Peer Reviewed
- Edition: As You Like It
As You Like It (Modern)
- Introduction
- Texts of this edition
- Contextual materials
- Facsimiles
As You Like It
1[1.1]
4As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion 5bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand 6crowns, and, as thou say'st, charged my brother, 7on his blessing, to breed me well; and 8there begins my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps 9at school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit. 10For my part, he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak 11more properly, stays me here at home unkept; for call 12you that "keeping" for a gentleman of my birth that differs 13not from the stalling of an ox? His horses are bred 14better, for, besides that they are fair with their feeding, 15they are taught their manège, and to that end riders 16dearly hired; but I, his brother, gain nothing under 17him but growth, for the which his animals on his 18dunghills are as much bound to him as I. Besides this nothing 19that he so plentifully gives me, the something that 20nature gave me his countenance seems to take from 21me. He lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the 22place of a brother, and as much as in him lies, mines my 23gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that 24grieves me; and the spirit of my father, which I think 25is within me, begins to mutiny against this servitude. 26I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wise 27remedy how to avoid it.
28Enter Oliver.
Yonder comes my master, your brother.
Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how 31he will shake me up.
[Adam stands aside.]
Now, sir, what make you here?
Nothing. I am not taught to make anything.
What mar you then, sir?
Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which 36God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with 37idleness.
Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile.39
Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with 41them? What prodigal portion have I spent, that I should 42come to such penury?
Know you where you are, sir?
Oh, sir, very well: here in your orchard.
Know you before whom, sir?
Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I 47know you are my eldest brother, and in the gentle condition 48of blood you should so know me. The courtesy of nations49 allows you my better in that you are the first 50born; but the same tradition takes not away my blood, 51were there twenty brothers betwixt us. I have as much 52of my father in me as you, albeit I confess your coming 53before me is nearer to his reverence.
What, boy!
[He strikes Orlando.]
Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this.
[He seizes Oliver by the throat.]
Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?
I am no villain. I am the youngest son of 58Sir Rowland de Boys. He was my father, and he is thrice a villain 59that says such a father begot villains. Wert thou 60not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy 61throat till this other had pulled out thy tongue for saying 62so. Thou hast railed on thyself.
[Coming forward]
Sweet masters, be patient! For your father's remembrance64, be at accord.
[To Orlando]
Let me go, I say.
I will not, till I please. You shall hear me. My 67father charged you in his will to give me good education. 68You have trained me like a peasant, obscuring and 69hiding from me all gentlemanlike qualities. The spirit 70of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer 71endure it; therefore allow me such exercises as may become 72a gentleman, or give me the poor allottery my 73father left me by testament. With that I will go buy my 74fortunes.
[He releases Oliver.]
And what wilt thou do? Beg, when that is spent? 76Well, sir, get you in. I will not long be troubled with 77you; you shall have some part of your will. I pray you 78leave me.
I will no further offend you than becomes me 80for my good.
[To Adam]
Get you with him, you old dog.
Is "old dog" my reward? Most true, I have 83lost my teeth in your service. God be with my old master! 84He would not have spoke such a word.
Exeunt Orlando and Adam.
Is it even so? Begin you to grow upon me? I will 86physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand 87crowns neither. [Calling] Holla, Dennis!
88Enter Dennis.
Calls Your Worship?
Was not Charles, the Duke's wrestler, here to 91speak with me?
So please you, he is here at the door and importunes 93access to you.
Call him in.
1.1.29.1[Exit Dennis.]
'Twill be a good way; and tomorrow 95the wrestling is.
96Enter Charles.
Good morrow to Your Worship.
Good Monsieur Charles, what's the new news 99at the new court?
There's no news at the court, sir, but the 101old news: that is, the old Duke is banished by his younger 102brother the new Duke, and three or four loving 103lords have put themselves into voluntary exile with 104him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new Duke; 105therefore he gives them good leave to wander.
Can you tell if Rosalind, the Duke's daughter, be 107banished with her father?
Oh, no; for the Duke's daughter, her cousin, so 109loves her, being ever from their cradles bred together, 110that she would have followed her exile or have died to 111stay behind her. She is at the court, and no less beloved 112of her uncle than his own daughter; and never two ladies 113loved as they do.
Where will the old Duke live?
They say he is already in the Forest of Arden, 116and a many merry men with him; and there they live 117like the old Robin Hood of England. They say many young 118gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time 119carelessly, as they did in the golden world.
What, you wrestle tomorrow before the new 121Duke?
Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you 123with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand that 124your younger brother, Orlando, hath a disposition to come 125in disguised against me to try a fall. Tomorrow, sir, 126I wrestle for my credit; and he that escapes me without 127some broken limb shall acquit him well. Your brother 128is but young and tender; and, for your love, I would be 129loath to foil him, as I must, for my own honor, if he 130come in. Therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither 131to acquaint you withal, that either you might stay him 132from his intendment, or brook such disgrace well as he 133shall run into, in that it is a thing of his own search 134and altogether against my will.
Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which 136thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I had myself 137notice of my brother's purpose herein, and have by 138underhand means labored to dissuade him from it; 139but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles, it is the stubbornest 140young fellow of France, full of ambition, an envious emulator 141of every man's good parts, a secret and villainous 142contriver against me his natural brother. Therefore use 143thy discretion. I had as lief thou didst break his neck 144as his finger. And thou wert best look to't; for if thou 145dost him any slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily 146grace himself on thee, he will practice against thee by 147poison, entrap thee by some treacherous device, and never 148leave thee till he hath ta'en thy life by some indirect 149means or other; for, I assure thee, and almost with 150tears I speak it, there is not one so young and so villainous 151this day living. I speak but brotherly of him, 152but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must 153blush and weep, and thou must look pale and 154wonder.
I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he 156come tomorrow I'll give him his payment. If ever he 157go alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize more. And 158so, God keep Your Worship!
Exit.
Farewell, good Charles. Now will I stir this gamester. 160I hope I shall see an end of him; for my soul, yet 161I know not why, hates nothing more than he. Yet he's 162gentle, never schooled and yet learned, full of noble 163device, of all sorts enchantingly beloved, and indeed 164so much in the heart of the world, and especially of my 165own people, who best know him, that I am altogether 166misprized. But it shall not be so long; this wrestler shall 167clear all. Nothing remains but that I kindle the boy 168thither, which now I'll go about.
Exit.
I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.
Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of; 173and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you 174could teach me to forget a banished father, you must not 175learn me how to remember any extraordinary 176pleasure.
Herein I see thou lov'st me not with the full 178weight that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father, 179had banished thy uncle, the Duke my father, so thou 180hadst been still with me, I could have taught my love 181to take thy father for mine; so wouldst thou, if the truth 182of thy love to me were so righteously tempered as mine 183is to thee.
Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, 185to rejoice in yours.
You know my father hath no child but I, nor 187none is like to have; and, truly, when he dies thou shalt 188be his heir, for what he hath taken away from thy father 189perforce I will render thee again in affection. By 190mine honor, I will; and when I break that oath, let me 191turn monster. Therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, 192be merry.
From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. 194Let me see, what think you of falling in love?
Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport withal; but 196love no man in good earnest, nor no further in sport neither 197than with safety of a pure blush thou mayst in honor 198come off again.
What shall be our sport, then?
Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune 201from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be 202bestowed equally.
I would we could do so, for her benefits are 204mightily misplaced, and the bountiful blind woman 205doth most mistake in her gifts to women.
'Tis true, for those that she makes fair she scarce 207makes honest, and those that she makes honest she makes 208very ill-favoredly.
Nay, now thou goest from Fortune's office to Nature's: 210Fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the 211lineaments of Nature.
212Enter [Touchstone the] Clown.
No? When Nature hath made a fair creature, 214may she not by Fortune fall into the fire? Though Nature 215hath given us wit to flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune 216sent in this fool to cut off the argument?
Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when 218Fortune makes Nature's natural the cutter-off of Nature's wit.219
Peradventure this is not Fortune's work neither, 221but Nature's, who perceiveth our natural wits too dull 222to reason of such goddesses, and hath sent this natural for 223our whetstone; for always the dullness of the fool is 224the whetstone of the wits. -- How now, wit, whither wander you?225
Mistress, you must come away to your father.
Were you made the messenger?
No, by mine honor, but I was bid to come for you.
Where learned you that oath, fool?
Of a certain knight that swore by his honor 231they were good pancakes, and swore by his honor the 232mustard was naught. Now I'll stand to it, the pancakes 233were naught and the mustard was good, and yet was 234not the knight forsworn.
How prove you that, in the great heap of your 236knowledge?
Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom.
Stand you both forth now. Stroke your chins, 239and swear by 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 242you swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn. No 243more was this knight, swearing by his honor, for he never 244had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away before 245ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard.
Prithee, who is't that thou mean'st?
One that old Frederick, your father, loves.
My father's love is enough to honor him. Enough, 249speak no more of him; you'll be whipped for taxation one 250of these days.
The more pity that fools may not speak wisely252what wise men do foolishly.
By my troth, thou sayest true; for since the little 254wit that fools have was silenced, the little foolery that 255wise men have makes a great show. Here comes Monsieur 256Le Beau.
257Enter Le Beau.
With his mouth full of news.
Which he will put on us as pigeons feed their 260young.
Then shall we be news-crammed.
All the better; we shall be the more marketable. -- 263Bonjour, Monsieur Le Beau. What's the news?
Fair princess, 265you have lost much good sport.
Sport? Of what color?
What color, madam? How shall I answer 268you?
As wit and fortune will.
Or as the Destinies decrees.
Well said. That was laid on with a trowel.
Nay, if I keep not my rank --
Thou loosest thy old smell.
You amaze me, ladies. I would have told 275you of good wrestling, which you have lost the sight of.
Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling.
I will tell you the beginning, and, if it please 278Your Ladyships, you may see the end, for the best is yet to do, 279and here, where you are, they are coming to 280perform it.
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 285and presence.
With bills on their necks: "Be it known unto 287all men by these presents --"
The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, 289the Duke's wrestler, which Charles in a moment threw 290him and broke three of his ribs, that there is little 291hope of life in him. So he served the second, and so the 292third. Yonder they lie, the poor old man their father 293making such pitiful dole over them that all the beholders 294take his part with weeping.
Alas!
But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies 297have lost?
Why, this that I speak of.
Thus men may grow wiser every day. It is the 300first time that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport 301for ladies.
Or I, I promise thee.
But is there any else longs to see this broken music 304in his sides? Is there yet another dotes upon 305rib-breaking? -- Shall we see this wrestling, cousin?
1.2.58306Le BeauYou must, if you stay here, for here is the 307place appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to 308perform it.
Yonder, sure, they are coming. Let us now stay 310and see it.
Come on. Since the youth will not be entreated, 314his own peril on his forwardness.
[To Le Beau]
Is yonder the man?
Even he, madam.
Alas, he is too young; yet he looks successfully.
How now, daughter and cousin? 319Are you crept hither to see the wrestling?
Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave.
You will take little delight in it, I can tell you, 322there is such odds in the man. In pity of the challenger's 323 youth I would fain dissuade him, but he will not 324be entreated. Speak to him, ladies; see if you can 325move him.
Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau.
Do so. I'll not be by.
[Duke Frederick stands aside.]
[To Orlando]
Monsieur the Challenger, the Princess calls 329for you.
[Approaching Rosalind and Celia]
I attend them with all respect and duty.
Young man, have you challenged Charles the 332wrestler?
No, fair princess, he is the general challenger. 334I come but in, as others do, to try with him the strength 335of my youth.
Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for 337your years. You have seen cruel proof of this man's 338strength. If you saw yourself with your eyes, or knew 339yourself with your judgment, the fear of your adventure 340would counsel you to a more equal enterprise. We 341pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own safety 342 and give over this attempt.
Do, young sir. Your reputation shall not therefore 344be misprized. We will make it our suit to the Duke that 345the wrestling might not go forward.
I beseech you, punish me not with your hard 347thoughts, wherein I confess me much guilty to deny 348so fair and excellent ladies anything. But let your 349fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my trial, 350wherein if I be foiled, there is but one shamed that was 351never gracious; if killed, but one dead that is willing to 352be so. I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none to 353lament me; the world no injury, for in it I have nothing. 354Only in the world I fill up a place, which may be better 355supplied when I have made it empty.
The little strength that I have, I would it were 357with 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 362desirous to lie with his mother earth?
Ready, sir, but his will hath in it a more modest 364working.
You shall try but one fall.
No, I warrant Your Grace you shall not entreat 367him to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him 368from a first.
You mean to mock me after; you should not 370have mocked me before. But come your ways.
Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man!
I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow 373by the leg.
[Orlando and Charles] wrestle.
Oh, excellent young man!
If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who 376should down.
[Charles is thrown.] Shout.
No more, no more.
Yes, I beseech Your Grace. I am not yet 379well breathed.
How dost thou, Charles?
381Le Beau
He cannot speak, my lord.
Bear him away.
[Charles is carried out.]
What is thy name, young man?
Orlando, my liege, the youngest son of Sir Rowland 385de Boys.
I would thou hadst been son to some man else.
393Exit Duke [with train, and Le Beau. Rosalind and Celia remain, standing apart from Orlando].
[To Rosalind]
Were I my father, coz, would I do this?
[Talking to himself]
I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son,
[To Celia]
My father loved Sir Rowland as his soul,
403Celia
Gentle cousin,
410Rosalind
Gentleman,
[Giving him a chain from her neck]
[To Celia]
Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman.
[Rosalind and Celia start to leave.]
[Aside]
Can I not say "I thank you"? My better parts
[To Celia]
He calls us back. My pride fell with my fortunes;
Will you go, coz?
Have with you. -- Fare you well.
Exit [with Celia].
What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue?
426Enter Le Beau.
Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you
I thank you, sir. And pray you tell me this:
Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners,
I rest much bounden to you. Fare you well.
[Exit Le Beau.]
Exit.
Why, cousin, why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy! 461Not a word?
Not one to throw at a dog.
No, thy words are too precious to be cast away 464upon curs. Throw some of them at me. Come, lame me 465with reasons.
Then there were two cousins laid up, when the 467one should be lamed with reasons and the other 468mad without any.
But is all this for your father?
No, some of it is for my child's father. Oh, 471how full of briers is this working-day world!
They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee 473in holiday foolery. If we walk not in the trodden paths, 474our very petticoats will catch them.
I could shake them off my coat. These burs are 476in my heart.
Hem them away.
I would try, if I could cry "hem" and have him.
Come, come, wrestle with thy affections.
Oh, they take the part of a better wrestler than 481myself.
Oh, a good wish upon you! You will try in time, 483in despite of a fall. But, turning these jests out of service, 484let us talk in good earnest. Is it possible, on such a sudden, 485you should fall into so strong a liking with old Sir 486Rowland's youngest son?
The Duke my father loved his father dearly.
Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his 489son dearly? By this kind of chase, I should hate 490him, for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate 491not Orlando.
No, faith, hate him not, for my sake.
Why should I not? Doth he not deserve well?
494Enter Duke [Frederick], with Lords.
Let me love him for that, and do you love him 496because I do. Look, here comes the Duke.
With his eyes full of anger.
[To Rosalind]
Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste,
500Rosalind
Me, uncle?
501Duke Frederick
You, cousin.
505Rosalind
I do beseech Your Grace,
513Duke Frederick
Thus do all traitors.
Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor.
Thou art thy father's daughter; there's enough.
So was I when Your Highness took his dukedom;
Dear sovereign, hear me speak.
Ay, Celia, we stayed her for your sake,
I did not then entreat to have her stay;
She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness,
Pronounce that sentence, then, on me, my liege!
You are a fool. -- You, niece, provide yourself.
551Exit Duke, &c. [with Lords].
O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt thou go?
I have more cause.
556Celia
Thou hast not, cousin.
559Rosalind
That he hath not.
No? "Hath not"? Rosalind lacks, then, the love
Why, whither shall we go?
To seek my uncle in the Forest of Arden.
Alas, what danger will it be to us,
I'll put myself in poor and mean attire,
579Rosalind
Were it not better,
What shall I call thee when thou art a man?
I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page,
Something that hath a reference to my state:
But, cousin, what if we assayed to steal
He'll go along o'er the wide world with me.
Exeunt.
Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,
I would not change it. Happy is Your Grace,
Come, shall we go and kill us venison?
632First Lord
Indeed, my lord,
651Duke Senior
But what said Jaques?
Oh, yes, into a thousand similes.
And did you leave him in this contemplation?
We did, my lord, weeping and commenting
675Duke Senior
Show me the place.
I'll bring you to him straight.
Exeunt.
Can it be possible that no man saw them?
I cannot hear of any that did see her.
My lord, the roinish clown, at whom so oft
Send to his brother; fetch that gallant hither.
Exeunt.
Who's there?
What, my young master? Oh, my gentle master!
Why, what's the matter?
720Adam
O unhappy youth,
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,
But do not so. I have five hundred crowns,
[Offering money]
Oh, good old man, how well in thee appears
Master, go on, and I will follow thee
Exeunt.
Oh, Jupiter, how weary are my spirits!
I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not 786weary.
I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's 788apparel and to cry like a woman; but I must comfort 789the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show itself 790courageous to petticoat. Therefore, courage, good 791Aliena!
I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go no further.793
For my part, I had rather bear with you than 795bear you; yet I should bear no cross if I did bear 796you, for I 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 799was at home I was in a better place, but travelers must 800be content.
801Enter Corin and Silvius.
Ay, be so, good Touchstone. -- Look you, who comes 803here, a young man and an old in solemn talk.
[They stand aside and listen.]
[To Silvius]
That is the way to make her scorn you still.
Oh, 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,
Into a thousand that I have forgotten.
Oh, thou didst then never love so heartily!
Exit Silvius
Alas, poor shepherd! Searching of thy wound,
And I mine. I remember, when I was in love, 829I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for 830coming a-night to Jane Smile; and I remember the kissing 831of her batler, and the cow's dugs that her pretty 832chapped hands had milked; and I remember the 833wooing of a peascod instead of her, from whom I took two 834cods, and giving her them again, said with weeping 835tears, "Wear these for my sake." We that are true lovers 836run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in 837nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.
Thou speak'st wiser than thou art ware of.
Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till 840I break my shins against it.
Jove, Jove! This shepherd's passion
And mine; but it grows something stale with 844me.
I pray you, one of you question yond man
848Touchstone
[To Corin]
Holla, you clown!
Peace, fool! He's not thy kinsman.
850Corin
Who calls?
Your betters, sir.
852Corin
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
860Corin
Fair sir, I pity her,
What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture?
That young swain that you saw here 875but erewhile,
I pray thee, if it stand with honesty,
And we will mend thy wages. 881I like this place,
Assuredly the thing is to be sold.
Exeunt.
2.5.0.3[A table is set out.]
890Song
[Sings]
Under the greenwood tree
2.5.7 No enemy
More, more, I prithee, more.
It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.
I thank it. More, I prithee, more. 901I can suck melancholy out of a song 902as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more.
My voice is ragged. I know I cannot please904 you.
I do not desire you to please me, 906I do desire you to sing. 907Come, more; another stanzo. Call you 'em "stanzos"?
What you will, Monsieur Jaques.
Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me 910nothing. Will you sing?
More at your request than to please myself.
Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank 913you. But that they call "compliment" is like th'encounter 914of two dog-apes; and when a man thanks me heartily, 915methinks I have given him a penny, and he renders me 916the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, 917hold your tongues.
Well, I'll end the song. -- Sirs, cover the while; 919the Duke will drink under this tree. -- He hath been all this 920day to look you.
[Food and drink are set out.]
And I have been all this day to avoid him. 922He is too disputable for my company. 923I think of as many matters as he, but I give 924heaven thanks and make no boast of them. 925Come, warble, come.
926Song
[Sings]
Who doth ambition shun,
All together here
2.5.26 No enemy
2.5.27But winter and rough weather.
I'll give you a verse to this note 934that I made yesterday in despite of my invention.
And I'll sing it.
Thus it goes:
What's that "ducdame"?
'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. 945I'll go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I'll rail against all 946the first-born of Egypt.
And I'll go seek the Duke. 948His banquet is prepared.
Exeunt [separately].
949[2.6]
Dear master, I can go no further. 952Oh, I die for food! Here lie I down, 953and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master.
[He lies down.]
Why, how now, Adam? No greater heart in thee? 955Live a little, comfort a little, cheer thyself a little. 956If this uncouth forest yield anything savage, 957I will either be food for it or bring it for food to thee. 958Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. 959For my sake be comfortable; hold death awhile 960at the arm's end. I will here be with thee presently, 961and if I bring thee not something to eat, 962I will give thee leave to die; but if thou diest 963before I come, thou art a mocker of my labor. 964Well said! Thou look'st cheerly, 965and I'll be with thee quickly. Yet thou liest 966in the bleak air. Come, I will bear thee 967to some shelter; and thou shalt not die 968for lack of a dinner, 969if there live anything in this desert.
[He picks up Adam.]
970Cheerly, good Adam!
Exeunt
I think he be transformed into a beast,
My lord, he is but even now gone hence.
If he, compact of jars, grow musical,
980Enter Jaques.
He saves my labor by his own approach.
Why, how now, monsieur, what a life is this,
A fool, a fool! I met a fool i'th'forest,
What fool is this?
Oh, worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier,
Thou shalt have one.
1018Jaques
It is my only suit,
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.
Why, who cries out on pride
1062Enter 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?
[To Orlando]
Art thou thus boldened, man, by thy distress?
You touched my vein at first. The thorny point
An you will not be answered with reason, 1077I must die.
What would you have? 1079Your gentleness shall force
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.
[He sheathes his sword.]
True is it that we have seen better days,
Then but forbear your food a little while,
1111Duke Senior
Go find him out,
I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort!
[Exit.]
Thou see'st we are not all alone unhappy:
1118Jaques
All the world's a stage,
1146Enter Orlando with Adam.
Welcome. Set down your venerable burden,
I thank you most for him.
So had you need;
Welcome. Fall to. I will not trouble you
1155Song
[Sings]
1Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
2.7.177 As man's ingratitude.
2.7.179Because thou art not seen,
2.7.186That dost not bite so nigh
2.7.189Thy sting is not so sharp
2.7.192Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
2.7.193Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
2.7.194This life is most jolly.
If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son,
Exeunt.
"Not see him since?" Sir, sir, that cannot be.
Oh, that Your Highness knew my heart in this!
More villain thou. -- Well, push him out of doors,
Exeunt.
Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love;
Exit
1211Enter Corin and Clown [Touchstone].
And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone?
Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a 1214good life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is 1215naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; 1216but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now 1217in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect 1218it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare 1219life, look you, it fits my humor well; but as there is no 1220more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. 1221Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd?
No more but that I know the more one sickens 1223the worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money, 1224means, and content is without three good friends; that 1225the property of rain is to wet, and fire to burn; that 1226good pasture makes fat sheep, and that a great cause of 1227the night is lack of the sun; that he that hath learned 1228no wit by nature nor art may complain of good 1229breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred.
Such a one is a natural philosopher. 1231Wast ever in court, shepherd?
No, truly.
Then thou art damned.
Nay, I hope.
Truly, thou art damned, like an ill-roasted egg, 1236all on one side.
For not being at court? Your reason.
Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never 1239saw'st good manners; if thou never saw'st good manners, 1240then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is sin, 1241and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous state, 1242shepherd.
Not a whit, Touchstone. Those that are good manners 1244at the court are as ridiculous in the country as 1245the behavior of the country is most mockable at the 1246court. You told me you salute not at the court but 1247you kiss your hands; that courtesy would be uncleanly 1248if courtiers were shepherds.
Instance, briefly; come, instance.
Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their 1251fells, you know, are greasy.
Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? And 1253is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat 1254of a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say. 1255Come.
Besides, our hands are hard.
Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again. 1258A more sounder instance. Come.
And they are often tarred over with the surgery 1260of our sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The 1261courtier's hands are perfumed with civet.
Most shallow man! Thou worm's meat in respect 1263of a good piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, 1264and perpend: civet is of a baser birth than tar, the 1265very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, 1266shepherd.
You have too courtly a wit for me. I'll rest.
Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee, shallow1269 man! God make incision in thee! Thou art raw.
Sir, I am a true laborer: I earn that I eat, get 1271that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness, 1272glad of other men's good, content with my harm, 1273and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes graze and 1274my lambs suck.
That is another simple sin in you, to bring the 1276ewes and the rams together and to offer to get your 1277living by the copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a bellwether, 1278and to betray a she-lamb of a twelvemonth 1279to crooked-pated old cuckoldly ram, out of all 1280reasonable match. If thou beest not damned for this, 1281the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else 1282how thou shouldst scape.
Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's 1284brother.
1285Enter Rosalind [reading a paper].
"From the east to western Ind,
I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners, 1295and suppers, and sleeping hours, excepted. It is the right 1296butter-women's rank to market.
Out, fool!
For a taste:
Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree.
Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.
I'll graft it with you, and then I shall graft it 1316with a medlar. Then it will be the earliest fruit i'th' country; 1317for you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's 1318the right virtue of the medlar.
You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the 1320forest judge.
1321Enter Celia, with a writing.
Peace! Here comes my sister, reading. Stand aside.
"Why should this a desert be?
O most gentle Jupiter, what tedious homily of 1354love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and 1355never cried "Have patience, good people!"
How now? Back, friends. Shepherd, go off a little.1357[To Touchstone]Go with him, sirrah.
[To Corin]
Come, shepherd, let us make an honorable retreat, 1359though not with bag and baggage, yet with 1360scrip and scrippage.
Exit [with Corin].
Didst thou hear these verses?
Oh, yes, I heard them all, and more too, for some 1363of them had in them more feet than the verses would 1364bear.
That's no matter; the feet might bear the verses.
Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear 1367themselves without the verse, and therefore stood lamely 1368in the verse.
But didst thou hear without wondering how 1370thy name should be hanged and carved upon these trees?
I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder 1372before you came; for look here what I found on a 1373palm tree. I was never so berhymed since Pythagoras' 1374time that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember.
[Rosalind shows Celia the verse she found.]
Trow you who hath done this?
Is it a man?
And a chain that you once wore about his neck. 1378Change you color?
I prithee, who?
Oh, Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for friends to 1381meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes, 1382and so encounter.
Nay, but who is it?
Is it possible?
Nay, I prithee now, with most petitionary vehemence, 1386tell me who it is.
Oh, wonderful, wonderful, most wonderful 1388wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that, 1389out of all hooping!
Good my complexion! Dost thou think, though 1391I am caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and hose in 1392my disposition? One inch of delay more is a South Sea of discovery1393. I prithee tell me who is it quickly, and 1394speak apace. I would thou couldst stammer, that thou 1395mightst pour this concealed man out of thy mouth as 1396wine comes out of narrow-mouthed bottle -- either too 1397much at once or none at all. I prithee take the cork 1398out of thy mouth, that I may drink thy tidings.
So you may put a man in your belly.
Is he of God's making? What manner of man? 1401Is his head worth 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 1404thankful. Let me stay the growth of his beard, if thou 1405delay me not the knowledge of his chin.
It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler's 1407heels and your heart both in an instant.
Nay, but the devil take mocking! Speak sad 1409brow and true maid.
I' faith, coz, 'tis he.
Orlando?
Orlando.
Alas the day, what shall I do with my doublet and 1414hose? What did he when thou saw'st him? What said 1415he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes he here? 1416Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How 1417parted he with thee? And when shalt thou see him again? 1418Answer me in one word.
You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first; 1420'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's size. 1421To say ay and no to these particulars is more than to answer 1422in a catechism.
But doth he know that I am in this forest, and 1424in man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day 1425he wrestled?
It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions 1427of a lover. But take a taste of my finding 1428him, and relish it with good observance. I found him 1429under a tree, like a dropped acorn.
It may well be called Jove's tree, when it 1431drops forth such fruit.
Give me audience, good madam.
Proceed.
There lay he, stretched along like a wounded 1435knight.
Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well 1437becomes the ground.
Cry "Holla" to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets 1439unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter.
Oh, ominous! He comes to kill my heart.
I would sing my song without a burden. 1442Thou bring'st me out of tune.
Do you not know I am a woman? When I think, 1444I must speak. Sweet, say on.
1445Enter Orlando and Jaques.
You bring me out. -- Soft, comes he not here?
'Tis he. Slink by, and note him.
[Rosalind and Celia stand aside and listen.]
[To Orlando]
I thank you for your company, but, good faith, 1449I had as lief have been myself alone.
And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake,
God b'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 1455love songs in their barks.
I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading 1457them ill-favoredly.
Rosalind is your love's name?
3.2.144Orlando
Yes, just.
I do not like her name.
There was no thought of pleasing you when she 1461was christened.
What stature is she of?
Just as high as my heart.
You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been acquainted 1465with goldsmiths' wives, and conned them out of rings?
Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, 1467from whence you have studied your questions.
You have a nimble wit; I think 'twas made of 1469Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? And 1470we two will rail against our mistress the world, and all 1471our misery.
I will chide no breather in the world but myself, 1473against 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. 1476I am weary of you.
By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I 1478found you.
He is drowned in the brook. Look but in, and 1480you shall see him.
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 Signior 1484Love.
I am glad of your departure. Adieu, good Monsieur 1486Melancholy.
[Exit Jaques.]
[Aside to Celia]
I will speak to him like a saucy lackey, and 1488under that habit play the knave with him. -- Do you hear, forester?
Very well. What would you?
I pray you, what is't o'clock?
You should ask me what time o' day. There's no 1492clock in the forest.
Then there is no true lover in the forest, else 1494sighing every minute and groaning every hour would 1495detect the lazy foot of Time as well as a clock.
And why not the swift foot of Time? Had not 1497that been as proper?
By no means, sir. Time travels in divers paces 1499with divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, 1500who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal, 1501and who he stands still withal.
I prithee, who doth he trot withal?
Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between 1504the contract of her marriage and the day it is solemnized. 1505If the interim be but a se'nnight, Time's pace is so hard 1506that it seems the length of seven year.
Who ambles Time withal?
With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich man 1509that hath not the gout, for the one sleeps easily because 1510he cannot study, and the other lives merrily because 1511he feels no pain; the one lacking the burden of 1512lean and wasteful learning, the other knowing no burden 1513of heavy tedious penury. These Time 1514ambles withal.
Who doth he gallop withal?
With a thief to the gallows, for though he 1517go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon 1518there.
Who stays it still withal?
With lawyers in the vacation; for they sleep 1521between term and term, and then they perceive not 1522how Time moves.
Where dwell you, pretty youth?
With this shepherdess, my sister, here in the 1525skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.
Are you native of this place?
As the coney that you see dwell where she is 1528kindled.
Your accent is something finer than you could 1530purchase in so removed a dwelling.
I have been told so of many. But indeed an old 1532religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was 1533in his youth an inland man, one that knew courtship too 1534well, for there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures 1535against it; and I thank God I am not a woman, 1536to be touched with so many giddy offences as he 1537hath generally taxed their whole sex withal.
Can you remember any of the principal evils 1539that he laid to the charge of women?
There were none principal; they were all like 1541one another as halfpence are, every one fault seeming 1542monstrous 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 1545that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest that abuses 1546our young plants with carving "Rosalind" on their 1547barks, hangs odes upon hawthorns and elegies on 1548brambles, all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind. 1549If I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him 1550some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian 1551of love upon him.
I am he that is so love-shaked. I pray you, tell 1553me your remedy.
There is none of my uncle's marks upon you. 1555He taught me how to know a man in love, in which 1556cage of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner.
What were his marks?
A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye 1559and sunken, which you have not; an unquestionable spirit, 1560which you have not; a beard neglected, which you 1561have not -- but I pardon you for that, for simply your having 1562in beard is a younger brother's revenue. Then your 1563hose should be ungartered, your bonnet unbanded, your 1564sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and everything 1565about you demonstrating a careless desolation. But you 1566are no such man. You are rather point-device in your accoutrements, 1567as loving yourself, than seeming the lover 1568of any other.
Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.
Me believe it? You may as soon make her that 1571you love believe it -- which, I warrant, she is apter to do 1572than to confess she does. That is one of the points in the 1573which women still give the lie to their consciences. But, 1574in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the 1575trees wherein Rosalind is so admired?
I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of 1577Rosalind, 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 1581as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; 1582and the reason why they are not so punished and cured is 1583that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in 1584love too. Yet I profess curing it by counsel.
Did you ever cure any so?
Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to imagine 1587me his love, his mistress, and I set him every day 1588to woo me. At which time would I, being but a moonish 1589youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing and 1590liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full 1591of tears, full of smiles; for every passion something and 1592for no passion truly anything, as boys and women are 1593for the most part cattle of this color; would now like 1594him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then forswear him; 1595now weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave 1596my suitor from his mad humor of love to a living 1597humor of madness, which was to forswear the full stream of the world 1598and to live in a nook, merely monastic. And thus I cured 1599him; and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver 1600as clean as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not 1601be one spot of love in't.
I would not be cured, youth.
I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, 1604and come every day to my cote and woo me.
Now, by the faith of my love, I will. Tell me 1606where it is.
Go with me to it, and I'll show it you; and by 1608the way you shall tell me where in the forest you live. 1609Will you go?
With all my heart, good youth.
Nay, you must call me Rosalind. -- Come, sister, 1612will you go?
Exeunt.
Come apace, good Audrey. I will fetch up your 1616goats, Audrey. And how, Audrey, am I the man yet? 1617Doth my simple feature content you?
Your features! Lord warrant us, what features?
I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most 1620capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.
[Aside]
Oh, knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than 1622Jove in a thatched house!
When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor 1624a man's good wit seconded with the forward child, understanding, 1625it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning 1626in a little room. Truly, I would the gods had 1627made thee poetical.
I do not know what "poetical" is. Is it honest in 1629deed and word? Is it a true thing?
No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning, 1631and lovers are given to poetry, and what they 1632swear in poetry it may be said as lovers they do feign.
Do you wish, then, that the gods had made me 1634poetical?
I do, truly; for thou swear'st to me thou art honest. 1636Now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope 1637thou didst feign.
Would you not have me honest?
No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favored; for 1640honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to 1641sugar.
[Aside]
A material fool!
Well, I am not fair, and therefore I pray the 1644gods make me honest.
Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul 1646slut were to put good meat into an unclean dish.
I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I 1648am foul.
Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness! Sluttishness 1650may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, 1651I will marry thee; and to that end I have been with Sir 1652Oliver Mar-text, the vicar of the next village, who hath 1653promised to meet me in this place of the forest, and to 1654couple us.
[Aside]
I would fain see this meeting.
Well, the gods give us joy!
Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, 1658stagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple 1659but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But 1660what though? Courage! As horns are odious, they are necessary. 1661It is said, "Many a man knows no end of his goods." 1662Right! Many a man has good horns and knows no end of them. 1663Well, that is the dowry of his wife; 'tis none 1664of his own getting. Horns? Even so. Poor men alone? 1665No, no, the noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal. 1666Is the single man therefore blessed? No. As a walled 1667town is more worthier than a village, so is the forehead 1668of a married man more honorable than the bare 1669brow of a bachelor; and by how much defense is better 1670than no skill, by so much is a horn more precious 1671than to want.
3.3.201673Here comes Sir Oliver. -- Sir Oliver Mar-text, you are 1674well met. Will you dispatch us here under this tree, or 1675shall we go with you 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 1679lawful.
[Coming forward]
Proceed, proceed. I'll give her.
Good even, good Master What-ye-call't. How do you, 1682sir? You are very well met. God 'ild you for your last company. 1683I am very glad to see you. Even a toy in hand 1684here, sir. -- Nay, pray be covered.
Will you be married, motley?
As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb, 1687and the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and as 1688pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling.
And will you, being a man of your breeding, be 1690married under a bush like a beggar? Get you to church, 1691and have a good priest that can tell you what marriage is. 1692This fellow will but join you together as they 1693join wainscot; then one of you will prove a shrunk panel, 1694and, like green timber warp, warp.
I am not in the mind but I were better to be 1696married of him than of another; for he is not like to marry 1697me well; and not being well married, it will be a good 1698excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife.
Go thou with me, 1700and let me counsel thee.
Come, sweet Audrey.
3.3.37but
[Exeunt Jaques, Touchstone, and Audrey.]
'Tis no matter. Ne'er a fantastical knave of them 1707all shall flout me out of my calling.
Exit.
Never talk to me. I will weep.
Do, I prithee, but yet have the grace to consider 1712that tears do not become a man.
But have I not cause to weep?
As good cause as one would desire; 1715therefore weep.
His very hair 1717is of the dissembling color.
Something browner than Judas's. 1719Marry, his kisses are Judas's own children.
I'faith, his hair is of a good color.
An excellent color. 1722Your chestnut was ever the only color.
And his kissing is as full of sanctity 1724as the touch of holy bread.
He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana. A 1726nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; 1727the very ice of chastity is in them.
But why did he swear he would come this 1729morning, and comes not?
Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.
Do you think so?
Yes. I think he is not a pickpurse nor a horse-stealer, 1733but for his verity in love, I do think him as 1734concave as a covered goblet or a worm-eaten nut.
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 no 1739stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the 1740confirmer of false reckonings. He attends here in the forest 1741on the Duke, your father.
I met the Duke yesterday, and had much question 1743with him. He asked me of what parentage I was. I 1744told him, of as good as he; so he laughed and let me go. 1745But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a man 1746as Orlando?
Oh, that's a brave man! He writes brave verses, 1748speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks 1749them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover, 1750as a puny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, 1751breaks his staff like a noble goose. But all's brave that 1752youth mounts and folly guides. Who comes here?
1753Enter Corin.
Mistress and master, you have oft inquired
1759Celia
Well, and what of him?
If you will see a pageant truly played
1765Rosalind
Oh, come, let us remove!
Exeunt.
Sweet Phoebe, do not scorn me, do not, Phoebe!
1778Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Corin, [at a distance].
I would not be thy executioner;
1799Silvius
3.5.28O dear Phoebe,
1804Phoebe
But till that time
[Advancing]
And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother,
[Phoebe gazes intently at Rosalind.]
[To Silvius]
[To Phoebe]
[To Silvius]
Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together.
[To Phoebe]
He's fallen in love with your foulness, [To Silvius]and she'll 1840fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast 1841as she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce 1842her with bitter words. [To Phoebe]Why look you so upon me?
For no ill will I bear you.
I pray you, do not fall in love with me,
Exit [with Celia and Corin].
Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might:
Sweet Phoebe --
1856Phoebe
Ha! What say'st thou, Silvius?
Sweet Phoebe, pity me.
Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.
Wherever sorrow is, relief would be.
Thou hast my love. Is not that neighborly?
I would have you.
1865Phoebe
Why, that were covetousness.
So holy and so perfect is my love,
Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me erewhile?
Not very well, but I have met him oft,
Think not I love him, though I ask for him.
Phoebe, with all my heart.
1911Phoebe
I'll write it straight;
Exeunt.
I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted 1918with thee.
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 1922fellows, and betray themselves to every modern 1923censure 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 1927is emulation, nor the musician's, which is fantastical, 1928nor the courtier's, which is proud, nor the soldier's, 1929which is ambitious, nor the lawyer's, which is politic, 1930nor the lady's, which is nice, nor the lover's, which 1931is all these; but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded 1932of many simples, extracted from many objects, 1933and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, in 1934which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous 1935sadness.
A traveler! By my faith, you have great reason 1937to be sad. I fear you have sold your own lands 1938to see other men's. Then to have seen much and to have 1939nothing is to have rich eyes and poor hands.
Yes, I have gained my experience.
1941Enter Orlando.
And your experience makes you sad. I had rather 1943have a fool to make me merry than experience to 1944make me sad -- and to travel for it too!
Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind!
Nay, then, God b'wi' you, an you talk in blank 1947verse.
Farewell, Monsieur Traveler. Look you lisp 1949and wear strange suits, disable all the benefits 1950of your own country, be out of love with 1951your nativity, and almost chide God for making you that 1952countenance you are, or I will scarce think you have 1953swam in a gondola.
[Exit Jaques.]
Why, how now, Orlando, where 1954have you been all this while? You a lover? An you 1955serve me such another trick, never come in my sight 1956more.
My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my 1958promise.
Break an hour's promise in love? He that 1960will divide a minute into a thousand parts and break 1961but a part of the thousand part of a minute in the affairs 1962of love, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapped 1963him o'th' shoulder, but I'll warrant him heart-whole.
Pardon me, dear Rosalind.
Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my 1966sight. I had as lief be wooed of a snail.
Of a snail?
Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he 1969carries his house on his head -- a better jointure, I think, 1970than you make a woman. Besides, he brings his destiny 1971with him.
What's that?
Why, horns, which such as you are fain to be beholding 1974to your wives for. But he comes armed in his fortune, 1975and prevents the slander of his wife.
Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is 1977virtuous.
And I am your Rosalind.
It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind 1980 of a better leer than you.
Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a 1982holiday humor, and like enough to consent. What 1983would you say to me now, an I were your very very 1984Rosalind?
I would kiss before I spoke.
Nay, you were better speak first, and when you 1987were graveled for lack of matter, you might take occasion 1988to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, 1989they will spit; and for lovers lacking -- God warn us! -- 1990matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.
How if the kiss be denied?
Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins 1993new matter.
Who could be out, being before his beloved 1995mistress?
Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, 1997or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit.
What, of my suit?
I take some joy to say you are, because I would 2003be talking of her.
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 2007almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there 2008was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in 2009a love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed out with a 2010Grecian club, yet he did what he could to die before, 2011and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would 2012have lived many a fair year though Hero had turned 2013nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night; for, 2014good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont, 2015and, being taken with the cramp, was drowned; 2016and the foolish chroniclers of that age found it was -- 2017Hero of Sestos. But these are all lies. Men have died 2018from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not 2019for love.
I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind, 2021for, I protest, her frown might kill me.
By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, 2023now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition; 2024and ask me what you will, I will grant it.
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 2033good thing? -- Come, sister, you shall be the priest, 2034and marry us. -- Give me your hand, Orlando. -- What do you 2035say, 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 2040Rosalind?
I will.
Ay, but when?
Why, now, as fast as she can marry us.
Then you must say, "I take thee, Rosalind, for 2045wife."
I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.
I might ask you for your commission; 2048but I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband. There's a 2049girl goes before the priest; and, certainly, a woman's 2050thought runs before her actions.
So do all thoughts; they are winged.
Now tell me how long you would have her, after 2053you have possessed her.
For ever and a day.
Say "a day" without the "ever." No, no, Orlando, men 2056are April when they woo, December when they wed; 2057maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes 2058when they are wives. I will be more jealous of 2059thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen, more clamorous 2060than a parrot against rain, more newfangled 2061than an ape, more giddy in my desires than a monkey. 2062I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, 2063and I will do that when you are disposed to be merry; 2064I will laugh like a hyena, and that when thou art inclined 2065to sleep.
But will my Rosalind do so?
By my life, she will do as I do.
Oh, but she is wise.
Or else she could not have the wit to do this. 2070The wiser, the waywarder. Make the doors upon a woman's 2071wit, and it will out at the casement; shut that, and 2072'twill out at the key-hole; stop that, 'twill fly with the 2073smoke out at the chimney.
A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might 2075say, "Wit, whither wilt?'"
Nay, you might keep that check for it till you 2077met your wife's wit going to your neighbor's bed.
And what wit could wit have to excuse that?
Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You 2080shall never take her without her answer, unless you take her2081 without her tongue. Oh, that woman that cannot 2082make her fault her husband's occasion, let her never nurse 2083her child herself, for she will breed it like a fool!
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 2087I will be with thee again.
Ay, go your ways, go your ways. I knew what 2089you would prove; my friends told me as much, and I 2090thought no less. That flattering tongue of yours won 2091me. 'Tis but one cast away, and so, come death! Two o'clock 2092is your hour?
Ay, sweet Rosalind.
By my troth, and in good earnest, and 2095so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, 2096if you break one jot of your promise, or come one 2097minute behind your hour, I will think you the most 2098pathetical break-promise, and the most hollow lover, 2099and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind, that 2100may be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful. 2101Therefore beware my censure, and keep your 2102promise.
With no less religion than if thou wert indeed 2104my Rosalind. So, adieu.
Well, Time is the old justice that examines all 2106such offenders, and let Time try. Adieu.
Exit [Orlando].
You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate. 2108We must have your doublet and hose plucked over 2109your head, and show the world what the bird hath done 2110to her own nest.
Oh, coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou 2112didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But 2113it cannot be sounded; my affection hath an unknown 2114bottom, like the Bay of Portugal.
Or rather, bottomless, that as fast as you pour 2116affection in, it runs out.
No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was 2118begot of thought, conceived of spleen, and born of 2119madness, that blind rascally boy that abuses everyone's 2120eyes because his own are out, let him be judge 2121how deep I am in love. I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be 2122out of the sight of Orlando. I'll go find a shadow, and 2123sigh till he come.
And I'll sleep.
Exeunt.
Which is he that killed the deer?
Sir, it was I.
Let's present him to the Duke, like a Roman conqueror; 2130and it would do well to set the deer's 2131horns upon his head for a branch of victory. Have you 2132no song, forester, for this purpose?
Yes, sir.
Sing it. 'Tis no matter how it be in tune, so it 2135make noise enough.
2136Music.
Song.
[Sings]
What shall he have that killed the deer?
(The rest shall bear this burden:)
(The rest shall bear this burden:)
Exeunt.
How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? 2149And here much Orlando!
I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain
2151Enter Silvius [with a letter].
[To Rosalind]
My errand is to you, fair youth.
[He gives the letter.]
[Examining the letter]
Patience herself would startle at this letter
No, I protest, I know not the contents.
2171Rosalind
Come, come, you are a fool,
Sure it is hers.
Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style,
So please you, for I never heard it yet;
She Phoebes me. Mark how the tyrant writes.
(Read)
Call you this railing?
(Read)
Call you this chiding?
Alas, poor shepherd!
Do you pity him? No, he deserves no pity. 2216Wilt thou love such a woman? What, to make thee an instrument, 2217and play false strains upon thee! Not to be endured! 2218Well, go your way to her, for I see love hath 2219made thee a tame snake, and say this to her: that if she 2220love me, I charge her to love thee; if she will not, I will 2221never have her unless thou entreat for her. If you be a 2222true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more 2223company.
Exit Silvius.
2224Enter Oliver.
Good morrow, fair ones. Pray you, if you know,
West of this place, down in the neighbor bottom,
If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
It is no boast, being asked, to say we are.
Orlando doth commend him to you both,
[He produces a bloody handkerchief.]
I am. What must we understand by this?
Some of my shame, if you will know of me
2248Celia
I pray you, tell it.
When last the young Orlando parted from you,
Oh, I have heard him speak of that same brother,
2275Oliver
And well he might so do,
But to Orlando: did he leave him there,
Twice did he turn his back, and purposed so;
Are you his brother?
2286Rosalind
Was't you he rescued?
Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him?
'Twas I; but 'tis not I. I do not shame
But for the bloody napkin?
2292Oliver
By and by.
[Rosalind swoons.]
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. --
[They help Rosalind up.]
Be of good cheer, youth. You a man? 2319You lack a man's heart.
I do so, I confess it. 2321Ah, sirrah, a body would think this was well counterfeited. 2322I pray you tell your brother how well I counterfeited. 2323Heigh-ho!
This was not counterfeit. There is too great testimony 2325in your complexion that it was a passion of earnest.2326
Counterfeit, I assure you.
Well then, take a good heart and counterfeit to 2329be a man.
So I do; but, i'faith, I should have been a 2331woman by right.
Come, you look paler and paler. Pray you, draw 2333homewards. -- Good sir, go with us.
That will I, for I must bear answer back
2335How you excuse my brother, Rosalind.
I shall devise something. But, I pray you, commend 2337my counterfeiting to him. Will you go?
2338Exeunt.
We shall find a time, Audrey. Patience, gentle 2342Audrey.
Faith, the priest was good enough, for all 2344the old gentleman's saying.
A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile 2346Mar-text. But Audrey, there is a youth here in the 2347forest lays claim to you.
Ay, I know who 'tis. He hath no interest in me 2349in the world. Here comes the man you mean.
2350Enter William.
It is meat and drink to me to see a clown. By 2352my troth, we that have good wits have much to answer 2353for. We shall be flouting; we cannot hold.
Good ev'n, Audrey.
God ye good ev'n, William.
And good ev'n to you, sir.
[He removes his hat.]
Good ev'n, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover 2358thy head. Nay, prithee be covered. How old are you, 2359friend?
Five-and-twenty, sir.
A ripe age. Is thy name William?
William, sir.
A fair name. Wast born i'th'forest here?
Ay, sir, I thank God.
"Thank God" -- a good answer. 2366Art rich?
Faith, sir, so-so.
"So-so" is good, very good, very excellent good; 2369and yet it is not; it is but so-so. 2370Art thou wise?
Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit.
Why, thou say'st well. I do now remember a saying: 2373"The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man 2374knows himself to be a fool." The heathen philosopher, 2375when he had a desire to eat a grape, would open 2376his lips when he put it into his mouth, meaning thereby 2377that grapes were made to eat and lips to open. 2378You do love this maid?
I do, sir.
Give me your hand. Art thou learned?
No, sir.
Then learn this of me: to have is to have. For 2383it is a figure in rhetoric that drink, being poured out 2384of a cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty the 2385other; for all your writers do consent that ipse is he. 2386Now, you are not ipse, for I am he.
Which he, sir?
He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, 2389you clown, abandon -- which is in the vulgar "leave" -- the 2390society -- which in the boorish is "company" -- of this female -- 2391which in the common is "woman"; which together 2392is: abandon the society of this female, or, clown, 2393thou perishest; or, to thy better understanding, diest; or, 2394to wit, I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into 2395death, thy liberty into bondage. I will deal in poison 2396with thee, or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy 2397with thee in faction, I will o'er-run thee with policy; I 2398will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways. Therefore tremble 2399and depart.
Do, good William.
God rest you merry, sir.
Exit.
2402Enter Corin.
Our master and mistress seeks you. Come away, 2404away!
Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey! -- I attend, 2406I attend.
Exeunt.
Is't possible that on so little acquaintance you 2410should like her? That, but seeing, you should love her? 2411And loving, woo? And, wooing, she should grant? And 2412will you persevere to enjoy her?
Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the 2414poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing, 2415nor her sudden consenting; but say with me, "I love 2416Aliena"; say with her that she loves me; consent with both 2417that we may enjoy each other. It shall be to your 2418good; for my father's house and all the revenue that 2419was old Sir Rowland's will I estate upon you, and here 2420live and die a shepherd.
2421Enter Rosalind.
You have my consent. 2423Let your wedding be tomorrow. Thither will I 2424invite the Duke and all 's contented followers. 2425Go you and prepare Aliena; for, look you, 2426here comes my Rosalind.
God save you, brother.
And you, fair sister.
[Exit.]
O my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see 2430thee wear thy heart in a scarf!
It is my arm.
I thought thy heart had been wounded with 2433the claws of a lion.
Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady.
Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited 2436to swoon when he showed me your handkerchief?
Ay, and greater wonders than that.
Oh, I know where you are. Nay, 'tis true. There 2439was never anything so sudden but the fight of two rams 2440and Caesar's thrasonical brag of "I came, saw, 2441and overcame." For your brother and my sister no sooner met 2442but they looked; no sooner looked but they 2443loved; no sooner loved but they sighed; no sooner sighed 2444but they asked one another the reason; no sooner knew 2445the reason but they sought the remedy; and in these 2446degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage, 2447which they will climb incontinent, or else be incontinent 2448before marriage. They are in the very wrath of 2449love, and they will together. Clubs cannot part 2450them.
They shall be married tomorrow; and I will 2452bid the Duke to the nuptial. But, oh, how bitter a thing 2453it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes! 2454By so much the more shall I tomorrow be at the height 2455of heart-heaviness, by how much I shall think my brother 2456happy in having what he wishes for.
Why, then, tomorrow I cannot serve your turn 2458for Rosalind?
I can live no longer by thinking.
I will weary you, then, no longer with idle talking. 2461Know of me, then -- for now I speak to some purpose -- 2462that I know you are a gentleman of good conceit. 2463I speak not this that you should bear a good opinion 2464of my knowledge, insomuch I say I know you are; neither 2465do I labor for a greater esteem than may in some 2466little measure draw a belief from you to do yourself 2467good, and not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, 2468that I can do strange things. I have, since I was three 2469year old, conversed with a magician, most profound in 2470his art and yet not damnable. If you do love Rosalind 2471so near the heart as your gesture cries it out, when your 2472brother marries Aliena shall you marry her. I know into 2473what straits of fortune she is driven, and it is not impossible 2474to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, 2475to set her before your eyes tomorrow, human as she is, 2476and without any danger.
Speak'st thou in sober meanings?
By my life, I do, which I tender dearly, though 2479I say I am a magician. Therefore put you in your best array, 2480bid your friends; for if you will be married tomorrow, 2481you shall; and to Rosalind, if you will.
2482Enter Silvius and Phoebe.
2483Look, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers.
[To Rosalind]
Youth, you have done me much ungentleness
I care not if I have. It is my study
[To Silvius]
Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love.
It is to be all made of sighs and tears;
And I for Ganymede.
And I for Rosalind.
And I for no woman.
It is to be all made of faith and service;
And I for Ganymede.
And I for Rosalind.
And I for no woman.
It is to be all made of fantasy,
And so am I for Ganymede.
And so am I for Rosalind.
And so am I for no woman.
[To Rosalind]
If this be so, why blame you me to love you?
[To Phoebe]
If this be so, why blame you me to love you?
If this be so, why blame you me to love you?
Why do you speak too, "Why blame you me 2514to love you?"
To her that is not here, nor doth not hear.
Pray you, no more of this; 'tis like the howling 2517of Irish wolves against the moon.
[To Silvius]I will help you 2518if I can.[To Phoebe]I would love you if I could. -- Tomorrow meet 2519me all together.[To Phoebe]I will marry you if ever I marry woman, 2520and I'll be married tomorrow.[To Orlando]I will satisfy you 2521if ever I satisfied man, and you shall be married tomorrow.2522[To Silvius]I will content you if what pleases you contents 2523you, and you shall be married tomorrow.[To Orlando]As you love 2524Rosalind, meet.[To Silvius]As you love Phoebe, meet. And as I love no 2525woman, I'll meet. So, fare you well. I have left you 2526commands.
I'll not fail, if I live.
Nor I.
Nor I.
Exeunt.
Tomorrow is the joyful day, Audrey; tomorrow 2533will we be married.
I do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is 2535no dishonest desire to desire to be a woman of the world. 2536Here come two of the banished Duke's pages.
2537Enter two Pages.
Well met, honest gentleman.
By my troth, well met. Come sit, sit, and a song.
[They sit.]
We are for you. Sit i'th' middle.
Shall we clap into't roundly, without hawking, 2542or spitting, or saying we are hoarse, which are the only prologues to 2543a bad voice?
I'faith, i'faith, and both in a tune, like two 2545gypsies on a horse.
2546Song.
It was a lover and his lass,
5.3.12When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding.
5.3.18When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding.
5.3.19Sweet lovers love the spring.
5.3.24When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding.
5.3.25Sweet lovers love the spring.
5.3.30When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding.
5.3.31Sweet lovers love the spring.
Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no 2566great matter in the ditty, yet the note was very untuneable.
You are deceived, sir; we kept time, we lost not 2568our time.
By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear 2570such a foolish song. God b'wi' you, and God mend your 2571voices. -- Come, Audrey.
Exeunt [the Pages one way, Touchstone and Audrey another].
Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy
I sometimes do believe and sometimes do not,
2579Enter Rosalind, Silvius, and Phoebe.
Patience once more, whiles our compact is urged.
[To the Duke]
That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her.
[To Orlando]
And you say you will have her when I bring her?
That would I, were I of all kingdoms king.
[To Phoebe]
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,
So is the bargain.
[To Silvius]
You say that you'll have Phoebe if she will?
Though to have her and death were both one 2593thing.
I have promised to make all this matter even.
Exeunt Rosalind and Celia.
I do remember in this shepherd boy
My lord, the first time that I ever saw him
2610Enter [Touchstone the] Clown and Audrey.
There is, sure, another flood toward, and these 2613couples are coming to the ark. Here comes a pair 2614of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called 2615fools.
Salutation and greeting to you all!
[To the Duke]
Good my lord, bid him welcome. This is the 2618motley-minded gentleman that I have so often met in 2619the forest. He hath been a courtier, he swears.
If any man doubt that, let him put me to my 2621purgation. I have trod a measure; I have flattered a lady; 2622I have been politic with my friend, smooth with mine 2623enemy; I have undone three tailors; I have had four 2624quarrels, and like to have fought one.
And how was that ta'en up?
Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon 2627the seventh cause.
How seventh cause? -- Good my lord, like this 2629fellow.
I like him very well.
God 'ild you, sir, I desire you of the like. I press 2632in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country copulatives, 2633to swear and to forswear, according as marriage binds 2634and blood breaks. A poor virgin, sir, an ill-favored thing, 2635sir, but mine own; a poor humor of mine, sir, to take 2636that that no man else will. Rich honesty dwells like a miser, 2637sir, in a poor house, as your pearl in your foul 2638oyster.
By my faith, he is very swift and sententious.
According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such 2641dulcet diseases.
But for the seventh cause. How did you find 2643the quarrel on the seventh cause?
Upon a lie seven times removed -- bear your 2645body more seeming, Audrey -- as thus, sir. I did dislike the 2646cut of a certain courtier's beard. He sent me word, if I 2647said his beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it 2648was. This is called the Retort Courteous. If I sent him 2649word again it was not well cut, he would send me word 2650he cut it to please himself. This is called the Quip Modest. 2651If again it was not well cut, he disabled my judgment. 2652This is called the Reply Churlish. If again it was not well 2653cut, he would answer I spake not true. This is called the 2654Reproof Valiant. If again it was not well cut, he would 2655say I lie. This is called the Countercheck Quarrelsome. 2656And so to the Lie Circumstantial and the Lie Direct.
And how oft did you say his beard was not well 2658cut?
I durst go no further than the Lie Circumstantial, 2660nor he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we 2661measured swords and parted.
Can you nominate in order now the degrees of 2663the lie?
Oh, sir, we quarrel in print, by the book, as you 2665have books for good manners. I will name you the degrees. 2666The first, the Retort Courteous; the second, the2667 Quip Modest; the third, the Reply Churlish; the fourth, 2668the Reproof Valiant; the fifth, the Countercheck Quarrelsome; 2669the sixth, the Lie with Circumstance; the seventh, 2670the Lie Direct. All these you may avoid but the 2671Lie Direct; and you may avoid that too, with an If. I 2672knew when seven justices could not take up a quarrel, but 2673when the parties were met themselves, one of them 2674thought but of an If, as: "If you said so, then I said so"; 2675and they shook hands, and swore brothers. Your If is 2676the only peace-maker; much virtue in If.
[To the Duke]
Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? He's as good 2678at anything, and yet a fool.
He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under 2680the presentation of that he shoots his wit.
Then is there mirth in heaven,
[To the Duke]
To you I give myself, for I am yours.
[To Orlando]
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,
5.4.67Why then, my love adieu!
[To the Duke]
I'll have no father, if you be not he;
[To Orlando]
[To Phoebe]
Peace, ho! I bar confusion.
[To Orlando and Rosalind]
[To Oliver and Celia]
[To Phoebe]
[To Touchstone and Audrey]
[To All]
2715Song.
[To Celia]
O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me!
[To Silvius]
I will not eat my word, now thou art mine;
2726Enter Second Brother [Jaques de Boys].
Let me have audience for a word or two.
2743Duke Senior
Welcome, young man.
Sir, by your patience. [To Jaques de Boys] If I heard you rightly,
He hath.
To him will I. Out of these convertites
[To the Duke]
[To Orlando]
[To Oliver]
[To Silvius]
[To Touchstone]
Stay, Jaques, stay!
To see no pastime, I. What you would have
Exit.
Proceed, proceed. We'll begin these rites,
[They dance.] Exeunt [all but Rosalind].
[Epilogue]
It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue; 2777but it is no more unhandsome than to see the 2778lord the prologue. If it be true that good wine needs 2779no bush, 'tis true that a good play needs no epilogue. 2780Yet to good wine they do use good bushes, and good 2781plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues. 2782What a case am I in then, that am neither a good epilogue, 2783nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalf of a 2784good play! I am not furnished like a beggar; therefore 2785to beg will not become me. My way is to conjure 2786you, and I'll begin with the women. I charge you, O 2787women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much 2788of this play as please you; and I charge you, O men, 2789for the love you bear to women -- as I perceive by your 2790simpering, none of you hates them -- that between you 2791and the women the play may please. If I were a woman, 2792I would kiss as many of you as had beards that 2793pleased me, complexions that liked me, and breaths that 2794I defied not; and, I am sure, as many as have good 2795beards, or good faces, or sweet breaths, will, for my kind 2796offer, when I make curtsy, bid me farewell.
Exit.