giddy in my desires than a monkey. I will weep for nothing,
like Diana in the fountain133, and I will do that when you are
disposed to be merry. I will laugh like a hyena, and that when
thou art inclined to sleep.
ORLANDO But will my Rosalind do so?
ROSALIND By my life, she will do as I do.
ORLANDO O, but she is wise.
ROSALIND Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the
wiser, the waywarder. Make the doors upon a woman's wit140
and it will out at the casement141. Shut that and 'twill out at the
key-hole. Stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the
chimney.
ORLANDO A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say
'Wit, whither wilt?'145
ROSALIND Nay, you might keep that check146 for it till you met
your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed.
ORLANDO And what wit could wit have to excuse that?
ROSALIND Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You shall
never take150 her without her answer, unless you take her
without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her
fault her husband's occasion, let her never nurse152 her child
herself, for she will breed it like a fool.
ORLANDO For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee.
ROSALIND Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours.
ORLANDO I must attend the duke at dinner. By two o'clock I
will be with thee again.
ROSALIND Ay, go your ways, go your ways. I knew what you
would prove: my friends told me as much, and I thought no
less. That flattering tongue of yours won me. 'Tis but one160
cast away, and so, come, death! Two o'clock is your hour?
ORLANDO Ay, sweet Rosalind.
ROSALIND By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend
me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you
break one jot of your promise or come one minute behind165
your hour, I will think you the most pathetical166 break—
promise and the most hollow lover and the most unworthy of
her you call Rosalind that may be chosen out of the gross168
band of the unfaithful: therefore beware my censure169 and
keep your promise.
ORLANDO With no less religion171 than if thou wert indeed my
Rosalind: so adieu.
ROSALIND Well, time is the old justice that examines all such
offenders, and let time try174. Adieu.
Exit [Orlando]
CELIA You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate175:
we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head,
and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest177.
ROSALIND O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst
know how many fathom179 deep I am in love! But it cannot be
sounded180: my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the
Bay of Portugal.
CELIA Or rather, bottomless, that as fast as you pour
affection in, it runs out.
ROSALIND No, that same wicked bastard of Venus184 that was
begot of thought, conceived of spleen185 and born of madness,
that blind rascally boy that abuses186 everyone's eyes because
his own are out, let him be judge how deep I am in love. I'll
tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando: I'll
go find a shadow189 and sigh till he come.
CELIA And I'll sleep.
Exeunt
Act 4 Scene 2
running scene 10
Enter Jaques and Lords [as] foresters
JAQUES Which is he that killed the deer?
FIRST LORD Sir, it was I.
JAQUES Let's present him to the duke like a Roman
conqueror. And it would do well to set the deer's horns upon
his head for a branch5 of victory. Have you no song, forester,
for this purpose?
SECOND LORD Yes, sir.
JAQUES Sing it: 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make
noise enough.
Music, song
LORDS What shall he have that killed the deer?
His leather skin and horns to wear.
Then sing him home,
The rest shall bear this burden13:
Take thou no scorn to wear the horn,
It was a crest ere thou wast born,
Thy father's father wore it,
And thy father bore it.
The horn, the horn, the lusty18 horn,
Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.
Exeunt
Act 4 Scene 3
running scene 11
Enter Rosalind and Celia
ROSALIND How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? And
here much Orlando2!
hath ta'en his bow and arrows and is gone forth to sleep.
With a letter
Enter Silvius
Look, who comes here.
To Rosalind
SILVIUS My errand is to you, fair youth.
My gentle Phoebe bid me give you this:
I know not the contents, but -- as I guess
By the stern brow and waspish9 action
Which she did use10 as she was writing of it --
It bears an angry tenor; pardon me,
I am but as a guiltless messenger.
Reads letter
ROSALIND Patience herself would startle at this letter
And play the swaggerer14. Bear this, bear all:
She says I am not fair, that I lack manners.
She calls me proud, and that she could not love me,
Were man as rare as phoenix. 'Od's17 my will!
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt.
Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well,
This is a letter of your own device20.
SILVIUS No, I protest21, I know not the contents.
Phoebe did write it.
ROSALIND Come, come, you are a fool
And turned into the extremity of love.
I saw her hand. She has a leathern25 hand,
A freestone-coloured hand. I verily26 did think
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands.
She has a huswife's28 hand, but that's no matter:
I say she never did invent this letter,
This is a man's invention and his hand30.
SILVIUS Sure, it is hers.
ROSALIND Why, 'tis a boisterous32 and a cruel style.
A style for challengers. Why, she defies me,
Like Turk to Christian. Women's gentle brain
Could not drop forth such giant-rude35 invention,
Such Ethiope36 words, blacker in their effect
Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter?
SILVIUS So please you, for I never heard it yet,
Yet heard too much of Phoebe's cruelty.
ROSALIND She Phoebes40 me. Mark how the tyrant writes:
Read
'Art thou god to shepherd turned,
That a maiden's heart hath burned?'
Can a woman rail thus?
SILVIUS Call you this railing?
Read
ROSALIND 'Why, thy godhead laid apart45,
Warr'st thou with a woman's heart?'
Did you ever hear such railing?
'Whiles the eye of man did woo me,
That could do no vengeance49 to me.'
Meaning me a beast.
'If the scorn of your bright eyne51
Have power to raise such love in mine,
Alack, in me what strange effect
Would they work in mild aspect54!
Whiles you ch
id me, I did love.
How then might your prayers56 move!
He that brings this love to thee
Little knows this love in me;
And by him seal up thy mind59,
Whether that thy youth and kind60
Will the faithful offer take
Of me and all that I can make62,
Or else by him my love deny,
And then I'll study how to die.'
SILVIUS Call you this chiding?
CELIA Alas, poor shepherd!
ROSALIND Do you pity him? No, he deserves no pity. Wilt thou
love such a woman? What, to make thee an instrument68 and
play false strains69 upon thee? Not to be endured! Well, go your
way to her, for I see love hath made thee a tame snake70, and
say this to her: that if she love me, I charge her to love thee.
If she will not, I will never have her unless thou entreat for
her. If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word, for here
comes more company.
Exit Silvius
Enter Oliver
OLIVER Good morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you know,
Where in the purlieus76 of this forest stands
A sheep-cote fenced about with olive trees?
CELIA West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom78.
The rank of osiers79 by the murmuring stream
Left80 on your right hand brings you to the place.
But at this hour the house doth keep itself,
There's none within.
OLIVER If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
Then should I know you by description,
Such garments and such years: 'The boy is fair,
Of female favour, and bestows86 himself
Like a ripe sister. The woman low87
And browner than her brother.' Are not you
The owner of the house I did inquire for?
CELIA It is no boast, being asked, to say we are.
OLIVER Orlando doth commend him91 to you both,
And to that youth he calls his Rosalind
Shows bloody handkerchief
He sends this bloody napkin93. Are you he?
ROSALIND I am. What must we understand by this?
OLIVER Some of my shame, if you will know of me
What man I am, and how, and why, and where
This handkercher97 was stained.
CELIA I pray you tell it.
OLIVER When last the young Orlando parted from you,
He left a promise to return again
Within an hour, and pacing through the forest,
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy102,
Lo, what befell! He threw his eye aside,
And mark what object did present itself:
Und'r an old oak, whose boughs were mossed with age
And high top bald106 with dry antiquity,
A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,
Lay sleeping on his back; about his neck
A green and gilded109 snake had wreathed itself,
Who with her head nimble in threats approached
The opening of his mouth. But suddenly,
Seeing Orlando, it unlinked112 itself,
And with indented113 glides did slip away
Into a bush, under which bush's shade
A lioness, with udders all drawn dry,
Lay couching116, head on ground, with catlike watch
When that117 the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis
The royal disposition of that beast
To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead.
This seen, Orlando did approach the man
And found it was his brother, his elder brother.
CELIA O, I have heard him speak of that same brother,
And he did render him123 the most unnatural
That lived amongst men.
OLIVER And well he might so do,
For well I know he was unnatural.
ROSALIND But to127 Orlando: did he leave him there,
Food to the sucked and hungry lioness?
OLIVER Twice did he turn his back and purposed so,
But kindness130, nobler ever than revenge,
And nature, stronger than his just occasion131,
Made him give battle to the lioness,
Who quickly fell before him, in which hurtling133
From miserable slumber I awaked.
CELIA Are you his brother?
ROSALIND Was't you he rescued?
CELIA Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him?
OLIVER 'Twas I, but 'tis not I. I do not shame
To tell you what I was, since my conversion
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am.
ROSALIND But, for141 the bloody napkin?
OLIVER By and by.
When from the first to last betwixt us two,
Tears our recountments had most kindly144 bathed,
As how I came into that desert place:
In brief, he led me to the gentle duke,
Who gave me fresh array and entertainment147,
Committing me unto my brother's love,
Who led me instantly unto his cave,
There stripped himself, and here upon his arm
The lioness had torn some flesh away,
Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted
And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind.
Brief, I recovered154 him, bound up his wound,
And after some small space155, being strong at heart,
He sent me hither, stranger as I am,
To tell this story, that you might excuse
His broken promise, and to give this napkin,
Dyed in this blood, unto the shepherd youth
Rosalind faints
That he in sport doth call his Rosalind.
CELIA Why, how now, Ganymede? Sweet Ganymede!
OLIVER Many will swoon when they do look on blood.
CELIA There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede!
OLIVER Look, he recovers.
ROSALIND I would I were at home.
CELIA We'll lead you thither.-- I pray you, will you take
They get Rosalind to her feet
him by the arm?
OLIVER Be of good cheer, youth. You a man! You
lack a man's heart.
ROSALIND I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body170 would think
this was well counterfeited! I pray you tell your brother how
well I counterfeited. Heigh-ho!
OLIVER This was not counterfeit: there is too great testimony
in your complexion that it was a passion of earnest174.
ROSALIND Counterfeit, I assure you.
OLIVER Well then, take a good heart and counterfeit to be a
man.
ROSALIND So I do. But, i'faith, I should have been a woman by
right.
CELIA Come, you look paler and paler. Pray you draw
homewards. Good sir, go with us.
OLIVER That will I, for I must bear answer back how you
excuse my brother, Rosalind.
ROSALIND I shall devise something: but I pray you commend
my counterfeiting to him. Will you go?
Exeunt
Act 5 Scene 1
running scene 11 continues
Enter Clown [Touchstone] and Audrey
TOUCHSTONE We shall find a time, Audrey. Patience, gentle
Audrey.
AUDREY Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old3
gentleman's saying.
TOUCHSTONE A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile
Martext. But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays
claim to you.
AUDREY Ay, I know who 'tis: he hath no interest in8 me in the
world. Here comes the man you mean.
Enter William
TOUCHSTONE It is meat and drink to me to se
e a clown10. By my
troth, we that have good wits have much to answer for. We
shall be flouting: we cannot hold12.
WILLIAM Good ev'n, Audrey.
AUDREY God ye14 good ev'n, William.
WILLIAM And good ev'n to you, sir.
TOUCHSTONE Good ev'n, gentle friend. Cover thy head16, cover
thy head. Nay, prithee be covered. How old are you, friend?
WILLIAM Five and twenty, sir.
TOUCHSTONE A ripe age. Is thy name William?
WILLIAM William, sir.
TOUCHSTONE A fair name. Wast born i'th'forest here?
WILLIAM Ay, sir, I thank God.
TOUCHSTONE 'Thank God'. A good23 answer. Art rich?
WILLIAM Faith, sir, so-so.
TOUCHSTONE 'So-so' is good, very good, very excellent good.
And yet it is not, it is but so-so. Art thou wise?
WILLIAM Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit.
TOUCHSTONE Why, thou sayest well. I do now remember a
saying: 'The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man
knows himself to be a fool.' The heathen philosopher, when
he had a desire to eat a grape, would open his lips when he
put it into his mouth, meaning thereby that grapes were
made to eat and lips to open. You do love this maid?
WILLIAM I do, sir.
TOUCHSTONE Give me your hand. Art thou learned35?
WILLIAM No, sir.
TOUCHSTONE Then learn this of me: to have is to have, for it is a
figure38 in rhetoric that drink, being poured out of a cup into a
glass, by filling the one doth empty the other. For all your
writers do consent that ipse40 is he. Now, you are not ipse, for I
am he.
WILLIAM Which he, sir?
TOUCHSTONE He, sir, that must marry this woman: therefore,
you clown, abandon -- which is in the vulgar44 'leave' -- the
society -- which in the boorish45 is 'company' -- of this
female -- which in the common46 is 'woman', which together
is: abandon the society of this female, or, clown, thou
perishest. Or, to thy better understanding, diest; or, to wit48, I
kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into death, thy
liberty into bondage. I will deal in poison with thee, or in
bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy with thee in faction51; I will
o'errun thee with policy52. I will kill thee a hundred and fifty
ways: therefore tremble and depart.
AUDREY Do, good William.
WILLIAM God rest55 you merry, sir.
Exit
Enter Corin
CORIN Our master and mistress seeks you. Come, away,
away!
TOUCHSTONE Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey.-- I attend58, I attend.
Exeunt
Act 5 Scene 2
running scene 11 continues
Enter Orlando and Oliver
Orlando with his arm in a sling
ORLANDO Is't possible that on so little acquaintance
you should like her? That but seeing, you should love her?
And loving, woo? And wooing, she should grant? And will
you persever4 to enjoy her?