety and give over this attempt.
Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore
misprised: we will make it our suit to the duke
wrestling might not go forward.
I beseech you, punish me not with your hard
wherein I confess me much guilty, to deny
and excellent ladies any thing. But let
eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my
wherein if I be foiled, there is but one
that was never gracious; if killed, but one
was willing to be so: I shall do my
wrong, for I have none to lament me, the
injury, for in it I have nothing; only in
I fill up a place, which may be better
when I have made it empty.
The little strength that I have, I would it were with you.
And mine, to eke out hers.
Fare you well: pray heaven I be deceived in you!
Your heart's desires be with you!
Come, where is this young gallant that is so
to lie with his mother earth?
Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working.
You shall try but one fall.
No, I warrant your grace, you shall not entreat him
second, that have so mightily persuaded him
An you mean to mock me after, you should not have
before: but come your ways.
Now Hercules be thy speed, young man!
I would I were invisible, to catch the strong
O excellent young man!
If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who
[Shout. CHARLES is thrown]
No more, no more.
Yes, I beseech your grace: I am not yet well breathed.
How dost thou, Charles?
He cannot speak, my lord.
Bear him away. What is thy name, young man?
Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys.
I would thou hadst been son to some man else:
esteem'd thy father honourable,
But I did
find him still mine enemy:
shouldst have better pleased me with this deed,
descended from another house.
thee well; thou art a gallant youth:
thou hadst told me of another father.
[Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK, train, and LE BEAU]
Were I my father, coz, would I do this?
I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son,
youngest son; and would not change that calling,
adopted heir to Frederick.
My father loved Sir Rowland as his soul,
the world was of my father's mind:
before known this young man his son,
have given him tears unto entreaties,
should thus have ventured.
Let us go
thank him and encourage him:
father's rough and envious disposition
at heart. Sir, you have well deserved:
If you do
keep your promises in love
justly, as you have exceeded all promise,
mistress shall be happy.
[Giving him a chain from her neck]
Wear this for me, one out of suits with fortune,
give more, but that her hand lacks means.
Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman.
Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts
thrown down, and that which here stands up
Is but a
quintain, a mere lifeless block.
He calls us back: my pride fell with my fortunes;
him what he would. Did you call, sir?
have wrestled well and overthrown
Will you go, coz?
Have with you. Fare you well.
[Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA]
What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue?
speak to her, yet she urged conference.
Orlando, thou art overthrown!
or something weaker masters thee.
[Re-enter LE BEAU]
Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you
this place. Albeit you have deserved
commendation, true applause and love,
is now the duke's condition
misconstrues all that you have done.
is humorous; what he is indeed,
you to conceive than I to speak of.
I thank you, sir: and, pray you, tell me this:
the two was daughter of the duke
was at the wrestling?
Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners;
indeed the lesser is his daughter
is daughter to the banish'd duke,
detain'd by her usurping uncle,
his daughter company; whose loves
than the natural bond of sisters.
But I can
tell you that of late this duke
displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece,
upon no other argument
the people praise her for her virtues
her for her good father's sake;
And, on my
life, his malice 'gainst the lady
suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well:
in a better world than this,
desire more love and knowledge of you.
I rest much bounden to you: fare you well.
[Exit LE BEAU]
Thus must I from the smoke into the smother;
tyrant duke unto a tyrant brother:
[A room in the palace.]
[Enter CELIA and ROSALIND]
Why, cousin! why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy! not a word?
Not one to throw at a dog.
No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon
throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons.
Then there were two cousins laid up; when the one
lamed with reasons and the other mad
But is all this for your father?
No, some of it is for my child's father. O, how
briers is this working-day world!
They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in
foolery: if we walk not in the trodden
very petticoats will catch them.
I could shake them off my coat: these burs are in my heart.
Hem them away.
I would try, if I could cry 'hem' and have him.
Come, come, wrestle with thy affections.
O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself!
O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in
a fall. But, turning these jests out of
let us talk in good earnest: is it
on such a sudden, you should fall into so
liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son?
The duke my father loved his father dearly.
Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his son
this kind of chase, I should hate him,
father hated his father dearly; yet I hate
No, faith, hate him not, for my sake.
Why should I not? doth he not deserve well?
Let me love him for that, and do you love him
do. Look, here comes the duke.
With his eyes full of anger.
[Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords]
Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste
you from our court.
these ten days if that thou be'st found
our public court as twenty miles,
I do beseech your grace,
Let me the
knowledge of my fault bear with me:
myself I hold intelligence
acquaintance with mine own desires,
If that I
do not dream or be not frantic, --
As I do
trust I am not -- then, dear uncle,
much as in a thought unborn
offend your highness.
Thus do all traitors:
purgation did consist in words,
as innocent as grace itself:
suffice thee that I trust thee not.
Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor:
whereon the likelihood depends.
Thou art thy father's daughter; there's enough.
So was I when your highness took his dukedom;
So was I
when your highness banish'd him:
not inherited, my lord;
Or, if we
did derive it from our friends,
that to me? my father was no traitor:
my liege, mistake me not so much
my poverty is treacherous.
Dear sovereign, hear me speak.
Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake,
she with her father ranged along.
I did not then entreat to have her stay;
your pleasure and your own remorse:
I was too
young that time to value her;
But now I
know her: if she be a traitor,
Why so am
I; we still have slept together,
Rose at an
instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together,
wheresoever we went, like Juno's swans,
went coupled and inseparable.
She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness,
silence and her patience
the people, and they pity her.
Thou art a
fool: she robs thee of thy name;
wilt show more bright and seem more virtuous
is gone. Then open not thy lips:
irrevocable is my doom
have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd.
Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege:
live out of her company.
You are a fool. You, niece, provide yourself:
outstay the time, upon mine honour,
And in the
greatness of my word, you die.
[Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK and Lords]
O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt thou go?
change fathers? I will give thee mine.
thee, be not thou more grieved than I am.
I have more cause.
Thou hast not, cousin;
cheerful: know'st thou not, the duke
banish'd me, his daughter?
That he hath not.
No, hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love
teacheth thee that thou and I am one:
be sunder'd? shall we part, sweet girl?
No: let my
father seek another heir.
devise with me how we may fly,
go and what to bear with us;
And do not
seek to take your change upon you,
your griefs yourself and leave me out;
this heaven, now at our sorrows pale,
thou canst, I'll go along with thee.
Why, whither shall we go?
To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden.
Alas, what danger will it be to us,
we are, to travel forth so far!
provoketh thieves sooner than gold.
I'll put myself in poor and mean attire
And with a
kind of umber smirch my face;
do you: so shall we pass along
Were it not better,
that I am more than common tall,
That I did
suit me all points like a man?
curtle-axe upon my thigh,
boar-spear in my hand; and -- in my heart
what hidden woman's fear there will --
a swashing and a martial outside,
other mannish cowards have
outface it with their semblances.
What shall I call thee when thou art a man?
I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page;
therefore look you call me Ganymede.
will you be call'd?
Something that hath a reference to my state
Celia, but Aliena.
But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal
clownish fool out of your father's court?
not be a comfort to our travel?
He'll go along o'er the wide world with me;
alone to woo him. Let's away,
our jewels and our wealth together,
fittest time and safest way
To hide us
from pursuit that will be made
flight. Now go we in content
and not to banishment.
[The Forest of Arden.]
[Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and two or three Lords, like
Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,
old custom made this life more sweet
of painted pomp? Are not these woods
from peril than the envious court?
we but the penalty of Adam,
seasons' difference, as the icy fang
churlish chiding of the winter's wind,
when it bites and blows upon my body,
I shrink with cold, I smile and say
no flattery: these are counsellors
feelingly persuade me what I am.'
the uses of adversity,
like the toad, ugly and venomous,
a precious jewel in his head;
our life exempt from public haunt
tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
stones and good in every thing.
not change it.
Happy is your grace,
translate the stubbornness of fortune
quiet and so sweet a style.
Come, shall we go and kill us venison?
And yet it
irks me the poor dappled fools,
native burghers of this desert city,
their own confines with forked heads
round haunches gored.
Indeed, my lord,
melancholy Jaques grieves at that,
that kind, swears you do more usurp
your brother that hath banish'd you.
Lord of Amiens and myself
behind him as he lay along
oak whose antique root peeps out
brook that brawls along this wood:
which place a poor sequester'd stag,
the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt,
to languish, and indeed, my lord,
wretched animal heaved forth such groans
discharge did stretch his leathern coat
bursting, and the big round tears
one another down his innocent nose
chase; and thus the hairy fool
marked of the melancholy Jaques,
the extremest verge of the swift brook,
it with tears.
But what said Jaques?
Did he not
moralize this spectacle?
O, yes, into a thousand similes.
his weeping into the needless stream;
deer,' quoth he, 'thou makest a testament
worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
which had too much:' then, being there alone,
abandon'd of his velvet friends,
right:' quoth he; 'thus misery doth part
of company:' anon a careless herd,
the pasture, jumps along by him
stays to greet him; 'Ay' quoth Jaques,
you fat and greasy citizens;
the fashion: wherefore do you look
poor and broken bankrupt there?'
invectively he pierceth through
of the country, city, court,
of this our life, swearing that we
usurpers, tyrants and what's worse,
the animals and to kill them up
assign'd and native dwelling-place.
And did you leave him in this contemplation?
We did, my lord, weeping and commenting
Show me the place:
I love to
cope him in these sullen fits,
he's full of matter.
I'll bring you to him straight.
[A room in the palace.]
[Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords]
Can it be possible that no man saw them?
be: some villains of my court
consent and sufferance in this.
I cannot hear of any that did see her.
ladies, her attendants of her chamber,
abed, and in the morning early
the bed untreasured of their mistress.
My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft
was wont to laugh, is also missing.
the princess' gentlewoman,
that she secretly o'erheard
daughter and her cousin much commend
and graces of the wrestler
but lately foil the sinewy Charles;
believes, wherever they are gone,
is surely in their company.
Send to his brother; fetch that gallant hither;
If he be
absent, bring his brother to me;
him find him: do this suddenly,
not search and inquisition quail
again these foolish runaways.
[Before OLIVER'S house.]
[Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting]
What, my young master? O, my gentle master!
O my sweet
master! O you memory
Of old Sir
Rowland! why, what make you here?
you virtuous? why do people love you?
wherefore are you gentle, strong and valiant?
you be so fond to overcome
priser of the humorous duke?
praise is come too swiftly home before you.
not, master, to some kind of men
graces serve them but as enemies?
No more do
yours: your virtues, gentle master,
sanctified and holy traitors to you.
O, what a
world is this, when what is comely
him that bears it!
Why, what's the matter?
O unhappy youth!
within these doors; within this roof
of all your graces lives:
brother -- no, no brother; yet the son --
the son, I will not call him son
Of him I
was about to call his father --
your praises, and this night he means
the lodging where you use to lie
within it: if he fail of that,
have other means to cut you off.
overheard him and his practises.
This is no
place; this house is but a butchery:
fear it, do not enter it.
Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go?
No matter whither, so you come not here.
What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food?
Or with a
base and boisterous sword enforce
living on the common road?
must do, or know not what to do:
Yet this I
will not do, do how I can;
will subject me to the malice
diverted blood and bloody brother.
But do not so. I have five hundred crowns,
thrifty hire I saved under your father,
did store to be my foster-nurse
service should in my old limbs lie lame
unregarded age in corners thrown:
and He that doth the ravens feed,
providently caters for the sparrow,
to my age! Here is the gold;
this I give you. Let me be your servant:
look old, yet I am strong and lusty;
For in my
youth I never did apply
rebellious liquors in my blood,
not with unbashful forehead woo
of weakness and debility;
my age is as a lusty winter,
but kindly: let me go with you;
the service of a younger man
your business and necessities.
O good old man, how well in thee appears
constant service of the antique world,
service sweat for duty, not for meed!
not for the fashion of these times,
will sweat but for promotion,
that, do choke their service up
the having: it is not so with thee.
old man, thou prunest a rotten tree,
cannot so much as a blossom yield
In lieu of
all thy pains and husbandry
thy ways; well go along together,
And ere we
have thy youthful wages spent,
light upon some settled low content.
Master, go on, and I will follow thee,
last gasp, with truth and loyalty.
seventeen years till now almost fourscore
I, but now live here no more.
seventeen years many their fortunes seek;
fourscore it is too late a week:
fortune cannot recompense me better
die well and not my master's debtor.
[The Forest of Arden.]
[Enter ROSALIND for Ganymede, CELIA for Aliena, and TOUCHSTONE]
O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits!
I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary.
I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's
and to cry like a woman; but I must comfort
vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show
courageous to petticoat: therefore courage,
I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go no further.
For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear
you; yet I
should bear no cross if I did bear you,
think you have no money in your purse.
Well, this is the forest of Arden.
Ay, now am I in Arden; the more fool I; when I was
at home, I
was in a better place: but travellers
Ay, be so, good Touchstone.
[Enter CORIN and SILVIUS]
Look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in
That is the way to make her scorn you still.
O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her!
I partly guess; for I have loved ere now.
No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess,
thy youth thou wast as true a lover
sigh'd upon a midnight pillow:
But if thy
love were ever like to mine --
As sure I
think did never man love so --
actions most ridiculous
been drawn to by thy fantasy?
Into a thousand that I have forgotten.
O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily!
remember'st not the slightest folly
love did make thee run into,
Or if thou
hast not sat as I do now,
thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
Or if thou
hast not broke from company
as my passion now makes me,
Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound,
I have by
hard adventure found mine own.
And I mine. I remember, when I was in love I broke
upon a stone and bid him take that for
a-night to Jane Smile; and I remember the
her batlet and the cow's dugs that her
chopt hands had milked; and I remember the
a peascod instead of her, from whom I took
and, giving her them again, said with
tears 'Wear these for my sake.' We that are
lovers run into strange capers; but as all is
nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.
Thou speakest wiser than thou art ware of.
Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I
shins against it.
Jove, Jove! this shepherd's passion
upon my fashion.
And mine; but it grows something stale with me.
I pray you, one of you question yond man
If he for
gold will give us any food:
almost to death.
Holla, you clown!
Peace, fool: he's not thy kinsman.
Your betters, sir.
Else are they very wretched.
Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend.
And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.
I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold
this desert place buy entertainment,
where we may rest ourselves and feed:
young maid with travel much oppress'd
Fair sir, I pity her
for her sake more than for mine own,
fortunes were more able to relieve her;
But I am
shepherd to another man
And do not
shear the fleeces that I graze:
is of churlish disposition
recks to find the way to heaven
deeds of hospitality:
his cote, his flocks and bounds of feed
Are now on
sale, and at our sheepcote now,
of his absence, there is nothing
will feed on; but what is, come see.
And in my
voice most welcome shall you be.
What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture?
That young swain that you saw here but erewhile,
little cares for buying any thing.
I pray thee, if it stand with honesty,
the cottage, pasture and the flock,
shalt have to pay for it of us.
And we will mend thy wages. I like this place.
willingly could waste my time in it.
Assuredly the thing is to be sold:
me: if you like upon report
the profit and this kind of life,
your very faithful feeder be
And buy it
with your gold right suddenly.
[Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others]
Under the greenwood tree
to lie with me,
his merry note
sweet bird's throat,
hither, come hither, come hither:
he see No enemy
and rough weather.
More, more, I prithee, more.
It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.
I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck
out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs.
My voice is ragged: I know I cannot please you.
I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to
Come, more; another stanzo: call you 'em stanzos?
What you will, Monsieur Jaques.
Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me
Will you sing?
More at your request than to please myself.
Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you;
they call compliment is like the encounter
dog-apes, and when a man thanks me heartily,
have given him a penny and he renders me
beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will
Well, I'll end the song. Sirs, cover the while; the
drink under this tree. He hath been all
to look you.
And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is
disputable for my company: I think of as many
he, but I give heaven thanks and make no
them. Come, warble, come.
[All together here]
And loves to live i' the sun,
the food he eats
pleased with what he gets,
hither, come hither, come hither:
he see No enemy
and rough weather.
I'll give you a verse to this note that I made
in despite of my invention.
And I'll sing it.
Thus it goes: --
If it do
come to pass
man turn ass,
his wealth and ease,
will to please,
fools as he,
An if he
will come to me.
What's that 'ducdame'?
'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a
I'll go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I'll
against all the first-born of Egypt.
And I'll go seek the duke: his banquet is prepared.
[Enter ORLANDO and ADAM]
Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food!
Here lie I
down, and measure out my grave. Farewell,
Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee? Live
comfort a little; cheer thyself a little.
uncouth forest yield any thing savage, I
either be food for it or bring it for food to
conceit is nearer death than thy powers.
sake be comfortable; hold death awhile at
end: I will here be with thee presently;
and if I
bring thee not something to eat, I will
leave to die: but if thou diest before I
art a mocker of my labour. Well said!
lookest cheerly, and I'll be with thee quickly.
liest in the bleak air: come, I will bear
some shelter; and thou shalt not die for
lack of a
dinner, if there live any thing in this
Cheerly, good Adam!
[A table set out. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and Lords like
I think he be transform'd into a beast;
For I can
no where find him like a man.
My lord, he is but even now gone hence:
he merry, hearing of a song.
If he, compact of jars, grow musical,
have shortly discord in the spheres.
him: tell him I would speak with him.
He saves my labour by his own approach.
Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this,
poor friends must woo your company?
A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' the forest,
fool; a miserable world!
As I do
live by food, I met a fool
him down and bask'd him in the sun,
on Lady Fortune in good terms,
set terms and yet a motley fool.
morrow, fool,' quoth I. 'No, sir,' quoth he,
not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune:'
he drew a dial from his poke,
looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
wisely, 'It is ten o'clock:
may see,' quoth he, 'how the world wags:
an hour ago since it was nine,
one hour more 'twill be eleven;
from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,
from hour to hour, we rot and rot;
thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear
fool thus moral on the time,
began to crow like chanticleer,
should be so deep-contemplative,
And I did
laugh sans intermission
An hour by
his dial. O noble fool!
fool! Motley's the only wear.
What fool is this?
O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier,
if ladies be but young and fair,
the gift to know it: and in his brain,
as dry as the remainder biscuit
voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd
observation, the which he vents
forms. O that I were a fool!
ambitious for a motley coat.
Thou shalt have one.
It is my only suit;
that you weed your better judgments
opinion that grows rank in them
That I am
wise. I must have liberty
large a charter as the wind,
To blow on
whom I please; for so fools have;
that are most galled with my folly,
must laugh. And why, sir, must they so?
is plain as way to parish church:
He that a
fool doth very wisely hit
foolishly, although he smart,
seem senseless of the bob: if not,
man's folly is anatomized
the squandering glances of the fool.
in my motley; give me leave
my mind, and I will through and through
the foul body of the infected world,
will patiently receive my medicine.
Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do.
What, for a counter, would I do but good?
Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin:
thyself hast been a libertine,
as the brutish sting itself;
the embossed sores and headed evils,
with licence of free foot hast caught,
thou disgorge into the general world.
Why, who cries out on pride,
therein tax any private party?
not flow as hugely as the sea,
the weary very means do ebb?
in the city do I name,
I say the city-woman bears
of princes on unworthy shoulders?
come in and say that I mean her,
a one as she such is her neighbour?
Or what is
he of basest function
his bravery is not of my cost,
that I mean him, but therein suits
to the mettle of my speech?
then; how then? what then? Let me see wherein
hath wrong'd him: if it do him right,
hath wrong'd himself; if he be free,
my taxing like a wild-goose flies,
of any man. But who comes here?
[Enter ORLANDO, with his sword drawn]
Forbear, and eat no more.
Why, I have eat none yet.
Nor shalt not, till necessity be served.
Of what kind should this cock come of?
Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress,
Or else a
rude despiser of good manners,
civility thou seem'st so empty?
You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny point
distress hath ta'en from me the show
civility: yet am I inland bred
some nurture. But forbear, I say:
that touches any of this fruit
Till I and
my affairs are answered.
An you will not be answered with reason, I must die.
What would you have? Your gentleness shall force
your force move us to gentleness.
I almost die for food; and let me have it.
Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.
Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you:
that all things had been savage here;
therefore put I on the countenance
commandment. But whate'er you are
this desert inaccessible,
shade of melancholy boughs,
neglect the creeping hours of time
you have look'd on better days,
been where bells have knoll'd to church,
sat at any good man's feast,
from your eyelids wiped a tear
what 'tis to pity and be pitied,
gentleness my strong enforcement be:
which hope I blush, and hide my sword.
True is it that we have seen better days,
with holy bell been knoll'd to church
And sat at
good men's feasts and wiped our eyes
that sacred pity hath engender'd:
therefore sit you down in gentleness
upon command what help we have
your wanting may be minister'd.
Then but forbear your food a little while,
like a doe, I go to find my fawn
it food. There is an old poor man,
me hath many a weary step
pure love: till he be first sufficed,
with two weak evils, age and hunger,
I will not
touch a bit.
Go find him out,
will nothing waste till you return.
I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort!
Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy:
and universal theatre
more woeful pageants than the scene
All the world's a stage,
the men and women merely players:
their exits and their entrances;
man in his time plays many parts,
being seven ages. At first the infant,
and puking in the nurse's arms.
the whining school-boy, with his satchel
shining morning face, creeping like snail
to school. And then the lover,
like furnace, with a woeful ballad
his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
the bubble reputation
the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
round belly with good capon lined,
severe and beard of formal cut,
wise saws and modern instances;
And so he
plays his part. The sixth age shifts
lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
again toward childish treble, pipes
whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
this strange eventful history,
childishness and mere oblivion,
teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
[Re-enter ORLANDO, with ADAM]
Welcome. Set down your venerable burthen,
I thank you most for him.
So had you need:
can speak to thank you for myself.
Welcome; fall to: I will not trouble you
As yet, to
question you about your fortunes.
some music; and, good cousin, sing.
Blow, blow, thou winter wind.
not so unkind
is not so keen,
thou art not seen,
thy breath be rude.
sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
heigh-ho, the holly!
is most jolly.
freeze, thou bitter sky,
not bite so nigh
thou the waters warp,
is not so sharp
If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son,
have whisper'd faithfully you were,
mine eye doth his effigies witness
limn'd and living in your face,
welcome hither: I am the duke
your father: the residue of your fortune,
Go to my
cave and tell me. Good old man,
right welcome as thy master is.
him by the arm. Give me your hand,
And let me
all your fortunes understand.
[A room in the palace.]
[Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, and OLIVER]
Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be:
But were I
not the better part made mercy,
not seek an absent argument
revenge, thou present. But look to it:
thy brother, wheresoe'er he is;
with candle; bring him dead or living
this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more
To seek a
living in our territory.
and all things that thou dost call thine
seizure do we seize into our hands,
canst quit thee by thy brothers mouth
Of what we
think against thee.
O that your highness knew my heart in this!
loved my brother in my life.
More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors;
And let my
officers of such a nature
extent upon his house and lands:
expediently and turn him going.
[Enter ORLANDO, with a paper]
Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love:
thrice-crowned queen of night, survey
chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above,
huntress' name that my full life doth sway.
Rosalind! these trees shall be my books
their barks my thoughts I'll character;
eye which in this forest looks
thy virtue witness'd every where.
Orlando; carve on every tree
the chaste and unexpressive she.
[Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE]
And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone?
Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good
in respect that it is a shepherd's life,
naught. In respect that it is solitary, I
very well; but in respect that it is
it is a very vile life. Now, in respect it
is in the
fields, it pleaseth me well; but in
is not in the court, it is tedious. As
is it a
spare life, look you, it fits my humour well;
there is no more plenty in it, it goes much
stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd?
No more but that I know the more one sickens the
ease he is; and that he that wants money,
content is without three good friends;
property of rain is to wet and fire to
good pasture makes fat sheep, and that a
cause of the night is lack of the sun; that
hath learned no wit by nature nor art may
of good breeding or comes of a very dull kindred.
Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in
Then thou art damned.
Nay, I hope.
Truly, thou art damned like an ill-roasted egg, all
For not being at court? Your reason.
Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never sawest
manners; if thou never sawest good manners,
manners must be wicked; and wickedness is
sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous
Not a whit, Touchstone: those that are good manners
court are as ridiculous in the country as the
of the country is most mockable at the
told me you salute not at the court, but
your hands: that courtesy would be
if courtiers were shepherds.
Instance, briefly; come, instance.
Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their
know, are greasy.
Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? and is not
of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of
Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say; come.
Besides, our hands are hard.
Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again.
sounder instance, come.
And they are often tarred over with the surgery of
and would you have us kiss tar? The
hands are perfumed with civet.
Most shallow man! thou worms-meat, in respect of a
of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and
civet is of a baser birth than tar, the
uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd.
You have too courtly a wit for me: I'll rest.
Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee, shallow man!
incision in thee! thou art raw.
Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get
wear, owe no man hate, envy no man's
glad of other men's good, content with my
the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes
my lambs suck.
That is another simple sin in you, to bring the ewes
rams together and to offer to get your
the copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a
and to betray a she-lamb of a
to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram,
out of all
reasonable match. If thou beest not
this, the devil himself will have no
I cannot see else how thou shouldst
Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother.
[Enter ROSALIND, with a paper, reading]
From the east to western Ind,
is like Rosalind.
being mounted on the wind,
all the world bears Rosalind.
pictures fairest lined
black to Rosalind.
fair be kept in mind
fair of Rosalind.
I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners and
and sleeping-hours excepted: it is the
butter-women's rank to market.
For a taste:
If a hart
do lack a hind,
seek out Rosalind.
If the cat
will after kind,
So be sure
garments must be lined,
reap must sheaf and bind;
cart with Rosalind.
nut hath sourest rind,
Such a nut
sweetest rose will find
love's prick and Rosalind.
the very false gallop of verses: why do you
yourself with them?
Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree.
Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.
I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it
medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit
country; for you'll be rotten ere you be half
that's the right virtue of the medlar.
You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the
[Enter CELIA, with a writing]
Peace! Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside.
Why should this a desert be?
For it is
I'll hang on every tree,
civil sayings show:
brief the life of man
stretching of a span
his sum of age;
souls of friend and friend:
the fairest boughs,
every sentence end,
all that read to know
quintessence of every sprite
would in little show.
Heaven Nature charged
body should be fill'd
cheek, but not her heart,
Rosalind of many parts
heavenly synod was devised,
faces, eyes and hearts,
the touches dearest prized.
would that she these gifts should have,
And I to
live and die her slave.
O most gentle pulpiter! what tedious homily of love
wearied your parishioners withal, and never
'Have patience, good people!'
How now! back, friends! Shepherd, go off a little.
Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat;
with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage.
[Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE]
Didst thou hear these verses?
O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of
in them more feet than the verses would bear.
That's no matter: the feet might bear the verses.
Ay, but the feet were lame and could not bear
without the verse and therefore stood
But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name
hanged and carved upon these trees?
I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder
came; for look here what I found on a
I was never so be-rhymed since
time, that I was an Irish rat, which I
Trow you who hath done this?
Is it a man?
And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck.
I prithee, who?
O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to
mountains may be removed with earthquakes
Nay, but who is it?
Is it possible?
Nay, I prithee now with most petitionary vehemence,
who it is.
O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful
and yet again wonderful, and after that,
out of all
Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am
like a man, I have a doublet and hose in
disposition? One inch of delay more is a
of discovery; I prithee, tell me who is it
and speak apace. I would thou couldst
that thou mightst pour this concealed man
out of thy
mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-
bottle, either too much at once, or none at
prithee, take the cork out of thy mouth that
So you may put a man in your belly.
Is he of God's making? What manner of man? Is his
a hat, or his chin worth a beard?
Nay, he hath but a little beard.
Why, God will send more, if the man will be
let me stay the growth of his beard, if
me not the knowledge of his chin.
It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler's
your heart both in an instant.
Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak, sad brow and
I' faith, coz, 'tis he.
Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and
did he when thou sawest him? What said
looked he? Wherein went he? What makes
Did he ask for me? Where remains he?
he with thee? and when shalt thou see
Answer me in one word.
You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first: 'tis a
great for any mouth of this age's size. To
say ay and
no to these particulars is more than to
But doth he know that I am in this forest and in
apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the
It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the
of a lover; but take a taste of my
him, and relish it with good observance.
him under a tree, like a dropped acorn.
It may well be called Jove's tree, when it drops
Give me audience, good madam.
There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded knight.
Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well
Cry 'holla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets
He was furnished like a hunter.
O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.
I would sing my song without a burden: thou bringest
me out of
Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must
Sweet, say on.
You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here?
[Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES]
'Tis he: slink by, and note him.
I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had
have been myself alone.
And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you
God be wi' you: let's meet as little as we can.
I do desire we may be better strangers.
I pray you, mar no more trees with writing
in their barks.
I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading
Rosalind is your love's name?
I do not like her name.
There was no thought of pleasing you when she was
What stature is she of?
Just as high as my heart.
You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been
with goldsmiths' wives, and conned them
Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from
have studied your questions.
You have a nimble wit: I think 'twas made of
heels. Will you sit down with me? and
will rail against our mistress the world and
I will chide no breather in the world but myself,
whom I know most faults.
The worst fault you have is to be in love.
'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue.
I am weary
By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found
He is drowned in the brook: look but in, and you
There I shall see mine own figure.
Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.
I'll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good
I am glad of your departure: adieu, good Monsieur
[Aside to CELIA]
I will speak to him, like a saucy
under that habit play the knave with him.
Very well: what would you?
I pray you, what is't o'clock?
You should ask me what time o' day: there's no clock
Then there is no true lover in the forest; else
every minute and groaning every hour would
lazy foot of Time as well as a clock.
And why not the swift foot of Time? had not that
By no means, sir: Time travels in divers paces with
persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles
who Time trots withal, who Time gallops
who he stands still withal.
I prithee, who doth he trot withal?
Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the
of her marriage and the day it is
if the interim be but a se'nnight,
pace is so hard that it seems the length of
Who ambles Time withal?
With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich man that
the gout, for the one sleeps easily because
study, and the other lives merrily because
no pain, the one lacking the burden of lean
wasteful learning, the other knowing no burden
tedious penury; these Time ambles withal.
Who doth he gallop withal?
With a thief to the gallows, for though he go as
foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there.
Who stays it still withal?
With lawyers in the vacation, for they sleep between
term and then they perceive not how Time moves.
Where dwell you, pretty youth?
With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the
the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.
Are you native of this place?
As the cony that you see dwell where she is kindled.
Your accent is something finer than you could
in so removed a dwelling.
I have been told so of many: but indeed an old
uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was
youth an inland man; one that knew courtship
for there he fell in love. I have heard
many lectures against it, and I thank God
I am not a
woman, to be touched with so many
offences as he hath generally taxed their
Can you remember any of the principal evils that he
the charge of women?
There were none principal; they were all like one
half-pence are, every one fault seeming
till his fellow fault came to match it.
I prithee, recount some of them.
No, I will not cast away my physic but on those that
There is a man haunts the forest, that
young plants with carving 'Rosalind' on
barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns and elegies
brambles, all, forsooth, deifying the name of
if I could meet that fancy-monger I would
some good counsel, for he seems to have the
of love upon him.
I am he that is so love-shaked: I pray you tell me
There is none of my uncle's marks upon you: he
how to know a man in love; in which cage
I am sure you are not prisoner.
What were his marks?
A lean cheek, which you have not, a blue eye and
which you have not, an unquestionable
which you have not, a beard neglected,
have not; but I pardon you for that, for
your having in beard is a younger brother's
then your hose should be ungartered, your
unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe
every thing about you demonstrating a
desolation; but you are no such man; you
point-device in your accoutrements as
yourself than seeming the lover of any other.
Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.
Me believe it! you may as soon make her that you
believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to
do than to
confess she does: that is one of the
the which women still give the lie to
consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he
the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind
I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of
I am that he, that unfortunate he.
But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak?
Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.
Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves
as well a
dark house and a whip as madmen do: and
why they are not so punished and cured
the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers
love too. Yet I profess curing it by counsel.
Did you ever cure any so?
Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to imagine me
his mistress; and I set him every day to
woo me: at
which time would I, being but a moonish
grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing
liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow,
full of tears, full of smiles, for every
something and for no passion truly any
boys and women are for the most part
this colour; would now like him, now loathe
entertain him, then forswear him; now weep
then spit at him; that I drave my suitor
mad humour of love to a living humour of
which was, to forswear the full stream of
and to live in a nook merely monastic.
And thus I
cured him; and this way will I take upon
me to wash
your liver as clean as a sound sheep's
that there shall not be one spot of love in't.
I would not be cured, youth.
I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind
every day to my cote and woo me.
Now, by the faith of my love, I will: tell me
Go with me to it and I'll show it you and by the way
tell me where in the forest you live.
With all my heart, good youth.
Nay you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you go?
[Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES behind]
Come apace, good Audrey: I will fetch up your
Audrey. And how, Audrey? am I the man yet?
simple feature content you?
Your features! Lord warrant us! what features!
I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most
poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.
O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove
When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a
wit seconded with the forward child
it strikes a man more dead than a
reckoning in a little room. Truly, I would
had made thee poetical.
I do not know what 'poetical' is: is it honest in
word? is it a true thing?
No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most
and lovers are given to poetry, and what
in poetry may be said as lovers they do feign.
Do you wish then that the gods had made me poetical?
I do, truly; for thou swearest to me thou art
now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some
Would you not have me honest?
No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favoured; for
coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar.
A material fool!
Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods
Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut
put good meat into an unclean dish.
I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul.
Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness!
may come hereafter. But be it as it may
be, I will
marry thee, and to that end I have been
Oliver Martext, the vicar of the next
who hath promised to meet me in this place
forest and to couple us.
I would fain see this meeting.
Well, the gods give us joy!
Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart,
this attempt; for here we have no temple
wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But what
Courage! As horns are odious, they are
It is said, 'many a man knows no end of
goods:' right; many a man has good horns, and
end of them. Well, that is the dowry of
'tis none of his own getting. Horns?
Poor men alone? No, no; the noblest deer
as huge as the rascal. Is the single man
blessed? No: as a walled town is more
than a village, so is the forehead of a
man more honourable than the bare brow of a
and by how much defence is better than no
so much is a horn more precious than to
comes Sir Oliver.
[Enter SIR OLIVER MARTEXT]
Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met: will you
us here under this tree, or shall we go
to your chapel?
Is there none here to give the woman?
I will not take her on gift of any man.
Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful.
Proceed, proceed I'll give her.
Good even, good Master What-ye-call't: how do you,
are very well met: God 'ild you for your
company: I am very glad to see you: even a
hand here, sir: nay, pray be covered.
Will you be married, motley?
As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb and
her bells, so man hath his desires; and
bill, so wedlock would be nibbling.
And will you, being a man of your breeding, be
under a bush like a beggar? Get you to
and have a good priest that can tell you
marriage is: this fellow will but join you
as they join wainscot; then one of you will
shrunk panel and, like green timber, warp, warp.
I am not in the mind but I were better to be
him than of another: for he is not like
me well; and not being well married, it
will be a
good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife.
Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.
'Come, sweet Audrey:
We must be
married, or we must live in bawdry.
good Master Oliver: not, --
not behind thee: but, --
I will not
to wedding with thee.
[Exeunt JAQUES, TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]
'Tis no matter: ne'er a fantastical knave of them
flout me out of my calling.
[Enter ROSALIND and CELIA]
Never talk to me; I will weep.
Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider
do not become a man.
But have I not cause to weep?
As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep.
His very hair is of the dissembling colour.
Something browner than Judas's marry, his kisses are
I' faith, his hair is of a good colour.
An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the only colour.
And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch
He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a nun
winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously;
ice of chastity is in them.
But why did he swear he would come this morning, and
Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.
Do you think so?
Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a
but for his verity in love, I do
as concave as a covered goblet or a
Not true in love?
Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in.
You have heard him swear downright he was.
'Was' is not 'is:' besides, the oath of a lover is
stronger than the word of a tapster; they are
confirmer of false reckonings. He attends
the forest on the duke your father.
I met the duke yesterday and had much question with
asked me of what parentage I was; I told
him, of as
good as he; so he laughed and let me go.
talk we of fathers, when there is such a
O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses,
brave words, swears brave oaths and breaks
bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of
as a puisny tilter, that spurs his horse
but on one
side, breaks his staff like a noble
all's brave that youth mounts and folly
Who comes here?
Mistress and master, you have oft inquired
shepherd that complain'd of love,
saw sitting by me on the turf,
the proud disdainful shepherdess
Well, and what of him?
If you will see a pageant truly play'd,
the pale complexion of true love
red glow of scorn and proud disdain,
Go hence a
little and I shall conduct you,
will mark it.
O, come, let us remove:
of lovers feedeth those in love.
to this sight, and you shall say
a busy actor in their play.
[Another part of the forest.]
[Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE]
Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe;
you love me not, but say not so
bitterness. The common executioner,
heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard,
the axe upon the humbled neck
begs pardon: will you sterner be
that dies and lives by bloody drops?
[Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, behind]
I would not be thy executioner:
thee, for I would not injure thee.
tell'st me there is murder in mine eye:
pretty, sure, and very probable,
that are the frail'st and softest things,
their coward gates on atomies,
call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers!
Now I do
frown on thee with all my heart;
mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee:
counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down;
Or if thou
canst not, O, for shame, for shame,
to say mine eyes are murderers!
the wound mine eye hath made in thee:
thee but with a pin, and there remains
of it; lean but upon a rush,
cicatrice and capable impressure
some moment keeps; but now mine eyes,
have darted at thee, hurt thee not,
Nor, I am
sure, there is no force in eyes
O dear Phebe,
-- as that ever may be near, --
in some fresh cheek the power of fancy,
you know the wounds invisible
love's keen arrows make.
But till that time
thou near me: and when that time comes,
with thy mocks, pity me not;
that time I shall not pity thee.
And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother,
insult, exult, and all at once,
wretched? What though you have no beauty, --
As, by my
faith, I see no more in you
without candle may go dark to bed --
be therefore proud and pitiless?
means this? Why do you look on me?
I see no
more in you than in the ordinary
nature's sale-work. 'Od's my little life,
she means to tangle my eyes too!
proud mistress, hope not after it:
your inky brows, your black silk hair,
eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream,
entame my spirits to your worship.
foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her,
south puffing with wind and rain?
You are a
thousand times a properer man
Than she a
woman: 'tis such fools as you
the world full of ill-favour'd children:
her glass, but you, that flatters her;
And out of
you she sees herself more proper
of her lineaments can show her.
mistress, know yourself: down on your knees,
heaven, fasting, for a good man's love:
For I must
tell you friendly in your ear,
you can: you are not for all markets:
man mercy; love him; take his offer:
most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.
her to thee, shepherd: fare you well.
Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together:
rather hear you chide than this man woo.
He's fallen in love with your foulness and she'll
love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as
answers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce her
bitter words. Why look you so upon me?
For no ill will I bear you.
I pray you, do not fall in love with me,
For I am
falser than vows made in wine:
like you not. If you will know my house,
the tuft of olives here hard by.
go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard.
sister. Shepherdess, look on him better,
And be not
proud: though all the world could see,
be so abused in sight as he.
[Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA and CORIN]
Dead Shepherd, now I find thy saw of might,
loved that loved not at first sight?'
Sweet Phebe, --
Ha, what say'st thou, Silvius?
Sweet Phebe, pity me.
Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.
Wherever sorrow is, relief would be:
If you do
sorrow at my grief in love,
love your sorrow and my grief
Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly?
I would have you.
Why, that were covetousness.
the time was that I hated thee,
And yet it
is not that I bear thee love;
that thou canst talk of love so well,
company, which erst was irksome to me,
endure, and I'll employ thee too:
But do not
look for further recompense
own gladness that thou art employ'd.
So holy and so perfect is my love,
And I in
such a poverty of grace,
shall think it a most plenteous crop
the broken ears after the man
main harvest reaps: loose now and then
scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon.
Know'st now the youth that spoke to me erewhile?
Not very well, but I have met him oft;
hath bought the cottage and the bounds
old carlot once was master of.
Think not I love him, though I ask for him:
'Tis but a
peevish boy; yet he talks well;
care I for words? yet words do well
that speaks them pleases those that hear.
It is a
pretty youth: not very pretty:
he's proud, and yet his pride becomes him:
a proper man: the best thing in him
complexion; and faster than his tongue
offence his eye did heal it up.
He is not
very tall; yet for his years he's tall:
His leg is
but so so; and yet 'tis well:
a pretty redness in his lip,
riper and more lusty red
mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference
the constant red and mingled damask.
some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him
as I did, would have gone near
To fall in
love with him; but, for my part,
I love him
not nor hate him not; and yet
more cause to hate him than to love him:
had he to do to chide at me?
mine eyes were black and my hair black:
And, now I
am remember'd, scorn'd at me:
why I answer'd not again:
all one; omittance is no quittance.
to him a very taunting letter,
shalt bear it: wilt thou, Silvius?
Phebe, with all my heart.
I'll write it straight;
matter's in my head and in my heart:
I will be
bitter with him and passing short.
[Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES]
I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted
They say you are a melancholy fellow.
I am so; I do love it better than laughing.
Those that are in extremity of either are abominable
and betray themselves to every modern
worse than drunkards.
Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.
Why then, 'tis good to be a post.
I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is
nor the musician's, which is fantastical,
courtier's, which is proud, nor the
which is ambitious, nor the lawyer's,
politic, nor the lady's, which is nice, nor
lover's, which is all these: but it is a
of mine own, compounded of many simples,
from many objects, and indeed the sundry's
of my travels, in which my often
wraps me m a most humorous sadness.
A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to
be sad: I
fear you have sold your own lands to see
men's; then, to have seen much and to have
is to have rich eyes and poor hands.
Yes, I have gained my experience.
And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have
a fool to
make me merry than experience to make me
to travel for it too!
Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind!
Nay, then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse.
Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: look you lisp and
strange suits, disable all the benefits of your
country, be out of love with your nativity and
chide God for making you that countenance you
are, or I
will scarce think you have swam in a
Why, how now, Orlando! where have you been
while? You a lover! An you serve me such
trick, never come in my sight more.
My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise.
Break an hour's promise in love! He that will
minute into a thousand parts and break but
a part of
the thousandth part of a minute in the
love, it may be said of him that Cupid
clapped him o' the shoulder, but I'll warrant
Pardon me, dear Rosalind.
Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight: I
lief be wooed of a snail.
Of a snail?
Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he
his house on his head; a better jointure,
than you make a woman: besides he brings
destiny with him.
Why, horns, which such as you are fain to be
to your wives for: but he comes armed in
fortune and prevents the slander of his wife.
Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous.
And I am your Rosalind.
It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a
of a better leer than you.
Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday
like enough to consent. What would you
say to me
now, an I were your very very Rosalind?
I would kiss before I spoke.
Nay, you were better speak first, and when you were
for lack of matter, you might take
to kiss. Very good orators, when they are
will spit; and for lovers lacking -- God
-- matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.
How if the kiss be denied?
Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.
Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress?
Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, or
think my honesty ranker than my wit.
What, of my suit?
Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit.
Am not I
I take some joy to say you are, because I would be
Well in her person I say I will not have you.
Then in mine own person I die.
No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is
thousand years old, and in all this time
not any man died in his own person,
in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains
with a Grecian club; yet he did what he
die before, and he is one of the patterns
Leander, he would have lived many a fair
though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been
for a hot
midsummer night; for, good youth, he went
to wash him in the Hellespont and being
the cramp was drowned and the foolish
of that age found it was 'Hero of Sestos.'
are all lies: men have died from time to
worms have eaten them, but not for love.
I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind,
protest, her frown might kill me.
By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now
I will be
your Rosalind in a more coming-on
and ask me what you will. I will grant
Then love me, Rosalind.
Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all.
And wilt thou have me?
Ay, and twenty such.
What sayest thou?
Are you not good?
I hope so.
Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?
sister, you shall be the priest and marry us.
your hand, Orlando. What do you say, sister?
Pray thee, marry us.
I cannot say the words.
You must begin, 'Will you, Orlando -- '
Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind?
Ay, but when?
Why now; as fast as she can marry us.
Then you must say 'I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.'
I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.
I might ask you for your commission; but I do take
Orlando, for my husband: there's a girl goes
priest; and certainly a woman's thought
before her actions.
So do all thoughts; they are winged.
Now tell me how long you would have her after you
For ever and a day.
Say 'a day,' without the 'ever.' No, no, Orlando;
April when they woo, December when they wed:
May when they are maids, but the sky
when they are wives. I will be more jealous
than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen,
clamorous than a parrot against rain, more
than an ape, more giddy in my desires
monkey: I will weep for nothing, like Diana
fountain, and I will do that when you are
to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and
thou art inclined to sleep.
But will my Rosalind do so?
By my life, she will do as I do.
O, but she is wise.
Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the
waywarder: make the doors upon a woman's
wit and it
will out at the casement; shut that and
at the key-hole; stop that, 'twill fly
smoke out at the chimney.
A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say
Nay, you might keep that cheque for it till you met
wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed.
And what wit could wit have to excuse that?
Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You shall
her without her answer, unless you take
without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot
fault her husband's occasion, let her
nurse her child herself, for she will breed
it like a
For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee.
Alas! dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours.
I must attend the duke at dinner: by two o'clock I
with thee again.
Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew what you
prove: my friends told me as much, and I
less: that flattering tongue of yours
'tis but one cast away, and so, come,
o'clock is your hour?
Ay, sweet Rosalind.
By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend
me, and by
all pretty oaths that are not dangerous,
break one jot of your promise or come one
behind your hour, I will think you the most
break-promise and the most hollow lover
most unworthy of her you call Rosalind that
chosen out of the gross band of the
therefore beware my censure and keep
With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my
Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such
and let Time try: adieu.
You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate:
have your doublet and hose plucked over your
show the world what the bird hath done to
O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou
how many fathom deep I am in love! But
be sounded: my affection hath an unknown
like the bay of Portugal.
Or rather, bottomless, that as fast as you pour
in, it runs out.
No, that same wicked bastard of Venus that was begot
thought, conceived of spleen and born of madness,
rascally boy that abuses every one's eyes
his own are out, let him be judge how deep I
love. I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out
sight of Orlando: I'll go find a shadow and
And I'll sleep.
[Enter JAQUES, Lords, and Foresters]
Which is he that killed the deer?
Sir, it was I.
Let's present him to the duke, like a Roman
and it would do well to set the deer's
his head, for a branch of victory. Have
song, forester, for this purpose?
Sing it: 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it
What shall he have that kill'd the deer?
leather skin and horns to wear.
[The rest shall bear this burden]
Take thou no scorn to wear the horn;
It was a
crest ere thou wast born:
father's father wore it,
father bore it:
the horn, the lusty horn
Is not a
thing to laugh to scorn.
[Enter ROSALIND and CELIA]
How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? and
I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he
his bow and arrows and is gone forth to
Look, who comes here.
My errand is to you, fair youth;
Phebe bid me give you this:
I know not
the contents; but, as I guess
stern brow and waspish action
did use as she was writing of it,
an angry tenor: pardon me:
I am but
as a guiltless messenger.
Patience herself would startle at this letter
the swaggerer; bear this, bear all:
She says I
am not fair, that I lack manners;
me proud, and that she could not love me,
as rare as phoenix. 'Od's my will!
is not the hare that I do hunt:
she so to me? Well, shepherd, well,
This is a
letter of your own device.
No, I protest, I know not the contents:
Come, come, you are a fool
into the extremity of love.
I saw her
hand: she has a leathern hand.
freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think
old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands:
She has a
huswife's hand; but that's no matter:
I say she
never did invent this letter;
This is a
man's invention and his hand.
Sure, it is hers.
Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style.
for-challengers; why, she defies me,
to Christian: women's gentle brain
drop forth such giant-rude invention
Ethiope words, blacker in their effect
their countenance. Will you hear the letter?
So please you, for I never heard it yet;
too much of Phebe's cruelty.
She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes.
Art thou god to shepherd turn'd,
maiden's heart hath burn'd?
woman rail thus?
Call you this railing?
Why, thy godhead laid apart,
thou with a woman's heart?
ever hear such railing?
eye of man did woo me,
do no vengeance to me.
scorn of your bright eyne
to raise such love in mine,
me what strange effect
work in mild aspect!
chid me, I did love;
might your prayers move!
brings this love to thee
knows this love in me:
And by him
seal up thy mind;
that thy youth and kind
faithful offer take
Of me and
all that I can make;
Or else by
him my love deny,
I'll study how to die.
Call you this chiding?
Alas, poor shepherd!
Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity. Wilt
such a woman? What, to make thee an
and play false strains upon thee! not to
endured! Well, go your way to her, for I see
made thee a tame snake, and say this to
if she love me, I charge her to love
she will not, I will never have her unless
entreat for her. If you be a true lover,
not a word; for here comes more company.
Good morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you know,
the purlieus of this forest stands
sheep-cote fenced about with olive trees?
West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom:
of osiers by the murmuring stream
your right hand brings you to the place.
this hour the house doth keep itself;
If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
should I know you by description;
garments and such years: 'The boy is fair,
favour, and bestows himself
ripe sister: the woman low
browner than her brother.' Are not you
of the house I did inquire for?
It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are.
Orlando doth commend him to you both,
that youth he calls his Rosalind
this bloody napkin. Are you he?
I am: what must we understand by this?
Some of my shame; if you will know of me
What man I
am, and how, and why, and where
handkercher was stain'd.
I pray you, tell it.
When last the young Orlando parted from you
He left a
promise to return again
hour, and pacing through the forest,
the food of sweet and bitter fancy,
befell! he threw his eye aside,
what object did present itself:
oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age
top bald with dry antiquity,
ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,
sleeping on his back: about his neck
and gilded snake had wreathed itself,
her head nimble in threats approach'd
opening of his mouth; but suddenly,
Orlando, it unlink'd itself,
indented glides did slip away
bush: under which bush's shade
with udders all drawn dry,
couching, head on ground, with catlike watch,
the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis
disposition of that beast
To prey on
nothing that doth seem as dead:
Orlando did approach the man
it was his brother, his elder brother.
O, I have heard him speak of that same brother;
And he did
render him the most unnatural
And well he might so do,
For well I
know he was unnatural.
But, to Orlando: did he leave him there,
the suck'd and hungry lioness?
Twice did he turn his back and purposed so;
kindness, nobler ever than revenge,
nature, stronger than his just occasion,
give battle to the lioness,
quickly fell before him: in which hurtling
miserable slumber I awaked.
Are you his brother?
Wast you he rescued?
Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him?
'Twas I; but 'tis not I
I do not
you what I was, since my conversion
tastes, being the thing I am.
But, for the bloody napkin?
By and by.
the first to last betwixt us two
recountments had most kindly bathed,
As how I
came into that desert place: --
he led me to the gentle duke,
me fresh array and entertainment,
me unto my brother's love;
Who led me
instantly unto his cave,
stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm
lioness had torn some flesh away,
this while had bled; and now he fainted
in fainting, upon Rosalind.
recover'd him, bound up his wound;
some small space, being strong at heart,
He sent me
hither, stranger as I am,
this story, that you might excuse
promise, and to give this napkin
his blood unto the shepherd youth
That he in
sport doth call his Rosalind.
Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede!
Many will swoon when they do look on blood.
There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede!
Look, he recovers.
I would I were at home.
We'll lead you thither.
you, will you take him by the arm?
Be of good cheer, youth: you a man! you lack a
I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would
was well counterfeited! I pray you, tell
brother how well I counterfeited. Heigh-ho!
This was not counterfeit: there is too great
in your complexion that it was a passion
Counterfeit, I assure you.
Well then, take a good heart and counterfeit to be a man.
So I do: but, i' faith, I should have been a woman by right.
Come, you look paler and paler: pray you, draw
Good sir, go with us.
That will I, for I must bear answer back
excuse my brother, Rosalind.
I shall devise something: but, I pray you, commend
counterfeiting to him. Will you go?
[Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]
We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey.
Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old
A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile
But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the
lays claim to you.
Ay, I know who 'tis; he hath no interest in me in
here comes the man you mean.
It is meat and drink to me to see a clown: by my
that have good wits have much to answer
shall be flouting; we cannot hold.
Good even, Audrey.
God ye good even, William.
And good even to you, sir.
Good even, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover thy
prithee, be covered. How old are you, friend?
Five and twenty, sir.
A ripe age. Is thy name William?
A fair name. Wast born i' the forest here?
Ay, sir, I thank God.
'Thank God;' a good answer. Art rich?
Faith, sir, so so.
'So so' is good, very good, very excellent good; and
yet it is
not; it is but so so. Art thou wise?
Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit.
Why, thou sayest well. I do now remember a saying,
doth think he is wise, but the wise man
himself to be a fool.' The heathen
when he had a desire to eat a grape,
his lips when he put it into his mouth;
thereby that grapes were made to eat and
open. You do love this maid?
I do, sir.
Give me your hand. Art thou learned?
Then learn this of me: to have, is to have; for it
figure in rhetoric that drink, being poured out
of a cup
into a glass, by filling the one doth empty
for all your writers do consent that ipse
now, you are not ipse, for I am he.
Which he, sir?
He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, you
abandon, -- which is in the vulgar leave, -- the
-- which in the boorish is company, -- of this
which in the common is woman; which
is, abandon the society of this female, or,
thou perishest; or, to thy better
diest; or, to wit I kill thee, make
translate thy life into death, thy
into bondage: I will deal in poison with
in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy
in faction; I will o'errun thee with
will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways:
tremble and depart.
Do, good William.
God rest you merry, sir.
Our master and mistress seeks you; come, away, away!
Trip, Audrey! trip, Audrey! I attend, I attend.
[Enter ORLANDO and OLIVER]
Is't possible that on so little acquaintance you
like her? that but seeing you should love
loving woo? and, wooing, she should
will you persever to enjoy her?
Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the
her, the small acquaintance, my sudden
nor her sudden consenting; but say with me,
Aliena; say with her that she loves me;
with both that we may enjoy each other: it
to your good; for my father's house and all
revenue that was old Sir Rowland's will I
upon you, and here live and die a shepherd.
You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow:
will I invite the duke and all's contented
Go you and prepare Aliena; for look
comes my Rosalind.
God save you, brother.
And you, fair sister.
my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee
heart in a scarf!
It is my arm.
I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws
of a lion.
Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady.
Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to
he showed me your handkerchief?
Ay, and greater wonders than that.
O, I know where you are: nay, 'tis true: there was
thing so sudden but the fight of two rams
Caesar's thrasonical brag of 'I came, saw, and
for your brother and my sister no sooner
they looked, no sooner looked but they
sooner loved but they sighed, no sooner
they asked one another the reason, no
knew the reason but they sought the remedy;
these degrees have they made a pair of stairs
marriage which they will climb incontinent, or
incontinent before marriage: they are in
wrath of love and they will together; clubs
They shall be married to-morrow, and I will bid the
the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a thing it
is to look
into happiness through another man's
so much the more shall I to-morrow be at
of heart-heaviness, by how much I shall
brother happy in having what he wishes for.
Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind?
I can live no longer by thinking.
I will weary you then no longer with idle talking.
Know of me
then, for now I speak to some purpose,
know you are a gentleman of good conceit: I
this that you should bear a good opinion
knowledge, insomuch I say I know you are;
I labour for a greater esteem than may in
little measure draw a belief from you, to do
good and not to grace me. Believe then, if
please, that I can do strange things: I have,
was three year old, conversed with a
most profound in his art and yet not
If you do love Rosalind so near the heart
gesture cries it out, when your brother
Aliena, shall you marry her: I know into
straits of fortune she is driven; and it is
impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient
to you, to
set her before your eyes tomorrow human
as she is
and without any danger.
Speakest thou in sober meanings?
By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, though I
say I am a
magician. Therefore, put you in your
array: bid your friends; for if you will be
to-morrow, you shall, and to Rosalind, if you will.
[Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE]
Look, here comes a lover of mine and a lover of hers.
Youth, you have done me much ungentleness,
the letter that I writ to you.
I care not if I have: it is my study
despiteful and ungentle to you:
there followed by a faithful shepherd;
him, love him; he worships you.
Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love.
It is to be all made of sighs and tears;
And so am
I for Phebe.
And I for Ganymede.
And I for Rosalind.
And I for no woman.
It is to be all made of faith and service;
And so am
I for Phebe.
And I for Ganymede.
And I for Rosalind.
And I for no woman.
It is to be all made of fantasy,
of passion and all made of wishes,
adoration, duty, and observance,
humbleness, all patience and impatience,
purity, all trial, all observance;
And so am
I for Phebe.
And so am I for Ganymede.
And so am I for Rosalind.
And so am I for no woman.
If this be so, why blame you me to love you?
If this be so, why blame you me to love you?
If this be so, why blame you me to love you?
Who do you speak to, 'Why blame you me to love you?'
To her that is not here, nor doth not hear.
Pray you, no more of this; 'tis like the howling
wolves against the moon.
I will help you, if I can:
I would love you, if I could. To-morrow meet me all together.
I will marry you, if ever I marry woman, and I'll be
I will satisfy you, if ever I satisfied man, and you
I will content you, if what pleases you contents
you shall be married to-morrow.
As you love Rosalind, meet:
as you love Phebe, meet: and as I love no woman,
So fare you well: I have left you commands.
I'll not fail, if I live.
[Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]
To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey; to-morrow will
I do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is
dishonest desire to desire to be a woman of the
Here comes two of the banished duke's pages.
[Enter two Pages]
Well met, honest gentleman.
By my troth, well met. Come, sit, sit, and a song.
We are for you: sit i' the middle.
Shall we clap into't roundly, without hawking or
or saying we are hoarse, which are the only
to a bad voice?
I'faith, i'faith; and both in a tune, like two
It was a
lover and his lass,
hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
the green corn-field did pass
spring time, the only pretty ring time,
do sing, hey ding a ding, ding:
lovers love the spring.
the acres of the rye,
hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino
pretty country folks would lie,
they began that hour,
hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
How that a
life was but a flower
therefore take the present time,
hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino;
is crowned with the prime
Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no great
the ditty, yet the note was very
You are deceived, sir: we kept time, we lost not our time.
By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear
foolish song. God be wi' you; and God mend
voices! Come, Audrey.
[Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, JAQUES, ORLANDO, OLIVER, and CELIA]
Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy
Can do all
this that he hath promised?
I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not;
that fear they hope, and know they fear.
[Enter ROSALIND, SILVIUS, and PHEBE]
Patience once more, whiles our compact is urged:
if I bring in your Rosalind,
bestow her on Orlando here?
That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her.
And you say, you will have her, when I bring her?
That would I, were I of all kingdoms king.
You say, you'll marry me, if I be willing?
That will I, should I die the hour after.
But if you do refuse to marry me,
give yourself to this most faithful shepherd?
So is the bargain.
You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she will?
Though to have her and death were both one thing.
I have promised to make all this matter even.
your word, O duke, to give your daughter;
Orlando, to receive his daughter:
word, Phebe, that you'll marry me,
refusing me, to wed this shepherd:
word, Silvius, that you'll marry her.
refuse me: and from hence I go,
these doubts all even.
[Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA]
I do remember in this shepherd boy
lively touches of my daughter's favour.
My lord, the first time that I ever saw him
he was a brother to your daughter:
good lord, this boy is forest-born,
been tutor'd in the rudiments
desperate studies by his uncle,
reports to be a great magician,
in the circle of this forest.
[Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]
There is, sure, another flood toward, and these
are coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of
strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools.
Salutation and greeting to you all!
Good my lord, bid him welcome: this is the
gentleman that I have so often met in
forest: he hath been a courtier, he swears.
If any man doubt that, let him put me to my
I have trod a measure; I have flattered
a lady; I
have been politic with my friend, smooth
enemy; I have undone three tailors; I have
quarrels, and like to have fought one.
And how was that ta'en up?
Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the
How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this fellow.
I like him very well.
God 'ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I
here, sir, amongst the rest of the country
to swear and to forswear: according as
binds and blood breaks: a poor virgin,
ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own; a poor
mine, sir, to take that that no man else
honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a
house; as your pearl in your foul oyster.
By my faith, he is very swift and sententious.
According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such dulcet diseases.
But, for the seventh cause; how did you find the
the seventh cause?
Upon a lie seven times removed: -- bear your body more
Audrey: -- as thus, sir. I did dislike the
cut of a
certain courtier's beard: he sent me word,
if I said
his beard was not cut well, he was in the
was: this is called the Retort Courteous.
If I sent
him word again 'it was not well cut,' he
me word, he cut it to please himself:
called the Quip Modest. If again 'it was
cut,' he disabled my judgment: this is
Reply Churlish. If again 'it was not
he would answer, I spake not true: this
the Reproof Valiant. If again 'it was not
he would say I lied: this is called the
Quarrelsome: and so to the Lie
and the Lie Direct.
And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut?
I durst go no further than the Lie Circumstantial,
durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we
swords and parted.
Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie?
O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book; as you have
good manners: I will name you the degrees.
the Retort Courteous; the second, the
Modest; the third, the Reply Churlish; the
the Reproof Valiant; the fifth, the
Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with
the seventh, the Lie Direct. All
may avoid but the Lie Direct; and you may
too, with an If. I knew when seven
could not take up a quarrel, but when the
were met themselves, one of them thought but
of an If,
as, 'If you said so, then I said so;' and
hands and swore brothers. Your If is the
peacemaker; much virtue in If.
Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's as good at
and yet a fool.
He uses his folly like a stalking-horse and under
presentation of that he shoots his wit.
[Enter HYMEN, ROSALIND, and CELIA]
Then is there mirth in heaven,
earthly things made even
receive thy daughter
heaven brought her,
brought her hither,
mightst join her hand with his
heart within his bosom is.
[To DUKE SENIOR]
To you I give myself, for I am yours.
To you I give myself, for I am yours.
If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter.
If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind.
If sight and shape be true,
my love adieu!
I'll have no father, if you be not he:
no husband, if you be not he:
wed woman, if you be not she.
Peace, ho! I bar confusion:
must make conclusion
most strange events:
eight that must take hands
To join in
holds true contents.
you no cross shall part:
you are heart in heart
You to his
love must accord,
Or have a
woman to your lord:
you are sure together,
winter to foul weather.
wedlock-hymn we sing,
yourselves with questioning;
reason wonder may diminish,
we met, and these things finish.
great Juno's crown:
bond of board and bed!
peoples every town;
wedlock then be honoured:
high honour and renown,
god of every town!
O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me!
daughter, welcome, in no less degree.
I will not eat my word, now thou art mine;
my fancy to thee doth combine.
[Enter JAQUES DE BOYS]
Let me have audience for a word or two:
I am the
second son of old Sir Rowland,
these tidings to this fair assembly.
Frederick, hearing how that every day
great worth resorted to this forest,
a mighty power; which were on foot,
In his own
conduct, purposely to take
brother here and put him to the sword:
And to the
skirts of this wild wood he came;
meeting with an old religious man,
question with him, was converted
his enterprise and from the world,
bequeathing to his banish'd brother,
their lands restored to them again
with him exiled. This to be true,
engage my life.
Welcome, young man;
offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding:
To one his
lands withheld, and to the other
itself at large, a potent dukedom.
this forest, let us do those ends
were well begun and well begot:
every of this happy number
endured shrewd days and nights with us
share the good of our returned fortune,
to the measure of their states.
forget this new-fall'n dignity
into our rustic revelry.
music! And you, brides and bridegrooms all,
measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall.
Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly,
hath put on a religious life
into neglect the pompous court?
To him will I : out of these convertites
much matter to be heard and learn'd.
[To DUKE SENIOR]
You to your former honour I bequeath;
patience and your virtue well deserves it:
You to a love that your true faith doth merit:
You to your land and love and great allies:
You to a long and well-deserved bed:
And you to wrangling; for thy loving voyage
Is but for
two months victuall'd. So, to your pleasures:
I am for
other than for dancing measures.
Stay, Jaques, stay.
To see no pastime I
to know at your abandon'd cave.
Proceed, proceed: we will begin these rites,
As we do
trust they'll end, in true delights.
It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue;
but it is
no more unhandsome than to see the lord
prologue. If it be true that good wine needs
'tis true that a good play needs no
yet to good wine they do use good bushes,
plays prove the better by the help of good
What a case am I in then, that am
good epilogue nor cannot insinuate with
you in the
behalf of a good play! I am not
like a beggar, therefore to beg will not
my way is to conjure you; and I'll begin
women. I charge you, O women, for the love
to men, to like as much of this play as
you: and I charge you, O men, for the love
to women -- as I perceive by your simpering,
you hates them -- that between you and the
play may please. If I were a woman I
as many of you as had beards that pleased
complexions that liked me and breaths that I
not: and, I am sure, as many as have good
good faces or sweet breaths will, for my
offer, when I make curtsy, bid me farewell.