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• 1 2016-11-13T11:26:36-08:00 Act III 15 As You Like It ACT 3 plain 2016-12-15T21:31:06-08:00 Scene 1 Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, and Oliver.   DUKE FREDERICK, to Oliver Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be. But were I not the better part made mercy, I should not seek an absent argument Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it: Find out thy brother wheresoe’er he is.                                                   5 Seek him with candle. Bring him, dead or living, Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more To seek a living in our territory. Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine, Worth seizure, do we seize into our hands                                           10 Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother’s mouth Of what we think against thee.
  OLIVER
  O, that your Highness knew my heart in this:
  I never loved my brother in my life.
  DUKE FREDERICK
  More villain thou.—Well, push him out of doors,                              15
  And let my officers of such a nature
  Make an extent upon his house and lands.
  Do this expediently, and turn him going.
  They exit.
   
  Scene 2
  Enter Orlando, with a paper.
   
  ORLANDO
  Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love.    And thou, thrice-crownèd queen of night, survey With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above,    Thy huntress’ name that my full life doth sway. O Rosalind, these trees shall be my books,                                            5    And in their barks my thoughts I’ll character, That every eye which in this forest looks    Shall see thy virtue witnessed everywhere. Run, run, Orlando, carve on every tree The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she.                                          10
  He exits.
   
  Enter Corin and Touchstone.
   
  CORIN  And how like you this shepherd’s life, Master
  Touchstone?
  TOUCHSTONE  Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a
  good life; but in respect that it is a shepherd’s life, it
  is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very                        15
  well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile
  life. Now in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me
  well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is
  tedious. As it is a spare life, look you, it fits my
  humor well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it                          20
  goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy
  in thee, shepherd?
  CORIN  No more but that I know the more one sickens,
  the worse at ease he is, and that he that wants
  money, means, and content is without three good                           25
  friends; that the property of rain is to wet, and fire
  to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep; and that
  a great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that he
  that hath learned no wit by nature nor art may
  complain of good breeding or comes of a very dull                        30
  kindred.
  TOUCHSTONE  Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast
  ever in court, shepherd?
  CORIN  No, truly.
  TOUCHSTONE  Then thou art damned.                                                  35
  CORIN  Nay, I hope.
  TOUCHSTONE  Truly, thou art damned, like an ill-roasted
  egg, all on one side.
  CORIN  For not being at court? Your reason.
  TOUCHSTONE  Why, if thou never wast at court, thou                       40
  never saw’st good manners; if thou never saw’st
  good manners, then thy manners must be wicked,
  and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou
  art in a parlous state, shepherd.
  CORIN  Not a whit, Touchstone. Those that are good                           45
  manners at the court are as ridiculous in the
  country as the behavior of the country is most
  mockable at the court. You told me you salute not at
  the court but you kiss your hands. That courtesy
  would be uncleanly if courtiers were shepherds.                             50
  TOUCHSTONE  Instance, briefly. Come, instance.
  CORIN  Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their
  fells, you know, are greasy.
  TOUCHSTONE  Why, do not your courtier’s hands sweat?
  And is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as                        55
  the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow. A better
  instance, I say. Come.
  CORIN  Besides, our hands are hard.
  TOUCHSTONE  Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow
  again. A more sounder instance. Come.                                            60
  CORIN  And they are often tarred over with the surgery
  of our sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The
  courtier’s hands are perfumed with civet.
  TOUCHSTONE  Most shallow man. Thou worms’ meat in
  respect of a good piece of flesh, indeed. Learn of the                     65
  wise and perpend: civet is of a baser birth than tar,
  the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance,
  shepherd.
  CORIN  You have too courtly a wit for me. I’ll rest.
  TOUCHSTONE  Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee,                     70
  shallow man. God make incision in thee; thou art
  raw.
  CORIN  Sir, I am a true laborer. I earn that I eat, get that
  I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man’s happiness,
  glad of other men’s good, content with my harm,                           75
  and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes graze
  and my lambs suck.
  TOUCHSTONE  That is another simple sin in you, to bring the ewes and the rams together and to offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle; to be bawd to                     80 a bell-wether and to betray a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to a crooked-pated old cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou be’st not damned for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds. I cannot see else how thou shouldst ’scape.                                        85
   
  Enter Rosalind, as Ganymede.
   
  CORIN  Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new
  mistress’s brother.
  ROSALIND, as Ganymede, reading a paper From the east to western Ind            No jewel is like Rosalind.             Her worth being mounted on the wind,                                     90             Through all the world bears Rosalind.             All the pictures fairest lined             Are but black to Rosalind.             Let no face be kept in mind             But the fair of Rosalind.                                                               95
  TOUCHSTONE  I’ll rhyme you so eight years together,
  dinners and suppers and sleeping hours excepted.
  It is the right butter-women’s rank to market.
  ROSALIND, as Ganymede  Out, fool.
  TOUCHSTONE  For a taste:                                                                    100
              If a hart do lack a hind,
              Let him seek out Rosalind.
              If the cat will after kind,
              So be sure will Rosalind.
              Wintered garments must be lined;                                           105
              So must slender Rosalind.
              They that reap must sheaf and bind;
              Then to cart with Rosalind.
              Sweetest nut hath sourest rind;
              Such a nut is Rosalind.                                                               110
              He that sweetest rose will find
              Must find love’s prick, and Rosalind.
  This is the very false gallop of verses. Why do you
  infect yourself with them?
  ROSALIND, as Ganymede  Peace, you dull fool. I found                  115
  them on a tree.
  TOUCHSTONE  Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.
  ROSALIND, as Ganymede  I’ll graft it with you, and
  then I shall graft it with a medlar. Then it will be
  the earliest fruit i’ th’ country, for you’ll be rotten                       120
  ere you be half ripe, and that’s the right virtue of
  the medlar.
  TOUCHSTONE  You have said, but whether wisely or no,
  let the forest judge.
   
  Enter Celia, as Aliena, with a writing.
   
  ROSALIND, as Ganymede  Peace. Here comes my sister                  125
  reading. Stand aside.
  CELIA, as Aliena, reads
              Why should this a desert be?
                 For it is unpeopled? No.
              Tongues I’ll hang on every tree
                 That shall civil sayings show.                                                130
              Some how brief the life of man
                 Runs his erring pilgrimage,
              That the stretching of a span
                 Buckles in his sum of age;
              Some of violated vows                                                                135
                 ’Twixt the souls of friend and friend.
              But upon the fairest boughs,
                 Or at every sentence’ end,
              Will I “Rosalinda” write,
                 Teaching all that read to know                                              140
              The quintessence of every sprite
                 Heaven would in little show.
              Therefore heaven nature charged
                 That one body should be filled
              With all graces wide-enlarged.                                                 145
                 Nature presently distilled
              Helen’s cheek, but not her heart,
                 Cleopatra’s majesty,
              Atalanta’s better part,
                 Sad Lucretia’s modesty.                                                         150
              Thus Rosalind of many parts
                 By heavenly synod was devised
              Of many faces, eyes, and hearts
                 To have the touches dearest prized.
              Heaven would that she these gifts should have                     155
              And I to live and die her slave.
  ROSALIND, as Ganymede  O most gentle Jupiter, what
  tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners
  withal, and never cried “Have patience,
  good people!”                                                                                       160
  CELIA, as Aliena  How now?—Back, friends. Shepherd,
  go off a little.—Go with him, sirrah.
  TOUCHSTONE  Come, shepherd, let us make an honorable
  retreat, though not with bag and baggage, yet
  with scrip and scrippage.                                                                   165
  Touchstone and Corin exit.
  CELIA  Didst thou hear these verses?
  ROSALIND  O yes, I heard them all, and more too, for
  some of them had in them more feet than the verses
  would bear.
  CELIA  That’s no matter. The feet might bear the verses.                  170
  ROSALIND  Ay, but the feet were lame and could not
  bear themselves without the verse, and therefore
  stood lamely in the verse.
  CELIA  But didst thou hear without wondering how thy
  name should be hanged and carved upon these                             175
  trees?
  ROSALIND  I was seven of the nine days out of the
  wonder before you came, for look here what I
  found on a palm tree. She shows the paper she
  read. I was never so berhymed since Pythagoras’                        180
  time that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly
  remember.
  CELIA  Trow you who hath done this?
  ROSALIND  Is it a man?
  CELIA  And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck.                  185
  Change you color?
  ROSALIND  I prithee, who?
  CELIA  O Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for friends to
  meet, but mountains may be removed with earthquakes
  and so encounter.                                                                                 190
  ROSALIND  Nay, but who is it?
  CELIA  Is it possible?
  ROSALIND  Nay, I prithee now, with most petitionary
  vehemence, tell me who it is.
  CELIA  O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful                       195
  wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that
  out of all whooping!
  ROSALIND  Good my complexion, dost thou think though I am caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition? One inch of                          200 delay more is a South Sea of discovery. I prithee, tell me who is it quickly, and speak apace. I would thou couldst stammer, that thou might’st pour this concealed man out of thy mouth as wine comes out of a narrow-mouthed bottle—either too much at                          205 once, or none at all. I prithee take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may drink thy tidings. CELIA  So you may put a man in your belly. ROSALIND  Is he of God’s making? What manner of man? Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a                         210 beard?
  CELIA  Nay, he hath but a little beard.
  ROSALIND  Why, God will send more, if the man will be
  thankful. Let me stay the growth of his beard, if
  thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin.                                215
  CELIA  It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler’s
  heels and your heart both in an instant.
  ROSALIND  Nay, but the devil take mocking. Speak sad
  brow and true maid.
  CELIA  I’ faith, coz, ’tis he.                                                                     220
  ROSALIND  Orlando?
  CELIA  Orlando.
  ROSALIND  Alas the day, what shall I do with my doublet
  and hose? What did he when thou saw’st him? What
  said he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What                       225
  makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where remains
  he? How parted he with thee? And when shalt thou
  see him again? Answer me in one word.
  CELIA  You must borrow me Gargantua’s mouth first.
  ’Tis a word too great for any mouth of this age’s size.                230
  To say ay and no to these particulars is more than to
  answer in a catechism.
  ROSALIND  But doth he know that I am in this forest and
  in man’s apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the
  day he wrestled?                                                                                  235
  CELIA  It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the
  propositions of a lover. But take a taste of my
  finding him, and relish it with good observance. I
  found him under a tree like a dropped acorn.
  ROSALIND  It may well be called Jove’s tree when it                       240
  drops forth such fruit.
  CELIA  Give me audience, good madam.
  ROSALIND  Proceed.
  CELIA  There lay he, stretched along like a wounded
  knight.                                                                                                    245
  ROSALIND  Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well
  becomes the ground.
  CELIA  Cry “holla” to thy tongue, I prithee. It curvets
  unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter.
  ROSALIND  O, ominous! He comes to kill my heart.                        250
  CELIA  I would sing my song without a burden. Thou
  bring’st me out of tune.
  ROSALIND  Do you not know I am a woman? When I
  think, I must speak. Sweet, say on.
  CELIA  You bring me out.                                                                        255
   
  Enter Orlando and Jaques.
   
  Soft, comes he not here?
  ROSALIND  ’Tis he. Slink by, and note him.
  Rosalind and Celia step aside.
  JAQUES, to Orlando  I thank you for your company,
  but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone.
  ORLANDO  And so had I, but yet, for fashion sake, I                        260
  thank you too for your society.
  JAQUES  God be wi’ you. Let’s meet as little as we can.
  ORLANDO  I do desire we may be better strangers.
  JAQUES  I pray you mar no more trees with writing love
  songs in their barks.                                                                            265
  ORLANDO  I pray you mar no more of my verses with
  reading them ill-favoredly.
  JAQUES  Rosalind is your love’s name?
  ORLANDO  Yes, just.
  JAQUES  I do not like her name.                                                             270
  ORLANDO  There was no thought of pleasing you when
  she was christened.
  JAQUES  What stature is she of?
  ORLANDO  Just as high as my heart.
  JAQUES  You are full of pretty answers. Have you not                     275
  been acquainted with goldsmiths’ wives and
  conned them out of rings?
  ORLANDO  Not so. But I answer you right painted cloth,
  from whence you have studied your questions.
  JAQUES  You have a nimble wit. I think ’twas made of                    280
  Atalanta’s heels. Will you sit down with me? And we
  two will rail against our mistress the world and all
  our misery.
  ORLANDO  I will chide no breather in the world but
  myself, against whom I know most faults.                                     285
  JAQUES  The worst fault you have is to be in love.
  ORLANDO  ’Tis a fault I will not change for your best
  virtue. I am weary of you.
  JAQUES  By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I
  found you.                                                                                             290
  ORLANDO  He is drowned in the brook. Look but in, and
  you shall see him.
  JAQUES  There I shall see mine own figure.
  ORLANDO  Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.
  JAQUES  I’ll tarry no longer with you. Farewell, good                      295
  Signior Love.
  ORLANDO  I am glad of your departure. Adieu, good
  Monsieur Melancholy.                                                        Jaques exits.
  ROSALIND, aside to Celia  I will speak to him like a
  saucy lackey, and under that habit play the knave                        300
  with him. As Ganymede. Do you hear, forester?
  ORLANDO  Very well. What would you? ROSALIND, as Ganymede  I pray you, what is ’t o’clock? ORLANDO  You should ask me what time o’ day. There’s               305 no clock in the forest. ROSALIND, as Ganymede  Then there is no true lover in the forest; else sighing every minute and groaning every hour would detect the lazy foot of time as well as a clock.                                                                       310 ORLANDO  And why not the swift foot of time? Had not that been as proper?
  ROSALIND, as Ganymede  By no means, sir. Time
  travels in divers paces with divers persons. I’ll tell
  you who time ambles withal, who time trots withal,                    315
  who time gallops withal, and who he stands still
  withal.
  ORLANDO  I prithee, who doth he trot withal?
  ROSALIND, as Ganymede  Marry, he trots hard with a
  young maid between the contract of her marriage                        320
  and the day it is solemnized. If the interim be but a
  se’nnight, time’s pace is so hard that it seems the
  length of seven year.
  ORLANDO  Who ambles time withal?
  ROSALIND, as Ganymede  With a priest that lacks Latin                 325
  and a rich man that hath not the gout, for the one
  sleeps easily because he cannot study, and the other
  lives merrily because he feels no pain—the one
  lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning,
  the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious                              330
  penury. These time ambles withal.
  ORLANDO  Who doth he gallop withal?
  ROSALIND, as Ganymede  With a thief to the gallows,
  for though he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks
  himself too soon there.                                                                       335
  ORLANDO  Who stays it still withal?
  ROSALIND, as Ganymede  With lawyers in the vacation,
  for they sleep between term and term, and
  then they perceive not how time moves.
  ORLANDO  Where dwell you, pretty youth?                                       340
  ROSALIND, as Ganymede  With this shepherdess, my
  sister, here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe
  upon a petticoat.
  ORLANDO  Are you native of this place? ROSALIND, as Ganymede  As the cony that you see                         345 dwell where she is kindled. ORLANDO  Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling. ROSALIND, as Ganymede  I have been told so of many. But indeed an old religious uncle of mine taught                          350 me to speak, who was in his youth an inland man, one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures against it, and I thank God I am not a woman, to be touched with so many giddy offenses as he hath generally                        355 taxed their whole sex withal.
  ORLANDO  Can you remember any of the principal evils
  that he laid to the charge of women?
  ROSALIND, as Ganymede  There were none principal.
  They were all like one another as halfpence are,                           360
  every one fault seeming monstrous till his fellow
  fault came to match it.
  ORLANDO  I prithee recount some of them.
  ROSALIND, as Ganymede  No, I will not cast away my
  physic but on those that are sick. There is a man                          365
  haunts the forest that abuses our young plants with
  carving “Rosalind” on their barks, hangs odes upon
  hawthorns and elegies on brambles, all, forsooth,
  deifying the name of Rosalind. If I could meet
  that fancy-monger, I would give him some good                          370
  counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love
  upon him.
  ORLANDO  I am he that is so love-shaked. I pray you tell
  me your remedy.
  ROSALIND, as Ganymede  There is none of my uncle’s                   375
  marks upon you. He taught me how to know a man
  in love, in which cage of rushes I am sure you are
  not prisoner.
  ORLANDO  What were his marks?
  ROSALIND, as Ganymede  A lean cheek, which you                         380
  have not; a blue eye and sunken, which you have
  not; an unquestionable spirit, which you have not; a
  beard neglected, which you have not—but I pardon
  you for that, for simply your having in beard is a
  younger brother’s revenue. Then your hose should                      385
  be ungartered, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve
  unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and everything
  about you demonstrating a careless desolation. But
  you are no such man. You are rather point-device in
  your accouterments, as loving yourself than seeming                  390
  the lover of any other.
  ORLANDO  Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe
  I love.
  ROSALIND, as Ganymede  Me believe it? You may as
  soon make her that you love believe it, which I                            395
  warrant she is apter to do than to confess she does.
  That is one of the points in the which women still
  give the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth,
  are you he that hangs the verses on the trees
  wherein Rosalind is so admired?                                                      400
  ORLANDO  I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of
  Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he.
  ROSALIND, as Ganymede  But are you so much in love
  as your rhymes speak?
  ORLANDO  Neither rhyme nor reason can express how                    405
  much.
  ROSALIND, as Ganymede  Love is merely a madness,
  and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a
  whip as madmen do; and the reason why they are
  not so punished and cured is that the lunacy is so                         410
  ordinary that the whippers are in love too. Yet I
  profess curing it by counsel.
  ORLANDO  Did you ever cure any so?
  ROSALIND, as Ganymede  Yes, one, and in this manner.
  He was to imagine me his love, his mistress,                                 415
  and I set him every day to woo me; at which time
  would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be
  effeminate, changeable, longing and liking, proud,
  fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears,
  full of smiles; for every passion something, and for                     420
  no passion truly anything, as boys and women are,
  for the most part, cattle of this color; would now
  like him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then
  forswear him; now weep for him, then spit at him,
  that I drave my suitor from his mad humor of love                      425
  to a living humor of madness, which was to forswear
  the full stream of the world and to live in a
  nook merely monastic. And thus I cured him, and
  this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as
  clean as a sound sheep’s heart, that there shall not                       430
  be one spot of love in ’t.
  ORLANDO  I would not be cured, youth.
  ROSALIND, as Ganymede  I would cure you if you
  would but call me Rosalind and come every day to
  my cote and woo me.                                                                          435
  ORLANDO  Now, by the faith of my love, I will. Tell me
  where it is.
  ROSALIND, as Ganymede  Go with me to it, and I’ll
  show it you; and by the way you shall tell me where
  in the forest you live. Will you go?                                                  440
  ORLANDO  With all my heart, good youth.
  ROSALIND, as Ganymede  Nay, you must call me
  Rosalind.—Come, sister, will you go?
  They exit.
   
  Scene 3
  Enter Touchstone and Audrey, followed by Jaques.
   
  TOUCHSTONE  Come apace, good Audrey. I will fetch up
  your goats, Audrey. And how, Audrey? Am I the
  man yet? Doth my simple feature content you?
  AUDREY  Your features, Lord warrant us! What
  features?                                                                                                     5
  TOUCHSTONE  I am here with thee and thy goats, as the
  most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the
  Goths.
  JAQUES, aside  O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than
  Jove in a thatched house.                                                                      10
  TOUCHSTONE  When a man’s verses cannot be understood,
  nor a man’s good wit seconded with the
  forward child, understanding, it strikes a man more
  dead than a great reckoning in a little room. Truly, I
  would the gods had made thee poetical.                                            15
  AUDREY  I do not know what “poetical” is. Is it honest
  in deed and word? Is it a true thing?
  TOUCHSTONE  No, truly, for the truest poetry is the most
  feigning, and lovers are given to poetry, and what
  they swear in poetry may be said as lovers they do                         20
  feign.
  AUDREY  Do you wish, then, that the gods had made me
  poetical?
  TOUCHSTONE  I do, truly, for thou swear’st to me thou
  art honest. Now if thou wert a poet, I might have                            25
  some hope thou didst feign.
  AUDREY  Would you not have me honest?
  TOUCHSTONE  No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favored; for honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar.                                                                                        30 JAQUES, aside  A material fool. AUDREY  Well, I am not fair, and therefore I pray the gods make me honest. TOUCHSTONE  Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut were to put good meat into an unclean                              35 dish.
  AUDREY  I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am
  foul.
  TOUCHSTONE  Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness;
  sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may                       40
  be, I will marry thee; and to that end I have been
  with Sir Oliver Martext, the vicar of the next village,
  who hath promised to meet me in this place of the
  forest and to couple us.
  JAQUES, aside  I would fain see this meeting.                                       45
  AUDREY  Well, the gods give us joy.
  TOUCHSTONE  Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful
  heart, stagger in this attempt, for here we have no
  temple but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts.
  But what though? Courage. As horns are odious,                            50
  they are necessary. It is said “Many a man knows no
  end of his goods.” Right: many a man has good
  horns and knows no end of them. Well, that is the
  dowry of his wife; ’tis none of his own getting.
  Horns? Even so. Poor men alone? No, no. The                                55
  noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the
  single man therefore blessed? No. As a walled town
  is more worthier than a village, so is the forehead of
  a married man more honorable than the bare brow
  of a bachelor. And by how much defense is better                          60
  than no skill, by so much is a horn more precious
  than to want.
   
  Enter Sir Oliver Martext.
   
  Here comes Sir Oliver.—Sir Oliver Martext, you are
  well met. Will you dispatch us here under this tree,
  or shall we go with you to your chapel?                                            65
  OLIVER MARTEXT  Is there none here to give the
  woman?
  TOUCHSTONE  I will not take her on gift of any man.
  OLIVER MARTEXT  Truly, she must be given, or the
  marriage is not lawful.                                                                          70
  JAQUES, coming forward  Proceed, proceed. I’ll give
  her.
  TOUCHSTONE  Good even, good Monsieur What-you-call-’t.
  How do you, sir? You are very well met. God
  ’ild you for your last company. I am very glad to see                     75
  you. Even a toy in hand here, sir. Nay, pray be
  covered.
  JAQUES  Will you be married, motley?
  TOUCHSTONE  As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his
  curb, and the falcon her bells, so man hath his                                 80
  desires; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be
  nibbling.
  JAQUES  And will you, being a man of your breeding, be
  married under a bush like a beggar? Get you to
  church, and have a good priest that can tell you                              85
  what marriage is. This fellow will but join you
  together as they join wainscot. Then one of you will
  prove a shrunk panel and, like green timber, warp,
  warp.
  TOUCHSTONE  I am not in the mind but I were better to                   90
  be married of him than of another, for he is not like
  to marry me well, and not being well married, it
  will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my
  wife.
  JAQUES  Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.                            95
  TOUCHSTONE  Come, sweet Audrey. We must be married,
  or we must live in bawdry.—Farewell, good
  Master Oliver, not
                    O sweet Oliver,
                    O brave Oliver,                                                                     100
                 Leave me not behind thee,
  But
                    Wind away,
                    Begone, I say,
                 I will not to wedding with thee.                                             105
  Audrey, Touchstone, and Jaques exit.
  OLIVER MARTEXT  ’Tis no matter. Ne’er a fantastical
  knave of them all shall flout me out of my calling.
  He exits.
   
  Scene 4
  Enter Rosalind, dressed as Ganymede, and Celia,
  dressed as Aliena.
   
  ROSALIND  Never talk to me. I will weep.
  CELIA  Do, I prithee, but yet have the grace to consider
  that tears do not become a man.
  ROSALIND  But have I not cause to weep?
  CELIA  As good cause as one would desire. Therefore                           5
  weep.
  ROSALIND  His very hair is of the dissembling color.
  CELIA  Something browner than Judas’s. Marry, his
  kisses are Judas’s own children.
  ROSALIND  I’ faith, his hair is of a good color.                                    10
  CELIA  An excellent color. Your chestnut was ever the
  only color.
  ROSALIND  And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the
  touch of holy bread.
  CELIA  He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana. A                          15
  nun of winter’s sisterhood kisses not more religiously.
  The very ice of chastity is in them.
  ROSALIND  But why did he swear he would come this
  morning, and comes not?
  CELIA  Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.                                     20
  ROSALIND  Do you think so?
  CELIA  Yes, I think he is not a pickpurse nor a horse-stealer,
  but for his verity in love, I do think him as
  concave as a covered goblet or a worm-eaten nut.
  ROSALIND  Not true in love?                                                                   25
  CELIA  Yes, when he is in, but I think he is not in.
  ROSALIND  You have heard him swear downright he
  was.
  CELIA  “Was” is not “is.” Besides, the oath of a lover is
  no stronger than the word of a tapster. They are                              30
  both the confirmer of false reckonings. He attends
  here in the forest on the Duke your father.
  ROSALIND  I met the Duke yesterday and had much
  question with him. He asked me of what parentage
  I was. I told him, of as good as he. So he laughed                           35
  and let me go. But what talk we of fathers when
  there is such a man as Orlando?
  CELIA  O, that’s a brave man. He writes brave verses,
  speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks
  them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of                            40
  his lover, as a puny tilter that spurs his horse but on
  one side breaks his staff like a noble goose; but all’s
  brave that youth mounts and folly guides.
   
  Enter Corin.
   
  Who comes here?
  CORIN
  Mistress and master, you have oft inquired                                          45
  After the shepherd that complained of love,
  Who you saw sitting by me on the turf,
  Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
  That was his mistress.
  CELIA, as Aliena  Well, and what of him?                                              50
   
  CORIN
  If you will see a pageant truly played
  Between the pale complexion of true love
  And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain,
  Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you
  If you will mark it.                                                                                    55
  ROSALIND, aside to Celia  O come, let us remove.
  The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.
  As Ganymede, to Corin.
  Bring us to this sight, andyou shall say
  I’ll prove a busy actor in their play.                                                       60
  They exit.
   
  Scene 5
  Enter Silvius and Phoebe.
   
  SILVIUS
  Sweet Phoebe, do not scorn me. Do not, Phoebe. Say that you love me not, but say not so In bitterness. The common executioner, Whose heart th’ accustomed sight of death makes hard,                                                                                                            5 Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck But first begs pardon. Will you sterner be Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?
   
  Enter, unobserved, Rosalind as Ganymede, Celia as
  Aliena, and Corin.
   
  PHOEBE
  I would not be thy executioner. I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.                                                   10 Thou tell’st me there is murder in mine eye. ’Tis pretty, sure, and very probable That eyes, that are the frail’st and softest things, Who shut their coward gates on atomies, Should be called tyrants, butchers, murderers.                                    15 Now I do frown on thee with all my heart, And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee.
  Now counterfeit to swoon; why, now fall down;
  Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame,
  Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers.                                              20
  Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee.
  Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
  Some scar of it. Lean upon a rush,
  The cicatrice and capable impressure
  Thy palm some moment keeps. But now mine eyes,                         25
  Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not;
  Nor I am sure there is no force in eyes
  That can do hurt.
  SILVIUS  O dear Phoebe,
  If ever—as that ever may be near—                                                      30
  You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy,
  Then shall you know the wounds invisible
  That love’s keen arrows make.
  PHOEBE  But till that time
  Come not thou near me. And when that time                                      35
  comes,
  Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not,
  As till that time I shall not pity thee.
  ROSALIND, as Ganymede, coming forward
  And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother,
  That you insult, exult, and all at once,                                                  40
  Over the wretched? What though you have no
  beauty—
  As, by my faith, I see no more in you
  Than without candle may go dark to bed—
  Must you be therefore proud and pitiless?                                           45
  Why, what means this? Why do you look on me?
  I see no more in you than in the ordinary
  Of nature’s sale-work.—’Od’s my little life,
  I think she means to tangle my eyes, too.—
  No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it.                                          50
  ’Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair,
  Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream
  That can entame my spirits to your worship.—
  You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her,
  Like foggy south puffing with wind and rain?                                    55
  You are a thousand times a properer man
  Than she a woman. ’Tis such fools as you
  That makes the world full of ill-favored children.
  ’Tis not her glass but you that flatters her,
  And out of you she sees herself more proper                                       60
  Than any of her lineaments can show her.—
  But, mistress, know yourself. Down on your knees
  And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man’s love,
  For I must tell you friendly in your ear,
  Sell when you can; you are not for all markets.                                  65
  Cry the man mercy, love him, take his offer.
  Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.—
  So take her to thee, shepherd. Fare you well.
  PHOEBE
  Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together.
  I had rather hear you chide than this man woo.                                   70
  ROSALIND,as Ganymede  He’s fall’n in love with your
  foulness. (To Silvius.) And she’ll fall in love with
  my anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers thee with
  frowning looks, I’ll sauce her with bitter words. (To
  Phoebe.) Why look you so upon me?                                                75
  PHOEBE  For no ill will I bear you.
  ROSALIND, as Ganymede
  I pray you, do not fall in love with me,
  For I am falser than vows made in wine.
  Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house,
  ’Tis at the tuft of olives, here hard by.—                                              80
  Will you go, sister?—Shepherd, ply her hard.—
  Come, sister.—Shepherdess, look on him better,
  And be not proud. Though all the world could see,
  None could be so abused in sight as he.—
  Come, to our flock.                                                                                   85
  She exits, with Celia and Corin.
   
  PHOEBE, aside
  Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might:
  “Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?”
  SILVIUS
  Sweet Phoebe—
  PHOEBE  Ha, what sayst thou, Silvius?
  SILVIUS  Sweet Phoebe, pity me.                                                             90
  PHOEBE
  Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.
  SILVIUS
  Wherever sorrow is, relief would be.
  If you do sorrow at my grief in love,
  By giving love your sorrow and my grief
  Were both extermined.                                                                             95
  PHOEBE
  Thou hast my love. Is not that neighborly?
  SILVIUS
  I would have you.
  PHOEBE  Why, that were covetousness.
  Silvius, the time was that I hated thee;
  And yet it is not that I bear thee love;                                                 100
  But since that thou canst talk of love so well,
  Thy company, which erst was irksome to me,
  I will endure, and I’ll employ thee too.
  But do not look for further recompense
  Than thine own gladness that thou art employed.                             105
  SILVIUS
  So holy and so perfect is my love,
  And I in such a poverty of grace,
  That I shall think it a most plenteous crop
  To glean the broken ears after the man
  That the main harvest reaps. Loose now and then                            110
  A scattered smile, and that I’ll live upon.
  PHOEBE
  Know’st thou the youth that spoke to me erewhile?
  SILVIUS
  Not very well, but I have met him oft,
  And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds
  That the old carlot once was master of.                                              115
  PHOEBE
  Think not I love him, though I ask for him. ’Tis but a peevish boy—yet he talks well— But what care I for words? Yet words do well When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. It is a pretty youth—not very pretty—                                                120 But sure he’s proud—and yet his pride becomes him. He’ll make a proper man. The best thing in him Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue Did make offense, his eye did heal it up.                                           125 He is not very tall—yet for his years he’s tall. His leg is but so-so—and yet ’tis well. There was a pretty redness in his lip, A little riper and more lusty red Than that mixed in his cheek: ’twas just the                                      130 difference Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask.
  There be some women, Silvius, had they marked
  him
  In parcels as I did, would have gone near                                          135
  To fall in love with him; but for my part
  I love him not nor hate him not; and yet
  I have more cause to hate him than to love him.
  For what had he to do to chide at me?
  He said mine eyes were black and my hair black,                            140
  And now I am remembered, scorned at me.
  I marvel why I answered not again.
  But that’s all one: omittance is no quittance.
  I’ll write to him a very taunting letter,
  And thou shalt bear it. Wilt thou, Silvius?                                         145
  SILVIUS
  Phoebe, with all my heart.
  PHOEBE  I’ll write it straight.
  The matter’s in my head and in my heart.
  I will be bitter with him and passing short.
  Go with me, Silvius.                                                                               150
  They exit.