I should not seek an absent argument Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it; Thy lands, and all things that thou dost call thine, Oli. O, that your highness knew my heart in this! Inever lov'd my brother in my life. Duke F. More villain thou.-Well, push him out of doors; And let my officers of such a nature SCENE II.-The forest. Enter ORLANDO, with a paper. Cel. Touch. Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? and is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow: a better instance, I say; come, Cor. Besides, our hands are hard. Touch. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow, again: a more sounder instance, come. Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the surgery of our sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are perfumed with civet. Touch. Most shallow man! Thou worms-meat, in Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me; I'll rest. Orl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love; [Exit. Cor. Sir, I am a true labourer; I earn that I eat, get that I wear; owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness; glad of other men's good, content with my harm: and the greatest of my pride is, to see my ewes graze, and my lambs suck. Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now, in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd? Touch. That is another simple sin in you; to bring Cor. No more, but that I know, the more one sickens, the worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money, means, and content, is without three good friends.. That the property of rain is to wet, and fire to burn: that good pasture makes fat sheep; and that a great cause of the night, is lack of the sun : that he, that hath learned no wit by nature nor art, may complain of good breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred. Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court, shepherd? Cor. No, truly. Touch. Then thou art damn'd. Cor. Nay, I hope,- Touch. Truly, thou art damn'd; like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side. Cor. For not being at court? Your reason. Enter ROSALIND, reading a paper. Ros. From the east to western Ind, No jewel is like Rosalind. Her worth, being mounted on the wind, Through all the world bears Rosalind. All the pictures, fairest limn'd, Are but black to Rosalind. Let no face be kept in mind, But the fair of Rosalind. Touch. I'll rhyme you so, eight years together; dinthe right butter-woman's rank to market, ners, and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted: it is Touch. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou 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. at Cor. Not a whit, Touchstone: those, that are good manners at the court, are as ridiculous in the country, as the behaviour of the country is most mockable 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. Touch. Instance, briefly; 'come, instance! Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes; and their fells, you know, are greasy. Ros. Out, fool! Touch. For a taste:- If a hart do lack a hind, So must slender Rosalind. They that reap, must sheaf and bind; He that sweetest rose will find, Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. with a medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit in the Ros. I'll graft it with you, and then I shall graft it country: for you'll be rotten, ere you be half ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medlar. let the forest judge. Enter CELIA, reading a paper. Here comes my sister, reading; stand aside. Cel. Why should this desert silent be? For it is unpeopled? No; 'Twixt the souls of friend and friend : Or at every sentence' end, Teaching all that read, to know Sad Lucretia's modesty. By heavenly synod was devis'd; To have the touches dearest priz'd. Ros. O most gentle Jupiter!-what tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cry'd, Have patience, good people! Cel. How now! back, friends;-shepherd, go off a little: go with him, sirrah! Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage. [Exeunt. Corin and Touchstone. Cel. Didst thou hear these verses? Ros. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of them had in them more feet, than the verses would bear. Cel. That's no matter; the feet might bear the verses. Ros. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse. Cel. But didst thou hear, without wondering, how thy name should be hang'd and carved upon these trees? Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you came; for look here what I found on a palmtree: I was never so be-rhymed since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember. Cel. Trow you, who hath done this? Ros. Is it a man? stammer, that thou might'st pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrowmouth'd bottle; either too much at once, or noue at all. I pr'ythee take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may drink thy tidings. Cel. So you may put a man in your belly. Cel. Is he of God's making? What manner of man? Ros. 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. Cel. It is young Orlando; that tripp'd up the wrestler's heels, and your heart, both in an instant. Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking, speak, sad brow, and true maid. Cel. I'faith, coz, 'tis he. Cel. Orlando. Ros. Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose?-What did he, when thou saw'st him? What said he? How look'd he? Wherein went he? What 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! Cel. You must borrow me Garagantua's mouth first: 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's size. To say, ay, and no, to these particulars, is more than to answer in a catechism. Ros. 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? Cel. It is as easy to count atomies, as to resolve the Cel. Give me audience, good madam! Cel. There lay he, stretch'd along, like a wounded knight. Ros. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground. Cel. Cry, holla! to thy tongue, I pr'ythee; it curvets very unseasonably. He was furnish'd like a hunter. Ros. O ominous! he comes to kill my heart. Cel. I would sing my song without a burden: thon bring'st me out of tune. I Ros. Do you not know, I am a woman? when I think, must speak. Sweet, say on! Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES. Cel. You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here? Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his Jaq. I thank you for your company; but, good faith, neck. Change you colour? Ros. Ipr'ythee, who? Cel. O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes, and so encounter. Ros. Nay, but who is it? Ros. Nay, I pray thee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell me, who it is. Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful, wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all whooping! Ros. Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am caparison'd like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more is a South-sea-off dicovery. I pr'ythee, tell me, who is it? quickly, and speak apace! I would thou couldst I had as lief have been myself alone. Jaq. God be with you; let's meet as little as we can. Orl. I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading them ill-favouredly. Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name? Jaq. I do not like her name. Jaq. What stature is she of? been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conn'd them out of rings? Orl. Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence you have studied your questions. Jaq. You have a nimble wit; I think it was made of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two will rail against our mistress, the world, and all our misery. Orl. I will chide no breather in the world, but myself; against whom I know most faults. Jaq. The worst fault you have, is to be in love. Orl. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am weary ofy you. Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool, when I found you. Orl. He is drown'd in the brook; look but in, and you shall see him. Jaq. There shall I see mine own figure. Orl. N giddy offences as he hath generally tax'd their whole Orl. Which I take to be ither a fool, or a cypher. Jaq. I'll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good signior Love! Orl. I am glad of your departure: adieu, good monsieur Melancholy! Orl. Can you remember any of the principal evils, Ros. There were none principal; they were all like [Exit Jaques.- Celia and Rosalind come forward. Ros. I will speak to him like a saucy lacquey, and under that habit play the knave with him.-Do you hear, forester? Orl. Very well. What would you? Ros. Then there is no true lover in the forest; else Ros. By no means, sir: Time travels in divers paces with divers persons: I'll tell you, who time ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal, Orl. I am he that is so love-shaked; I pray you, tell me your remedy! Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you: he taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes, I am sure, you are not prisoner. Orl. What were his marks? Ros. A lean cheek; which you have not: ablue eye, and sunken; which you have not: an unquestionable spirit; which you have not: a beard neglected; which you have not; -but I pardon you for that; for, simply, your having in beard is a younger brother's revenue: -Then your hose should be ungarter'd, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbotton'd, your shoe untied, and every thing about you demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such man; you are rather point-device in your accoutrements; as loving yourself, than seeming the lover of any other. Orl. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love. Orl. Ipr'ythee, who doth he trot withal? Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, between the contract of her marriage, and the day it is solemnized if the interim be but a se'nnight, time's pace is so hard, that it seems the length of seven years. Orl. Who ambles time withal? Ros. Me believe it? you may as soon make her that you love believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do, than to confess, she does: that is one of the points, in the which women still give the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired? Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he. Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak? Orl. Neither rhyme, nor reason can express, how much. you, Ros. With a priest, that lacks Latin, and a rich man, that hath not the gout: for the one sleeps easily, be- Ros. Love is merely a madness; and, Itell decause he cannot study; and the other lives merrily, serves as well a dark house and whip, as madmen do because he feels no pain: the one lacking the burden of and the reason, why they are not so punished and lean and wasteful learning; the other knowing no bur-cured, is, that the lunacy is so ordinary, that the den of heavy tedious penury: these time ambles withal. whippers are in love too: Yet I profess curing it by Orl. Who doth he gallop withal? Ros. With a thief to the gallows: for though he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there. Orl. Who stays it still withal? Ros. With lawyers in the vacation: for they sleep between term and term, and then they perceive not, how time moves. Orl. Where dwell you, pretty youth? kindled. Orl. Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling. counsel. Orl. Did you ever cure any so? Ros. Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress; and I set him every day to woo me: At which time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and liking; proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles; for every passion something, and for no passion truly any thing, as boys and women are for the most part cattle of this colour: would now like him, now loath him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now weep for him, that I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love, to a líving humour of madness; which was, to swear the full stream of the world, and to live in a nook merely monastic. And thus I cured him; and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean,as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't. Orl. W vill you Ros. I have been told so of many: but, indeed, an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an in-land man; one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I have Orl. I would not be cured, youth. heard him read many lectures against it: and I thank Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me RoGod I am not a woman, to be touched with so many salind, and come every day to my cote, and woo me! Touch. No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry; and what they swear in poetry, may be said, as lovers, they do feign. Aud. Do you wish then, that the gods had made me poetical? Touch. I do, truly: for thou swear'st to me, thou art honest; now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst feign. Aud. Would you not have me honest? Touch. No truly, unless thou wert hard-favour'd; for honesty coupled to beauty,is to have honey a sauce to sugar. Jaq. A material fool! [Aside. Aud. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods make me honest! Touch. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut, were to put good meat into au unclean dish. Aud.I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul. Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness! sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will marry thee: and to that end, I have been with Sir Oliver Mar-text, the vicar of the next village; who hath promised to meet me in this place of the forest, and to couple us. [Aside. Jaq. I would fain see this meeting. Aud. Well, the gods give us joy! Touch. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But what though? Courage! As horns are odious, they are necessary. It is said,-Many a man knows no end of his goods right: many aman has good horns, and knows no end of them. Well, that is the dowry of his wife; 'tis none of his own getting. Horns? Even so. --Poor men alone?-No, no; the noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man therefore blessed? No: as a wall'd town is more worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a married man more honourable, than the bare brow of a bachelor: and by how much defence is better, than no skill, by so much is a horn more precious, than to want. Enter Sir OLIVER MAR-TEXT. Here comes sir Oliver.-Sir Oliver Mar-text, you are well met. Will you dispatch us here under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel? Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the woman? Touch. I will not take her on gift of any man. Sir Oli. Truly she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful. Jaq. [Discovering himself.] Proceed, proceed; I'll give her. Touch. Good even, good master What ye call't. How do you, sir? You are very well met: God'ild you for your last company: I am very glad to see you. —Even a toy in hand here, sir. -Nay; pray, be cover'd. Jaq. Will you be married, motley? Touch. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb, and the faulcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling. Jaq. And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married under a bush, like a beggar? Get you to church, and have a good priest, that can tell you what marriage is: this fellow will but join you together as they join wainscot; then one of you will prove a shrunk pannel, and, like green timber, warp, warp. Touch. I am not in the mind, but I were better to be married of him than of another: for he is not like to marry me well; and not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife. [Aside. Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee! We must be married, or we must live in bawdry. O brave Oliver, Leave me not behi' thee: I will not to wedding wi' thee. [Exeunt Jaques, Touchstone, and Audrey. Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter: ne'er a fantastical knave of them all shall flout me out of my calling. [Exit. SCENE IV. — The same. Before a Cottage. Ros. Never talk to me, I will weep. Cel. Do, I pr'ythee; but yet have the grace to consider, that tears do not become a man. Ros. But have I not cause to weep? Cel. As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep! Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling colour. Cel. Something browner than Judas's: marry, his kisses are Judas's own children. Ros. Ifaith, his hair is of a good colour. Cel. An excellent colour: your chesnut was ever the only colour. Ros. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy bread. Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them. Ros. But why did he swear,he would come this morning, and comes not? Cel. Nay certainly, there is no truth in him. Cel. Yes: Ithink he is not a pick-purse, nor a horsestealer; but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave, as a cover'd goblet, or a worm-eaten nut. Ros. Not true in love? Cel. Yes, when he is in; but, I think he is not in. Ros. You have heard him swear downright, he was. Cel. Was is not is: besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the confirmers of false reckonings. He attends here in the forest on the duke, your father. Ros. I met the duke yesterday, and had much ques tion with him: he asked me, of what parentage I was? I told him, of as good as he; so he laugh'd, and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a man, as Orlando? I Cel. O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his I 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. -Who comes here? Enter CORIN. Cor. Mistress, and master, you have oft enquired Cel. Well, and what of him? Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd, Ros. O come, let us remove; The sight of lovers feedeth those in love:- [Exeunt. SCENE V.- Another part of the forest. Enter SILVICS and PHEbe. (As, by my faith, I see no more in you, Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe: Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck, Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, at a distance. I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. Thy palm some moment keeps: but now mine eyes, Sil. O dear Phebe, Ifever (as that ever may be near,) You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, That love's keen arrows make. Phe. But, till that time, Come not thou near me: and, when that time comes, Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not; As, till that time, I shall not pity thee. Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me, Phe. Ha! what say'st thon, Silvius? Phe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. If you do sorrow at my grief in love, By giving love, your sorrow and my grief Phe. Thou hast my love; is not that neighbourly? Phe. Why, that were covetousness. 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: 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 Ros. And why, I pray you? [Advancing.] Who might Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me ere be your mother, That you insult, exult, and all at once, while? Sil. Not very well, but I have met him oft; Over the wretched? What though you have more And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds, beauty, That the old Carlot once was master of. |