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As You Like It



DUKE SENIOR	living in banishment.

DUKE FREDERICK	his brother, an usurper of his dominions.

	|  lords attending on the banished duke.

LE BEAU	a courtier attending upon Frederick.

CHARLES	wrestler to Frederick.

JAQUES (JAQUES DE BOYS:)  	|  sons of Sir Rowland de Boys.

	|  servants to Oliver.



	|  shepherds.

WILLIAM	a country fellow in love with Audrey.

	A person representing HYMEN. (HYMEN:)

ROSALIND	daughter to the banished duke.

CELIA	daughter to Frederick.

PHEBE	a shepherdess.

AUDREY	a country wench.

	Lords, pages, and attendants, &c.
	(A Lord:)
	(First Lord:)
	(Second Lord:)
	(First Page:)
	(Second Page:)

SCENE	Oliver's house; Duke Frederick's court; and the
	Forest of Arden.



SCENE I	Orchard of Oliver's house.

	[Enter ORLANDO and ADAM]

ORLANDO	As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion
	bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand crowns,
	and, as thou sayest, charged my brother, on his
	blessing, to breed me well: and there begins my
	sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and
	report speaks goldenly of his profit: for my part,
	he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more
	properly, stays me here at home unkept; for call you
	that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that
	differs not from the stalling of an ox? His horses
	are bred better; for, besides that they are fair
	with their feeding, they are taught their manage,
	and to that end riders dearly hired: but I, his
	brother, gain nothing under him but growth; for the
	which his animals on his dunghills are as much
	bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so
	plentifully gives me, the something that nature gave
	me his countenance seems to take from me: he lets
	me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a
	brother, and, as much as in him lies, mines my
	gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that
	grieves me; and the spirit of my father, which I
	think is within me, begins to mutiny against this
	servitude: I will no longer endure it, though yet I
	know no wise remedy how to avoid it.

ADAM	Yonder comes my master, your brother.

ORLANDO	Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will
	shake me up.

	[Enter OLIVER]

OLIVER	Now, sir! what make you here?

ORLANDO	Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing.

OLIVER	What mar you then, sir?

ORLANDO	Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God
	made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness.

OLIVER	Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile.

ORLANDO	Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks with them?
	What prodigal portion have I spent, that I should
	come to such penury?

OLIVER	Know you where your are, sir?

ORLANDO	O, sir, very well; here in your orchard.

OLIVER	Know you before whom, sir?

ORLANDO	Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I know
	you are my eldest brother; and, in the gentle
	condition of blood, you should so know me. The
	courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that
	you are the first-born; but the same tradition
	takes not away my blood, were there twenty brothers
	betwixt us: I have as much of my father in me as
	you; albeit, I confess, your coming before me is
	nearer to his reverence.

OLIVER	What, boy!

ORLANDO	Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this.

OLIVER	Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?

ORLANDO	I am no villain; I am the youngest son of Sir
	Rowland de Boys; he was my father, and he is thrice
	a villain that says such a father begot villains.
	Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand
	from thy throat till this other had pulled out thy
	tongue for saying so: thou hast railed on thyself.

ADAM	Sweet masters, be patient: for your father's
	remembrance, be at accord.

OLIVER	Let me go, I say.

ORLANDO	I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. My
	father charged you in his will to give me good
	education: you have trained me like a peasant,
	obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like
	qualities. The spirit of my father grows strong in
	me, and I will no longer endure it: therefore allow
	me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or
	give me the poor allottery my father left me by
	testament; with that I will go buy my fortunes.

OLIVER	And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent?
	Well, sir, get you in: I will not long be troubled
	with you; you shall have some part of your will: I
	pray you, leave me.

ORLANDO	I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good.

OLIVER	Get you with him, you old dog.

ADAM	Is 'old dog' my reward? Most true, I have lost my
	teeth in your service. God be with my old master!
	he would not have spoke such a word.

	[Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM]

OLIVER	Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? I will
	physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand
	crowns neither. Holla, Dennis!

	[Enter DENNIS]

DENNIS	Calls your worship?

OLIVER	Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, here to speak with me?

DENNIS	So please you, he is here at the door and importunes
	access to you.

OLIVER	Call him in.

	[Exit DENNIS]

	'Twill be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is.

	[Enter CHARLES]

CHARLES	Good morrow to your worship.

OLIVER	Good Monsieur Charles, what's the new news at the
	new court?

CHARLES	There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news:
	that is, the old duke is banished by his younger
	brother the new duke; and three or four loving lords
	have put themselves into voluntary exile with him,
	whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke;
	therefore he gives them good leave to wander.

OLIVER	Can you tell if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, be
	banished with her father?

CHARLES	O, no; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves
	her, being ever from their cradles bred together,
	that she would have followed her exile, or have died
	to stay behind her. She is at the court, and no
	less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter; and
	never two ladies loved as they do.

OLIVER	Where will the old duke live?

CHARLES	They say he is already in the forest of Arden, and
	a many merry men with him; and there they live like
	the old Robin Hood of England: they say many young
	gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time
	carelessly, as they did in the golden world.

OLIVER	What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke?

CHARLES	Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a
	matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand
	that your younger brother Orlando hath a disposition
	to come in disguised against me to try a fall.
	To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he that
	escapes me without some broken limb shall acquit him
	well. Your brother is but young and tender; and,
	for your love, I would be loath to foil him, as I
	must, for my own honour, if he come in: therefore,
	out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you
	withal, that either you might stay him from his
	intendment or brook such disgrace well as he shall
	run into, in that it is a thing of his own search
	and altogether against my will.

OLIVER	Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which
	thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I had
	myself notice of my brother's purpose herein and
	have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him from
	it, but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles:
	it is the stubbornest young fellow of France, full
	of ambition, an envious emulator of every man's
	good parts, a secret and villanous contriver against
	me his natural brother: therefore use thy
	discretion; I had as lief thou didst break his neck
	as his finger. And thou wert best look to't; for if
	thou dost him any slight disgrace or if he do not
	mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise
	against thee by poison, entrap thee by some
	treacherous device and never leave thee till he
	hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other;
	for, I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak
	it, there is not one so young and so villanous this
	day living. I speak but brotherly of him; but
	should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must
	blush and weep and thou must look pale and wonder.

CHARLES	I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come
	to-morrow, I'll give him his payment: if ever he go
	alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize more: and
	so God keep your worship!

OLIVER	Farewell, good Charles.


	Now will I stir this gamester: I hope I shall see
	an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why,
	hates nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle, never
	schooled and yet learned, full of noble device, of
	all sorts enchantingly beloved, and indeed so much
	in the heart of the world, and especially of my own
	people, who best know him, that I am altogether
	misprised: but it shall not be so long; this
	wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains but that
	I kindle the boy thither; which now I'll go about.




SCENE II	Lawn before the Duke's palace.


CELIA	I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.

ROSALIND	Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of;
	and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could
	teach me to forget a banished father, you must not
	learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure.

CELIA	Herein I see thou lovest me not with the full weight
	that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father,
	had banished thy uncle, the duke my father, so thou
	hadst been still with me, I could have taught my
	love to take thy father for mine: so wouldst thou,
	if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously
	tempered as mine is to thee.

ROSALIND	Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to
	rejoice in yours.

CELIA	You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is
	like to have: and, truly, when he dies, thou shalt
	be his heir, for what he hath taken away from thy
	father perforce, I will render thee again in
	affection; by mine honour, I will; and when I break
	that oath, let me turn monster: therefore, my
	sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry.

ROSALIND	From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. Let
	me see; what think you of falling in love?

CELIA	Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport withal: but
	love no man in good earnest; nor no further in sport
	neither than with safety of a pure blush thou mayst
	in honour come off again.

ROSALIND	What shall be our sport, then?

CELIA	Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from
	her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally.

ROSALIND	I would we could do so, for her benefits are
	mightily misplaced, and the bountiful blind woman
	doth most mistake in her gifts to women.

CELIA	'Tis true; for those that she makes fair she scarce
	makes honest, and those that she makes honest she
	makes very ill-favouredly.

ROSALIND	Nay, now thou goest from Fortune's office to
	Nature's: Fortune reigns in gifts of the world,
	not in the lineaments of Nature.


CELIA	No? when Nature hath made a fair creature, may she
	not by Fortune fall into the fire? Though Nature
	hath given us wit to flout at Fortune, hath not
	Fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument?

ROSALIND	Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when
	Fortune makes Nature's natural the cutter-off of
	Nature's wit.

CELIA	Peradventure this is not Fortune's work neither, but
	Nature's; who perceiveth our natural wits too dull
	to reason of such goddesses and hath sent this
	natural for our whetstone; for always the dulness of
	the fool is the whetstone of the wits. How now,
	wit! whither wander you?

TOUCHSTONE	Mistress, you must come away to your father.

CELIA	Were you made the messenger?

TOUCHSTONE	No, by mine honour, but I was bid to come for you.

ROSALIND	Where learned you that oath, fool?

TOUCHSTONE	Of a certain knight that swore by his honour they
	were good pancakes and swore by his honour the
	mustard was naught: now I'll stand to it, the
	pancakes were naught and the mustard was good, and
	yet was not the knight forsworn.

CELIA	How prove you that, in the great heap of your

ROSALIND	Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom.

TOUCHSTONE	Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and
	swear by your beards that I am a knave.

CELIA	By our beards, if we had them, thou art.

TOUCHSTONE	By my knavery, if I had it, then I were; but if you
	swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn: no
	more was this knight swearing by his honour, for he
	never had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away
	before ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard.

CELIA	Prithee, who is't that thou meanest?

TOUCHSTONE	One that old Frederick, your father, loves.

CELIA	My father's love is enough to honour him: enough!
	speak no more of him; you'll be whipped for taxation
	one of these days.

TOUCHSTONE	The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely what
	wise men do foolishly.

CELIA	By my troth, thou sayest true; for since the little
	wit that fools have was silenced, the little foolery
	that wise men have makes a great show. Here comes
	Monsieur Le Beau.

ROSALIND	With his mouth full of news.

CELIA	Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young.

ROSALIND	Then shall we be news-crammed.

CELIA	All the better; we shall be the more marketable.

	[Enter LE BEAU]

	Bon jour, Monsieur Le Beau: what's the news?

LE BEAU	Fair princess, you have lost much good sport.

CELIA	Sport! of what colour?

LE BEAU	What colour, madam! how shall I answer you?

ROSALIND	As wit and fortune will.

TOUCHSTONE	Or as the Destinies decree.

CELIA	Well said: that was laid on with a trowel.

TOUCHSTONE	Nay, if I keep not my rank,--

ROSALIND	Thou losest thy old smell.

LE BEAU	You amaze me, ladies: I would have told you of good
	wrestling, which you have lost the sight of.

ROSALIND	You tell us the manner of the wrestling.

LE BEAU	I will tell you the beginning; and, if it please
	your ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is
	yet to do; and here, where you are, they are coming
	to perform it.

CELIA	Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried.

LE BEAU	There comes an old man and his three sons,--

CELIA	I could match this beginning with an old tale.

LE BEAU	Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence.

ROSALIND	With bills on their necks, 'Be it known unto all men
	by these presents.'

LE BEAU	The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the
	duke's wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him
	and broke three of his ribs, that there is little
	hope of life in him: so he served the second, and
	so the third. Yonder they lie; the poor old man,
	their father, making such pitiful dole over them
	that all the beholders take his part with weeping.


TOUCHSTONE	But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies
	have lost?

LE BEAU	Why, this that I speak of.

TOUCHSTONE	Thus men may grow wiser every day: it is the first
	time that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport
	for ladies.

CELIA	Or I, I promise thee.

ROSALIND	But is there any else longs to see this broken music
	in his sides? is there yet another dotes upon
	rib-breaking? Shall we see this wrestling, cousin?

LE BEAU	You must, if you stay here; for here is the place
	appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to
	perform it.

CELIA	Yonder, sure, they are coming: let us now stay and see it.

	[Flourish. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, ORLANDO,
	CHARLES, and Attendants]

DUKE FREDERICK	Come on: since the youth will not be entreated, his
	own peril on his forwardness.

ROSALIND	Is yonder the man?

LE BEAU	Even he, madam.

CELIA	Alas, he is too young! yet he looks successfully.

DUKE FREDERICK	How now, daughter and cousin! are you crept hither
	to see the wrestling?

ROSALIND	Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave.

DUKE FREDERICK	You will take little delight in it, I can tell you;
	there is such odds in the man. In pity of the
	challenger's youth I would fain dissuade him, but he
	will not be entreated. Speak to him, ladies; see if
	you can move him.

CELIA	Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau.

DUKE FREDERICK	Do so: I'll not be by.

LE BEAU	Monsieur the challenger, the princesses call for you.

ORLANDO	I attend them with all respect and duty.

ROSALIND	Young man, have you challenged Charles the wrestler?

ORLANDO	No, fair princess; he is the general challenger: I
	come but in, as others do, to try with him the
	strength of my youth.

CELIA	Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your
	years. You have seen cruel proof of this man's
	strength: if you saw yourself with your eyes or
	knew yourself with your judgment, the fear of your
	adventure would counsel you to a more equal
	enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to
	embrace your own safety and give over this attempt.

ROSALIND	Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore
	be misprised: we will make it our suit to the duke
	that the wrestling might not go forward.

ORLANDO	I beseech you, punish me not with your hard
	thoughts; wherein I confess me much guilty, to deny
	so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let
	your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my
	trial: wherein if I be foiled, there is but one
	shamed that was never gracious; if killed, but one
	dead that was willing to be so: I shall do my
	friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me, the
	world no injury, for in it I have nothing; only in
	the world I fill up a place, which may be better
	supplied when I have made it empty.

ROSALIND	The little strength that I have, I would it were with you.

CELIA	And mine, to eke out hers.

ROSALIND	Fare you well: pray heaven I be deceived in you!

CELIA	Your heart's desires be with you!

CHARLES	Come, where is this young gallant that is so
	desirous to lie with his mother earth?

ORLANDO	Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working.

DUKE FREDERICK	You shall try but one fall.

CHARLES	No, I warrant your grace, you shall not entreat him
	to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him
	from a first.

ORLANDO	An you mean to mock me after, you should not have
	mocked me before: but come your ways.

ROSALIND	Now Hercules be thy speed, young man!

CELIA	I would I were invisible, to catch the strong
	fellow by the leg.

	[They wrestle]

ROSALIND	O excellent young man!

CELIA	If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who
	should down.

	[Shout. CHARLES is thrown]

DUKE FREDERICK	No more, no more.

ORLANDO	Yes, I beseech your grace: I am not yet well breathed.

DUKE FREDERICK	How dost thou, Charles?

LE BEAU	He cannot speak, my lord.

DUKE FREDERICK	Bear him away. What is thy name, young man?

ORLANDO	Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys.

DUKE FREDERICK	I would thou hadst been son to some man else:
	The world esteem'd thy father honourable,
	But I did find him still mine enemy:
	Thou shouldst have better pleased me with this deed,
	Hadst thou descended from another house.
	But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth:
	I would thou hadst told me of another father.

	[Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK, train, and LE BEAU]

CELIA	Were I my father, coz, would I do this?

ORLANDO	I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son,
	His youngest son; and would not change that calling,
	To be adopted heir to Frederick.

ROSALIND	My father loved Sir Rowland as his soul,
	And all the world was of my father's mind:
	Had I before known this young man his son,
	I should have given him tears unto entreaties,
	Ere he should thus have ventured.

CELIA	Gentle cousin,
	Let us go thank him and encourage him:
	My father's rough and envious disposition
	Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well deserved:
	If you do keep your promises in love
	But justly, as you have exceeded all promise,
	Your mistress shall be happy.

ROSALIND	Gentleman,

	[Giving him a chain from her neck]

	Wear this for me, one out of suits with fortune,
	That could give more, but that her hand lacks means.
	Shall we go, coz?

CELIA	                  Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman.

ORLANDO	Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts
	Are all thrown down, and that which here stands up
	Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block.

ROSALIND	He calls us back: my pride fell with my fortunes;
	I'll ask him what he would. Did you call, sir?
	Sir, you have wrestled well and overthrown
	More than your enemies.

CELIA	Will you go, coz?

ROSALIND	Have with you. Fare you well.

	[Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA]

ORLANDO	What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue?
	I cannot speak to her, yet she urged conference.
	O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown!
	Or Charles or something weaker masters thee.

	[Re-enter LE BEAU]

LE BEAU	Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you
	To leave this place. Albeit you have deserved
	High commendation, true applause and love,
	Yet such is now the duke's condition
	That he misconstrues all that you have done.
	The duke is humorous; what he is indeed,
	More suits you to conceive than I to speak of.

ORLANDO	I thank you, sir: and, pray you, tell me this:
	Which of the two was daughter of the duke
	That here was at the wrestling?

LE BEAU	Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners;
	But yet indeed the lesser is his daughter
	The other is daughter to the banish'd duke,
	And here detain'd by her usurping uncle,
	To keep his daughter company; whose loves
	Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters.
	But I can tell you that of late this duke
	Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece,
	Grounded upon no other argument
	But that the people praise her for her virtues
	And pity her for her good father's sake;
	And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady
	Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well:
	Hereafter, in a better world than this,
	I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.

ORLANDO	I rest much bounden to you: fare you well.

	[Exit LE BEAU]

	Thus must I from the smoke into the smother;
	From tyrant duke unto a tyrant brother:
	But heavenly Rosalind!




SCENE III	A room in the palace.


CELIA	Why, cousin! why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy! not a word?

ROSALIND	Not one to throw at a dog.

CELIA	No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon
	curs; throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons.

ROSALIND	Then there were two cousins laid up; when the one
	should be lamed with reasons and the other mad
	without any.

CELIA	But is all this for your father?

ROSALIND	No, some of it is for my child's father. O, how
	full of briers is this working-day world!

CELIA	They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in
	holiday foolery: if we walk not in the trodden
	paths our very petticoats will catch them.

ROSALIND	I could shake them off my coat: these burs are in my heart.

CELIA	Hem them away.

ROSALIND	I would try, if I could cry 'hem' and have him.

CELIA	Come, come, wrestle with thy affections.

ROSALIND	O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself!

CELIA	O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in
	despite of a fall. But, turning these jests out of
	service, let us talk in good earnest: is it
	possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so
	strong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son?

ROSALIND	The duke my father loved his father dearly.

CELIA	Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his son
	dearly? By this kind of chase, I should hate him,
	for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate
	not Orlando.

ROSALIND	No, faith, hate him not, for my sake.

CELIA	Why should I not? doth he not deserve well?

ROSALIND	Let me love him for that, and do you love him
	because I do. Look, here comes the duke.

CELIA	With his eyes full of anger.

	[Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords]

DUKE FREDERICK	Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste
	And get you from our court.

ROSALIND	Me, uncle?

	Within these ten days if that thou be'st found
	So near our public court as twenty miles,
	Thou diest for it.

ROSALIND	                  I do beseech your grace,
	Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me:
	If with myself I hold intelligence
	Or have acquaintance with mine own desires,
	If that I do not dream or be not frantic,--
	As I do trust I am not--then, dear uncle,
	Never so much as in a thought unborn
	Did I offend your highness.

DUKE FREDERICK	Thus do all traitors:
	If their purgation did consist in words,
	They are as innocent as grace itself:
	Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not.

ROSALIND	Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor:
	Tell me whereon the likelihood depends.

DUKE FREDERICK	Thou art thy father's daughter; there's enough.

ROSALIND	So was I when your highness took his dukedom;
	So was I when your highness banish'd him:
	Treason is not inherited, my lord;
	Or, if we did derive it from our friends,
	What's that to me? my father was no traitor:
	Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much
	To think my poverty is treacherous.

CELIA	Dear sovereign, hear me speak.

DUKE FREDERICK	Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake,
	Else had she with her father ranged along.

CELIA	I did not then entreat to have her stay;
	It was your pleasure and your own remorse:
	I was too young that time to value her;
	But now I know her: if she be a traitor,
	Why so am I; we still have slept together,
	Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together,
	And wheresoever we went, like Juno's swans,
	Still we went coupled and inseparable.

DUKE FREDERICK	She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness,
	Her very silence and her patience
	Speak to the people, and they pity her.
	Thou art a fool: she robs thee of thy name;
	And thou wilt show more bright and seem more virtuous
	When she is gone. Then open not thy lips:
	Firm and irrevocable is my doom
	Which I have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd.

CELIA	Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege:
	I cannot live out of her company.

DUKE FREDERICK	You are a fool. You, niece, provide yourself:
	If you outstay the time, upon mine honour,
	And in the greatness of my word, you die.

	[Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK and Lords]

CELIA	O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt thou go?
	Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine.
	I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than I am.

ROSALIND	I have more cause.

CELIA	                  Thou hast not, cousin;
	Prithee be cheerful: know'st thou not, the duke
	Hath banish'd me, his daughter?

ROSALIND	That he hath not.

CELIA	No, hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love
	Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one:
	Shall we be sunder'd? shall we part, sweet girl?
	No: let my father seek another heir.
	Therefore devise with me how we may fly,
	Whither to go and what to bear with us;
	And do not seek to take your change upon you,
	To bear your griefs yourself and leave me out;
	For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale,
	Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee.

ROSALIND	Why, whither shall we go?

CELIA	To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden.

ROSALIND	Alas, what danger will it be to us,
	Maids as we are, to travel forth so far!
	Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.

CELIA	I'll put myself in poor and mean attire
	And with a kind of umber smirch my face;
	The like do you: so shall we pass along
	And never stir assailants.

ROSALIND	Were it not better,
	Because that I am more than common tall,
	That I did suit me all points like a man?
	A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh,
	A boar-spear in my hand; and--in my heart
	Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will--
	We'll have a swashing and a martial outside,
	As many other mannish cowards have
	That do outface it with their semblances.

CELIA	What shall I call thee when thou art a man?

ROSALIND	I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page;
	And therefore look you call me Ganymede.
	But what will you be call'd?

CELIA	Something that hath a reference to my state
	No longer Celia, but Aliena.

ROSALIND	But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal
	The clownish fool out of your father's court?
	Would he not be a comfort to our travel?

CELIA	He'll go along o'er the wide world with me;
	Leave me alone to woo him. Let's away,
	And get our jewels and our wealth together,
	Devise the fittest time and safest way
	To hide us from pursuit that will be made
	After my flight. Now go we in content
	To liberty and not to banishment.




SCENE I	The Forest of Arden.

	[Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and two or three Lords,
	like foresters]

DUKE SENIOR	Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,
	Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
	Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods
	More free from peril than the envious court?
	Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
	The seasons' difference, as the icy fang
	And churlish chiding of the winter's wind,
	Which, when it bites and blows upon my body,
	Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say
	'This is no flattery: these are counsellors
	That feelingly persuade me what I am.'
	Sweet are the uses of adversity,
	Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
	Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
	And this our life exempt from public haunt
	Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
	Sermons in stones and good in every thing.
	I would not change it.

AMIENS	Happy is your grace,
	That can translate the stubbornness of fortune
	Into so quiet and so sweet a style.

DUKE SENIOR	Come, shall we go and kill us venison?
	And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools,
	Being native burghers of this desert city,
	Should in their own confines with forked heads
	Have their round haunches gored.

First Lord	Indeed, my lord,
	The melancholy Jaques grieves at that,
	And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp
	Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you.
	To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself
	Did steal behind him as he lay along
	Under an oak whose antique root peeps out
	Upon the brook that brawls along this wood:
	To the which place a poor sequester'd stag,
	That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt,
	Did come to languish, and indeed, my lord,
	The wretched animal heaved forth such groans
	That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat
	Almost to bursting, and the big round tears
	Coursed one another down his innocent nose
	In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool
	Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
	Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook,
	Augmenting it with tears.

DUKE SENIOR	But what said Jaques?
	Did he not moralize this spectacle?

First Lord	O, yes, into a thousand similes.
	First, for his weeping into the needless stream;
	'Poor deer,' quoth he, 'thou makest a testament
	As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
	To that which had too much:' then, being there alone,
	Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends,
	''Tis right:' quoth he; 'thus misery doth part
	The flux of company:' anon a careless herd,
	Full of the pasture, jumps along by him
	And never stays to greet him; 'Ay' quoth Jaques,
	'Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;
	'Tis just the fashion: wherefore do you look
	Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?'
	Thus most invectively he pierceth through
	The body of the country, city, court,
	Yea, and of this our life, swearing that we
	Are mere usurpers, tyrants and what's worse,
	To fright the animals and to kill them up
	In their assign'd and native dwelling-place.

DUKE SENIOR	And did you leave him in this contemplation?

Second Lord	We did, my lord, weeping and commenting
	Upon the sobbing deer.

DUKE SENIOR	Show me the place:
	I love to cope him in these sullen fits,
	For then he's full of matter.

First Lord	I'll bring you to him straight.




SCENE II	A room in the palace.

	[Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords]

DUKE FREDERICK	Can it be possible that no man saw them?
	It cannot be: some villains of my court
	Are of consent and sufferance in this.

First Lord	I cannot hear of any that did see her.
	The ladies, her attendants of her chamber,
	Saw her abed, and in the morning early
	They found the bed untreasured of their mistress.

Second Lord	My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft
	Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.
	Hisperia, the princess' gentlewoman,
	Confesses that she secretly o'erheard
	Your daughter and her cousin much commend
	The parts and graces of the wrestler
	That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles;
	And she believes, wherever they are gone,
	That youth is surely in their company.

DUKE FREDERICK	Send to his brother; fetch that gallant hither;
	If he be absent, bring his brother to me;
	I'll make him find him: do this suddenly,
	And let not search and inquisition quail
	To bring again these foolish runaways.




SCENE III	Before OLIVER'S house.

	[Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting]

ORLANDO	Who's there?

ADAM	What, my young master? O, my gentle master!
	O my sweet master! O you memory
	Of old Sir Rowland! why, what make you here?
	Why are you virtuous? why do people love you?
	And wherefore are you gentle, strong and valiant?
	Why would you be so fond to overcome
	The bonny priser of the humorous duke?
	Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.
	Know you not, master, to some kind of men
	Their graces serve them but as enemies?
	No more do yours: your virtues, gentle master,
	Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.
	O, what a world is this, when what is comely
	Envenoms him that bears it!

ORLANDO	Why, what's the matter?

ADAM	O unhappy youth!
	Come not within these doors; within this roof
	The enemy of all your graces lives:
	Your brother--no, no brother; yet the son--
	Yet not the son, I will not call him son
	Of him I was about to call his father--
	Hath heard your praises, and this night he means
	To burn the lodging where you use to lie
	And you within it: if he fail of that,
	He will have other means to cut you off.
	I overheard him and his practises.
	This is no place; this house is but a butchery:
	Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.

ORLANDO	Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go?

ADAM	No matter whither, so you come not here.

ORLANDO	What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food?
	Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce
	A thievish living on the common road?
	This I must do, or know not what to do:
	Yet this I will not do, do how I can;
	I rather will subject me to the malice
	Of a diverted blood and bloody brother.

ADAM	But do not so. I have five hundred crowns,
	The thrifty hire I saved under your father,
	Which I did store to be my foster-nurse
	When service should in my old limbs lie lame
	And unregarded age in corners thrown:
	Take that, and He that doth the ravens feed,
	Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,
	Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold;
	And all this I give you. Let me be your servant:
	Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty;
	For in my youth I never did apply
	Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood,
	Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo
	The means of weakness and debility;
	Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
	Frosty, but kindly: let me go with you;
	I'll do the service of a younger man
	In all your business and necessities.

ORLANDO	O good old man, how well in thee appears
	The constant service of the antique world,
	When service sweat for duty, not for meed!
	Thou art not for the fashion of these times,
	Where none will sweat but for promotion,
	And having that, do choke their service up
	Even with the having: it is not so with thee.
	But, poor old man, thou prunest a rotten tree,
	That cannot so much as a blossom yield
	In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry
	But come thy ways; well go along together,
	And ere we have thy youthful wages spent,
	We'll light upon some settled low content.

ADAM	Master, go on, and I will follow thee,
	To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty.
	From seventeen years till now almost fourscore
	Here lived I, but now live here no more.
	At seventeen years many their fortunes seek;
	But at fourscore it is too late a week:
	Yet fortune cannot recompense me better
	Than to die well and not my master's debtor.




SCENE IV	The Forest of Arden.

	[Enter ROSALIND for Ganymede, CELIA for Aliena,

ROSALIND	O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits!

TOUCHSTONE	I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary.

ROSALIND	I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's
	apparel and to cry like a woman; but I must comfort
	the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show
	itself courageous to petticoat: therefore courage,
	good Aliena!

CELIA	I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go no further.

TOUCHSTONE	For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear
	you; yet I should bear no cross if I did bear you,
	for I think you have no money in your purse.

ROSALIND	Well, this is the forest of Arden.

TOUCHSTONE	Ay, now am I in Arden; the more fool I; when I was
	at home, I was in a better place: but travellers
	must be content.

ROSALIND	Ay, be so, good Touchstone.

	[Enter CORIN and SILVIUS]

	Look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in
	solemn talk.

CORIN	That is the way to make her scorn you still.

SILVIUS	O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her!

CORIN	I partly guess; for I have loved ere now.

SILVIUS	No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess,
	Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover
	As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow:
	But if thy love were ever like to mine--
	As sure I think did never man love so--
	How many actions most ridiculous
	Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?

CORIN	Into a thousand that I have forgotten.

SILVIUS	O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily!
	If thou remember'st not the slightest folly
	That ever love did make thee run into,
	Thou hast not loved:
	Or if thou hast not sat as I do now,
	Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
	Thou hast not loved:
	Or if thou hast not broke from company
	Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,
	Thou hast not loved.
	O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe!


ROSALIND	Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound,
	I have by hard adventure found mine own.

TOUCHSTONE	And I mine. I remember, when I was in love I broke
	my sword upon a stone and bid him take that for
	coming a-night to Jane Smile; and I remember the
	kissing of her batlet and the cow's dugs that her
	pretty chopt hands had milked; and I remember the
	wooing of a peascod instead of her, from whom I took
	two cods and, giving her them again, said with
	weeping tears 'Wear these for my sake.' We that are
	true lovers run into strange capers; but as all is
	mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.

ROSALIND	Thou speakest wiser than thou art ware of.

TOUCHSTONE	Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I
	break my shins against it.

ROSALIND	Jove, Jove! this shepherd's passion
	Is much upon my fashion.

TOUCHSTONE	And mine; but it grows something stale with me.

CELIA	I pray you, one of you question yond man
	If he for gold will give us any food:
	I faint almost to death.

TOUCHSTONE	Holla, you clown!

ROSALIND	Peace, fool: he's not thy kinsman.

CORIN	Who calls?

TOUCHSTONE	Your betters, sir.

CORIN	                  Else are they very wretched.

ROSALIND	Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend.

CORIN	And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.

ROSALIND	I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold
	Can in this desert place buy entertainment,
	Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed:
	Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd
	And faints for succor.

CORIN	Fair sir, I pity her
	And wish, for her sake more than for mine own,
	My fortunes were more able to relieve her;
	But I am shepherd to another man
	And do not shear the fleeces that I graze:
	My master is of churlish disposition
	And little recks to find the way to heaven
	By doing deeds of hospitality:
	Besides, his cote, his flocks and bounds of feed
	Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now,
	By reason of his absence, there is nothing
	That you will feed on; but what is, come see.
	And in my voice most welcome shall you be.

ROSALIND	What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture?

CORIN	That young swain that you saw here but erewhile,
	That little cares for buying any thing.

ROSALIND	I pray thee, if it stand with honesty,
	Buy thou the cottage, pasture and the flock,
	And thou shalt have to pay for it of us.

CELIA	And we will mend thy wages. I like this place.
	And willingly could waste my time in it.

CORIN	Assuredly the thing is to be sold:
	Go with me: if you like upon report
	The soil, the profit and this kind of life,
	I will your very faithful feeder be
	And buy it with your gold right suddenly.




SCENE V	The Forest.

	[Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others]
AMIENS	Under the greenwood tree
	Who loves to lie with me,
	And turn his merry note
	Unto the sweet bird's throat,
	Come hither, come hither, come hither:
	Here shall he see No enemy
	But winter and rough weather.

JAQUES	More, more, I prithee, more.

AMIENS	It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.

JAQUES	I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck
	melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs.
	More, I prithee, more.

AMIENS	My voice is ragged: I know I cannot please you.

JAQUES	I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to
	sing. Come, more; another stanzo: call you 'em stanzos?

AMIENS	What you will, Monsieur Jaques.

JAQUES	Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me
	nothing. Will you sing?

AMIENS	More at your request than to please myself.

JAQUES	Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you;
	but that they call compliment is like the encounter
	of two dog-apes, and when a man thanks me heartily,
	methinks I have given him a penny and he renders me
	the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will
	not, hold your tongues.

AMIENS	Well, I'll end the song. Sirs, cover the while; the
	duke will drink under this tree. He hath been all
	this day to look you.

JAQUES	And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is
	too disputable for my company: I think of as many
	matters as he, but I give heaven thanks and make no
	boast of them. Come, warble, come.
	Who doth ambition shun

	[All together here]

	And loves to live i' the sun,
	Seeking the food he eats
	And pleased with what he gets,
	Come hither, come hither, come hither:
	Here shall he see No enemy
	But winter and rough weather.

JAQUES	I'll give you a verse to this note that I made
	yesterday in despite of my invention.

AMIENS	And I'll sing it.

JAQUES	Thus it goes:--

	If it do come to pass
	That any man turn ass,
	Leaving his wealth and ease,
	A stubborn will to please,
	Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame:
	Here shall he see
	Gross fools as he,
	An if he will come to me.

AMIENS	What's that 'ducdame'?

JAQUES	'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a
	circle. I'll go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I'll
	rail against all the first-born of Egypt.

AMIENS	And I'll go seek the duke: his banquet is prepared.

	[Exeunt severally]



SCENE VI	The forest.

	[Enter ORLANDO and ADAM]

ADAM	Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food!
	Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell,
	kind master.

ORLANDO	Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee? Live
	a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little.
	If this uncouth forest yield any thing savage, I
	will either be food for it or bring it for food to
	thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers.
	For my sake be comfortable; hold death awhile at
	the arm's end: I will here be with thee presently;
	and if I bring thee not something to eat, I will
	give thee leave to die: but if thou diest before I
	come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said!
	thou lookest cheerly, and I'll be with thee quickly.
	Yet thou liest in the bleak air: come, I will bear
	thee to some shelter; and thou shalt not die for
	lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this
	desert. Cheerly, good Adam!




SCENE VII	The forest.

	[A table set out. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and
	Lords like outlaws]

DUKE SENIOR	I think he be transform'd into a beast;
	For I can no where find him like a man.

First Lord	My lord, he is but even now gone hence:
	Here was he merry, hearing of a song.

DUKE SENIOR	If he, compact of jars, grow musical,
	We shall have shortly discord in the spheres.
	Go, seek him: tell him I would speak with him.

	[Enter JAQUES]

First Lord	He saves my labour by his own approach.

DUKE SENIOR	Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this,
	That your poor friends must woo your company?
	What, you look merrily!

JAQUES	A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' the forest,
	A motley fool; a miserable world!
	As I do live by food, I met a fool
	Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun,
	And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms,
	In good set terms and yet a motley fool.
	'Good morrow, fool,' quoth I. 'No, sir,' quoth he,
	'Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune:'
	And then he drew a dial from his poke,
	And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
	Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock:
	Thus we may see,' quoth he, 'how the world wags:
	'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine,
	And after one hour more 'twill be eleven;
	And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,
	And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot;
	And thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear
	The motley fool thus moral on the time,
	My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,
	That fools should be so deep-contemplative,
	And I did laugh sans intermission
	An hour by his dial. O noble fool!
	A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear.

DUKE SENIOR	What fool is this?

JAQUES	O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier,
	And says, if ladies be but young and fair,
	They have the gift to know it: and in his brain,
	Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit
	After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd
	With observation, the which he vents
	In mangled forms. O that I were a fool!
	I am ambitious for a motley coat.

DUKE SENIOR	Thou shalt have one.

JAQUES	It is my only suit;
	Provided that you weed your better judgments
	Of all opinion that grows rank in them
	That I am wise. I must have liberty
	Withal, as large a charter as the wind,
	To blow on whom I please; for so fools have;
	And they that are most galled with my folly,
	They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so?
	The 'why' is plain as way to parish church:
	He that a fool doth very wisely hit
	Doth very foolishly, although he smart,
	Not to seem senseless of the bob: if not,
	The wise man's folly is anatomized
	Even by the squandering glances of the fool.
	Invest me in my motley; give me leave
	To speak my mind, and I will through and through
	Cleanse the foul body of the infected world,
	If they will patiently receive my medicine.

DUKE SENIOR	Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do.

JAQUES	What, for a counter, would I do but good?

DUKE SENIOR	Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin:
	For thou thyself hast been a libertine,
	As sensual as the brutish sting itself;
	And all the embossed sores and headed evils,
	That thou with licence of free foot hast caught,
	Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.

JAQUES	Why, who cries out on pride,
	That can therein tax any private party?
	Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,
	Till that the weary very means do ebb?
	What woman in the city do I name,
	When that I say the city-woman bears
	The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders?
	Who can come in and say that I mean her,
	When such a one as she such is her neighbour?
	Or what is he of basest function
	That says his bravery is not of my cost,
	Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits
	His folly to the mettle of my speech?
	There then; how then? what then? Let me see wherein
	My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right,
	Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free,
	Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies,
	Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes here?

	[Enter ORLANDO, with his sword drawn]

ORLANDO	Forbear, and eat no more.

JAQUES	Why, I have eat none yet.

ORLANDO	Nor shalt not, till necessity be served.

JAQUES	Of what kind should this cock come of?

DUKE SENIOR	Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress,
	Or else a rude despiser of good manners,
	That in civility thou seem'st so empty?

ORLANDO	You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny point
	Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show
	Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred
	And know some nurture. But forbear, I say:
	He dies that touches any of this fruit
	Till I and my affairs are answered.

JAQUES	An you will not be answered with reason, I must die.

DUKE SENIOR	What would you have? Your gentleness shall force
	More than your force move us to gentleness.

ORLANDO	I almost die for food; and let me have it.

DUKE SENIOR	Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.

ORLANDO	Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you:
	I thought that all things had been savage here;
	And therefore put I on the countenance
	Of stern commandment. But whate'er you are
	That in this desert inaccessible,
	Under the shade of melancholy boughs,
	Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time
	If ever you have look'd on better days,
	If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church,
	If ever sat at any good man's feast,
	If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear
	And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied,
	Let gentleness my strong enforcement be:
	In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.

DUKE SENIOR	True is it that we have seen better days,
	And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church
	And sat at good men's feasts and wiped our eyes
	Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd:
	And therefore sit you down in gentleness
	And take upon command what help we have
	That to your wanting may be minister'd.

ORLANDO	Then but forbear your food a little while,
	Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn
	And give it food. There is an old poor man,
	Who after me hath many a weary step
	Limp'd in pure love: till he be first sufficed,
	Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,
	I will not touch a bit.

DUKE SENIOR	Go find him out,
	And we will nothing waste till you return.

ORLANDO	I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort!


DUKE SENIOR	Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy:
	This wide and universal theatre
	Presents more woeful pageants than the scene
	Wherein we play in.

JAQUES	All the world's a stage,
	And all the men and women merely players:
	They have their exits and their entrances;
	And one man in his time plays many parts,
	His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
	Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
	And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
	And shining morning face, creeping like snail
	Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
	Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
	Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
	Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
	Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
	Seeking the bubble reputation
	Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
	In fair round belly with good capon lined,
	With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
	Full of wise saws and modern instances;
	And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
	Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
	With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
	His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
	For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
	Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
	And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
	That ends this strange eventful history,
	Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
	Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

	[Re-enter ORLANDO, with ADAM]

DUKE SENIOR	Welcome. Set down your venerable burthen,
	And let him feed.

ORLANDO	I thank you most for him.

ADAM	So had you need:
	I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.

DUKE SENIOR	Welcome; fall to: I will not trouble you
	As yet, to question you about your fortunes.
	Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing.
AMIENS	Blow, blow, thou winter wind.
	Thou art not so unkind
	As man's ingratitude;
	Thy tooth is not so keen,
	Because thou art not seen,
	Although thy breath be rude.
	Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
	Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
	Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
	This life is most jolly.
	Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
	That dost not bite so nigh
	As benefits forgot:
	Though thou the waters warp,
	Thy sting is not so sharp
	As friend remember'd not.
	Heigh-ho! sing, &c.

DUKE SENIOR	If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son,
	As you have whisper'd faithfully you were,
	And as mine eye doth his effigies witness
	Most truly limn'd and living in your face,
	Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke
	That loved your father: the residue of your fortune,
	Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man,
	Thou art right welcome as thy master is.
	Support him by the arm. Give me your hand,
	And let me all your fortunes understand.




SCENE I	A room in the palace.

	[Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, and OLIVER]

DUKE FREDERICK	Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be:
	But were I not the better part made mercy,
	I should not seek an absent argument
	Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it:
	Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is;
	Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living
	Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more
	To seek a living in our territory.
	Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine
	Worth seizure do we seize into our hands,
	Till thou canst quit thee by thy brothers mouth
	Of what we think against thee.

OLIVER	O that your highness knew my heart in this!
	I never loved my brother in my life.

DUKE FREDERICK	More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors;
	And let my officers of such a nature
	Make an extent upon his house and lands:
	Do this expediently and turn him going.




SCENE II	The forest.

	[Enter ORLANDO, with a paper]

ORLANDO	Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love:
	And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey
	With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above,
	Thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway.
	O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books
	And in their barks my thoughts I'll character;
	That every eye which in this forest looks
	Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where.
	Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree
	The fair, the chaste and unexpressive she.



CORIN	And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone?

TOUCHSTONE	Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good
	life, but in respect that it is a shepherd's life,
	it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I
	like it very 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
	is it 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?

CORIN	No more but that I know the more one sickens the
	worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money,
	means and content is without three good 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.

TOUCHSTONE	Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in
	court, shepherd?

CORIN	No, truly.

TOUCHSTONE	Then thou art damned.

CORIN	Nay, I hope.

TOUCHSTONE	Truly, thou art damned like an ill-roasted egg, all
	on one side.

CORIN	For not being at court? Your reason.

TOUCHSTONE	Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never sawest
	good manners; if thou never sawest good manners,
	then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is
	sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous
	state, shepherd.

CORIN	Not a whit, Touchstone: those that are good manners
	at the court are as ridiculous in the country as the
	behavior of the country is most mockable at the
	court. You told me you salute not at the court, but
	you kiss your hands: that courtesy would be
	uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds.

TOUCHSTONE	Instance, briefly; come, instance.

CORIN	Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their
	fells, you know, are greasy.

TOUCHSTONE	Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? and is not
	the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of
	a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say; come.

CORIN	Besides, our hands are hard.

TOUCHSTONE	Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again.
	A more sounder instance, come.

CORIN	And they are often tarred over with the surgery of
	our sheep: and would you have us kiss tar? The
	courtier's hands are perfumed with civet.

TOUCHSTONE	Most shallow man! thou worms-meat, in respect of a
	good piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and
	perpend: civet is of a baser birth than tar, the
	very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd.

CORIN	You have too courtly a wit for me: I'll rest.

TOUCHSTONE	Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee, shallow man!
	God make incision in thee! thou art raw.

CORIN	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.

TOUCHSTONE	That is another simple sin in you, to bring the ewes
	and the rams together and to offer to get your
	living by the copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a
	bell-wether, and to betray a she-lamb of a
	twelvemonth to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram,
	out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not
	damned for this, the devil himself will have no
	shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst

CORIN	Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother.

	[Enter ROSALIND, with a paper, reading]

ROSALIND	     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 lined
	Are but black to Rosalind.
	Let no fair be kept in mind
	But the fair of Rosalind.

TOUCHSTONE	I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners and
	suppers and sleeping-hours excepted: it is the
	right butter-women's rank to market.

ROSALIND	Out, fool!

TOUCHSTONE	For a taste:
	If a hart do lack a hind,
	Let him seek out Rosalind.
	If the cat will after kind,
	So be sure will Rosalind.
	Winter garments must be lined,
	So must slender Rosalind.
	They that reap must sheaf and bind;
	Then to cart with Rosalind.
	Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,
	Such a nut is Rosalind.
	He that sweetest rose will find
	Must find love's prick and Rosalind.
	This is the very false gallop of verses: why do you
	infect yourself with them?

ROSALIND	Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree.

TOUCHSTONE	Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.

ROSALIND	I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it
	with a medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit
	i' the country; for you'll be rotten ere you be half
	ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medlar.

TOUCHSTONE	You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the
	forest judge.

	[Enter CELIA, with a writing]

ROSALIND	Peace! Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside.

CELIA	[Reads]

	Why should this a desert be?
	For it is unpeopled? No:
	Tongues I'll hang on every tree,
	That shall civil sayings show:
	Some, how brief the life of man
	Runs his erring pilgrimage,
	That the stretching of a span
	Buckles in his sum of age;
	Some, of violated vows
	'Twixt the souls of friend and friend:
	But upon the fairest boughs,
	Or at every sentence end,
	Will I Rosalinda write,
	Teaching all that read to know
	The quintessence of every sprite
	Heaven would in little show.
	Therefore Heaven Nature charged
	That one body should be fill'd
	With all graces wide-enlarged:
	Nature presently distill'd
	Helen's cheek, but not her heart,
	Cleopatra's majesty,
	Atalanta's better part,
	Sad Lucretia's modesty.
	Thus Rosalind of many parts
	By heavenly synod was devised,
	Of many faces, eyes and hearts,
	To have the touches dearest prized.
	Heaven would that she these gifts should have,
	And I to live and die her slave.

ROSALIND	O most gentle pulpiter! what tedious homily of love
	have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never
	cried 'Have patience, good people!'

CELIA	How now! back, friends! Shepherd, go off a little.
	Go with him, sirrah.

TOUCHSTONE	Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat;
	though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage.


CELIA	Didst thou hear these verses?

ROSALIND	O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of
	them had in them more feet than the verses would bear.

CELIA	That's no matter: the feet might bear the verses.

ROSALIND	Ay, but the feet were lame and could not bear
	themselves without the verse and therefore stood
	lamely in the verse.

CELIA	But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name
	should be hanged and carved upon these trees?

ROSALIND	I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder
	before you came; for look here what I found on a
	palm-tree. I was never so be-rhymed since
	Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I
	can hardly remember.

CELIA	Trow you who hath done this?

ROSALIND	Is it a man?

CELIA	And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck.
	Change you colour?

ROSALIND	I prithee, who?

CELIA	O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to
	meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes
	and so encounter.

ROSALIND	Nay, but who is it?

CELIA	Is it possible?

ROSALIND	Nay, I prithee now with most petitionary vehemence,
	tell me who it is.

CELIA	O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful
	wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that,
	out of all hooping!

ROSALIND	Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am
	caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and hose in
	my disposition? One inch of delay more is a
	South-sea of discovery; I prithee, tell me who is it
	quickly, and speak apace. I would thou couldst
	stammer, that thou mightst pour this concealed man
	out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-
	mouthed bottle, either too much at once, or none at
	all. I prithee, take the cork out of thy mouth that
	may drink thy tidings.

CELIA	So you may put a man in your belly.

ROSALIND	Is he of God's making? What manner of man? Is his
	head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard?

CELIA	Nay, he hath but a little beard.

ROSALIND	Why, God will send more, if the man will be
	thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, if
	thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin.

CELIA	It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler's
	heels and your heart both in an instant.

ROSALIND	Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak, sad brow and
	true maid.

CELIA	I' faith, coz, 'tis he.


CELIA	Orlando.

ROSALIND	Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and
	hose? What did he when thou sawest him? What said
	he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes
	him here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he?
	How parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see
	him again? Answer me in one word.

CELIA	You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first: 'tis a
	word too great for any mouth of this age's size. To
	say ay and no to these particulars is more than to
	answer in a catechism.

ROSALIND	But doth he know that I am in this forest and in
	man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the
	day he wrestled?

CELIA	It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the
	propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my
	finding him, and relish it with good observance.
	I found him under a tree, like a dropped acorn.

ROSALIND	It may well be called Jove's tree, when it drops
	forth such fruit.

CELIA	Give me audience, good madam.


CELIA	There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded knight.

ROSALIND	Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well
	becomes the ground.

CELIA	Cry 'holla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets
	unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter.

ROSALIND	O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.

CELIA	I would sing my song without a burden: thou bringest
	me out of tune.

ROSALIND	Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must
	speak. Sweet, say on.

CELIA	You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here?


ROSALIND	'Tis he: slink by, and note him.

JAQUES	I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had
	as lief have been myself alone.

ORLANDO	And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you
	too for your society.

JAQUES	God be wi' you: let's meet as little as we can.

ORLANDO	I do desire we may be better strangers.

JAQUES	I pray you, mar no more trees with writing
	love-songs in their barks.

ORLANDO	I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading
	them ill-favouredly.

JAQUES	Rosalind is your love's name?

ORLANDO	Yes, just.

JAQUES	I do not like her name.

ORLANDO	There was no thought of pleasing you when she was

JAQUES	What stature is she of?

ORLANDO	Just as high as my heart.

JAQUES	You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been
	acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conned them
	out of rings?

ORLANDO	Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from
	whence you have studied your questions.

JAQUES	You have a nimble wit: I think 'twas made of
	Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? and
	we two will rail against our mistress the world and
	all our misery.

ORLANDO	I will chide no breather in the world but myself,
	against whom I know most faults.

JAQUES	The worst fault you have is to be in love.

ORLANDO	'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue.
	I am weary of you.

JAQUES	By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found

ORLANDO	He is drowned in the brook: look but in, and you
	shall see him.

JAQUES	There I shall see mine own figure.

ORLANDO	Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.

JAQUES	I'll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good
	Signior Love.

ORLANDO	I am glad of your departure: adieu, good Monsieur

	[Exit JAQUES]

ROSALIND	[Aside to CELIA]  I will speak to him, like a saucy
	lackey and under that habit play the knave with him.
	Do you hear, forester?

ORLANDO	Very well: what would you?

ROSALIND	I pray you, what is't o'clock?

ORLANDO	You should ask me what time o' day: there's no clock
	in the forest.

ROSALIND	Then there is no true lover in the forest; else
	sighing every minute and groaning every hour would
	detect the lazy foot of Time as well as a clock.

ORLANDO	And why not the swift foot of Time? had not that
	been as proper?

ROSALIND	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.

ORLANDO	I prithee, who doth he trot withal?

ROSALIND	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 year.

ORLANDO	Who ambles Time withal?

ROSALIND	With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich man that
	hath not the gout, for the one sleeps easily because
	he cannot study, and the other lives merrily because
	he feels no pain, the one lacking the burden of lean
	and wasteful learning, the other knowing no burden
	of heavy tedious penury; these Time ambles withal.

ORLANDO	Who doth he gallop withal?

ROSALIND	With a thief to the gallows, for though he go as
	softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there.

ORLANDO	Who stays it still withal?

ROSALIND	With lawyers in the vacation, for they sleep between
	term and term and then they perceive not how Time moves.

ORLANDO	Where dwell you, pretty youth?

ROSALIND	With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the
	skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.

ORLANDO	Are you native of this place?

ROSALIND	As the cony that you see dwell where she is kindled.

ORLANDO	Your accent is something finer than you could
	purchase in so removed a dwelling.

ROSALIND	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 inland man; one that knew courtship
	too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard
	him read many lectures against it, and I thank God
	I am not a woman, to be touched with so many
	giddy offences as he hath generally taxed their
	whole sex withal.

ORLANDO	Can you remember any of the principal evils that he
	laid to the charge of women?

ROSALIND	There were none principal; they were all like one
	another as half-pence are, every one fault seeming
	monstrous till his fellow fault came to match it.

ORLANDO	I prithee, recount some of them.

ROSALIND	No, I will not cast away my physic but on those that
	are sick. There is a man haunts the forest, that
	abuses our young plants with carving 'Rosalind' on
	their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns and elegies
	on brambles, all, forsooth, deifying the name of
	Rosalind: if I could meet that fancy-monger I would
	give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the
	quotidian of love upon him.

ORLANDO	I am he that is so love-shaked: I pray you tell me
	your remedy.

ROSALIND	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.

ORLANDO	What were his marks?

ROSALIND	A lean cheek, which you have not, a blue eye and
	sunken, which you have not, an unquestionable
	spirit, which you have not, a beard neglected,
	which you have not; but I pardon you for that, for
	simply your having in beard is a younger brother's
	revenue: then your hose should be ungartered, your
	bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, 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.

ORLANDO	Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.

ROSALIND	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?

ORLANDO	I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of
	Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he.

ROSALIND	But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak?

ORLANDO	Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.

ROSALIND	Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves
	as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do: and
	the reason why they are not so punished and cured
	is, that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers
	are in love too. Yet I profess curing it by counsel.

ORLANDO	Did you ever cure any so?

ROSALIND	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 loathe
	him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now weep
	for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor
	from his mad humour of love to a living humour of
	madness; which was, to forswear the full stream of
	the world, and to live in a nook merely monastic.
	And thus I cured him; and this way will I take upon
	me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's
	heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't.

ORLANDO	I would not be cured, youth.

ROSALIND	I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind
	and come every day to my cote and woo me.

ORLANDO	Now, by the faith of my love, I will: tell me
	where it is.

ROSALIND	Go with me to it and I'll show it you and by the way
	you shall tell me where in the forest you live.
	Will you go?

ORLANDO	With all my heart, good youth.

ROSALIND	Nay you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you go?




SCENE III	The forest.


TOUCHSTONE	Come apace, good Audrey: I will fetch up your
	goats, Audrey. And how, Audrey? am I the man yet?
	doth my simple feature content you?

AUDREY	Your features! Lord warrant us! what features!

TOUCHSTONE	I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most
	capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.

JAQUES	[Aside]  O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove
	in a thatched house!

TOUCHSTONE	When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a
	man's good wit seconded with the forward child
	Understanding, it strikes a man more dead than a
	great reckoning in a little room. Truly, I would
	the gods had made thee poetical.

AUDREY	I do not know what 'poetical' is: is it honest in
	deed and word? is it a true thing?

TOUCHSTONE	No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most
	feigning; and lovers are given to poetry, and what
	they swear in poetry may be said as lovers they do feign.

AUDREY	Do you wish then that the gods had made me poetical?

TOUCHSTONE	I do, truly; for thou swearest to me thou art
	honest: now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some
	hope thou didst feign.

AUDREY	Would you not have me honest?

TOUCHSTONE	No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favoured; for
	honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar.

JAQUES	[Aside]  A material fool!

AUDREY	 Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods
	make me honest.

TOUCHSTONE	Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut
	were to put good meat into an unclean dish.

AUDREY	I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul.

TOUCHSTONE	Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness!
	sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may
	be, I will marry thee, and to that end I have been
	with Sir Oliver Martext, the vicar of the next
	village, who hath promised to meet me in this place
	of the forest and to couple us.

JAQUES	[Aside]  I would fain see this meeting.

AUDREY	Well, the gods give us joy!

TOUCHSTONE	Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart,
	stagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple
	but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But what
	though? Courage! As horns are odious, they are
	necessary. It is said, 'many a man knows no end of
	his goods:' right; many a man has good horns, and
	knows no end of them. Well, that is the dowry of
	his wife; 'tis none of his own getting. Horns?
	Even so. Poor men alone? No, no; the noblest deer
	hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man
	therefore blessed? No: as a walled town is more
	worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a
	married man more 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. Here comes Sir Oliver.


	Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met: will you
	dispatch us here under this tree, or shall we go
	with you to your chapel?

SIR OLIVER MARTEXT	Is there none here to give the woman?

TOUCHSTONE	I will not take her on gift of any man.

SIR OLIVER MARTEXT	Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful.

JAQUES	[Advancing]

	Proceed, proceed	I'll give her.

TOUCHSTONE	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 covered.

JAQUES	Will you be married, motley?

TOUCHSTONE	As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb and
	the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and
	as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling.

JAQUES	And will you, being a man of your breeding, be
	married under a bush like a beggar? Get you to
	church, and have a good priest that can tell you
	what marriage is: this fellow will but join you
	together as they join wainscot; then one of you will
	prove a shrunk panel and, like green timber, warp, warp.

TOUCHSTONE	[Aside]  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.

JAQUES	Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.

TOUCHSTONE	'Come, sweet Audrey:
	We must be married, or we must live in bawdry.
	Farewell, good Master Oliver: not,--
	O sweet Oliver,
	O brave Oliver,
	Leave me not behind thee: but,--
	Wind away,
	Begone, I say,
	I will not to wedding with thee.


SIR OLIVER MARTEXT	'Tis no matter: ne'er a fantastical knave of them
	all shall flout me out of my calling.




SCENE IV	The forest.


ROSALIND	Never talk to me; I will weep.

CELIA	Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider
	that tears do not become a man.

ROSALIND	But have I not cause to weep?

CELIA	As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep.

ROSALIND	His very hair is of the dissembling colour.

CELIA	Something browner than Judas's marry, his kisses are
	Judas's own children.

ROSALIND	I' faith, his hair is of a good colour.

CELIA	An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the only colour.

ROSALIND	And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch
	of holy bread.

CELIA	He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a nun
	of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously;
	the very ice of chastity is in them.

ROSALIND	But why did he swear he would come this morning, and
	comes not?

CELIA	Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.

ROSALIND	Do you think so?

CELIA	Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a
	horse-stealer, but for his verity in love, I do
	think him as concave as a covered goblet or a
	worm-eaten nut.

ROSALIND	Not true in love?

CELIA	Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in.

ROSALIND	You have heard him swear downright he was.

CELIA	'Was' is not 'is:' besides, the oath of a lover is
	no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are
	both the confirmer of false reckonings. He attends
	here in the forest on the duke your father.

ROSALIND	I met the duke yesterday and had much question with
	him: he asked me of what parentage I was; I told
	him, of as good as he; so he laughed and let me go.
	But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a
	man as Orlando?

CELIA	O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses,
	speaks brave words, swears brave oaths and breaks
	them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of
	his lover; as a puisny 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]

CORIN	Mistress and master, you have oft inquired
	After the shepherd that complain'd of love,
	Who you saw sitting by me on the turf,
	Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
	That was his mistress.

CELIA	Well, and what of him?

CORIN	If you will see a pageant truly play'd,
	Between the pale complexion of true love
	And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain,
	Go hence a little and I shall conduct you,
	If you will mark it.

ROSALIND	O, come, let us remove:
	The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.
	Bring us to this sight, and you shall say
	I'll prove a busy actor in their play.




SCENE V	Another part of the forest.

	[Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE]

SILVIUS	Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe;
	Say that you love me not, but say not so
	In bitterness. The common executioner,
	Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard,
	Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck
	But first begs pardon: will you sterner be
	Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?

	[Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, behind]

PHEBE	I would not be thy executioner:
	I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
	Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye:
	'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,
	That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things,
	Who shut their coward gates on atomies,
	Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers!
	Now I do frown on thee with all my heart;
	And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee:
	Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down;
	Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame,
	Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers!
	Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee:
	Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
	Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush,
	The cicatrice and capable impressure
	Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes,
	Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not,
	Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes
	That can do hurt.

SILVIUS	                  O dear Phebe,
	If ever,--as that ever may be near,--
	You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy,
	Then shall you know the wounds invisible
	That love's keen arrows make.

PHEBE	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.

ROSALIND	And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother,
	That you insult, exult, and all at once,
	Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty,--
	As, by my faith, I see no more in you
	Than without candle may go dark to bed--
	Must you be therefore proud and pitiless?
	Why, what means this? Why do you look on me?
	I see no more in you than in the ordinary
	Of nature's sale-work. 'Od's my little life,
	I think she means to tangle my eyes too!
	No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it:
	'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair,
	Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream,
	That can entame my spirits to your worship.
	You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her,
	Like foggy south puffing with wind and rain?
	You are a thousand times a properer man
	Than she a woman: 'tis such fools as you
	That makes the world full of ill-favour'd children:
	'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her;
	And out of you she sees herself more proper
	Than any of her lineaments can show her.
	But, mistress, know yourself: down on your knees,
	And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love:
	For I must tell you friendly in your ear,
	Sell when you can: you are not for all markets:
	Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer:
	Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.
	So take her to thee, shepherd: fare you well.

PHEBE	Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together:
	I had rather hear you chide than this man woo.

ROSALIND	He's fallen in love with your foulness and she'll
	fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as
	she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce her
	with bitter words. Why look you so upon me?

PHEBE	For no ill will I bear you.

ROSALIND	I pray you, do not fall in love with me,
	For I am falser than vows made in wine:
	Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house,
	'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by.
	Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard.
	Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better,
	And be not proud: though all the world could see,
	None could be so abused in sight as he.
	Come, to our flock.


PHEBE	Dead Shepherd, now I find thy saw of might,
	'Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?'

SILVIUS	Sweet Phebe,--

PHEBE	                  Ha, what say'st thou, Silvius?

SILVIUS	Sweet Phebe, pity me.

PHEBE	Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.

SILVIUS	Wherever sorrow is, relief would be:
	If you do sorrow at my grief in love,
	By giving love your sorrow and my grief
	Were both extermined.

PHEBE	Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly?

SILVIUS	I would have you.

PHEBE	                  Why, that were covetousness.
	Silvius, the time was that I hated thee,
	And yet it is not that I bear thee love;
	But since that thou canst talk of love so well,
	Thy company, which erst was irksome to me,
	I will endure, and I'll employ thee too:
	But do not look for further recompense
	Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd.

SILVIUS	So holy and so perfect is my love,
	And I in such a poverty of grace,
	That I shall think it a most plenteous crop
	To glean the broken ears after the man
	That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then
	A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon.

PHEBE	Know'st now the youth that spoke to me erewhile?

SILVIUS	Not very well, but I have met him oft;
	And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds
	That the old carlot once was master of.

PHEBE	Think not I love him, though I ask for him:
	'Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well;
	But what care I for words? yet words do well
	When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.
	It is a pretty youth: not very pretty:
	But, sure, he's proud, and yet his pride becomes him:
	He'll make a proper man: the best thing in him
	Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue
	Did make offence his eye did heal it up.
	He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall:
	His leg is but so so; and yet 'tis well:
	There was a pretty redness in his lip,
	A little riper and more lusty red
	Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference
	Between the constant red and mingled damask.
	There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him
	In parcels as I did, would have gone near
	To fall in love with him; but, for my part,
	I love him not nor hate him not; and yet
	I have more cause to hate him than to love him:
	For what had he to do to chide at me?
	He said mine eyes were black and my hair black:
	And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me:
	I marvel why I answer'd not again:
	But that's all one; omittance is no quittance.
	I'll write to him a very taunting letter,
	And thou shalt bear it: wilt thou, Silvius?

SILVIUS	Phebe, with all my heart.

PHEBE	I'll write it straight;
	The matter's in my head and in my heart:
	I will be bitter with him and passing short.
	Go with me, Silvius.




SCENE I	The forest.


JAQUES	I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted
	with thee.

ROSALIND	They say you are a melancholy fellow.

JAQUES	I am so; I do love it better than laughing.

ROSALIND	Those that are in extremity of either are abominable
	fellows and betray themselves to every modern
	censure worse than drunkards.

JAQUES	Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.

ROSALIND	Why then, 'tis good to be a post.

JAQUES	I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is
	emulation, nor the musician's, which is fantastical,
	nor the courtier's, which is proud, nor the
	soldier's, which is ambitious, nor the lawyer's,
	which is politic, nor the lady's, which is nice, nor
	the lover's, which is all these: but it is a
	melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples,
	extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry's
	contemplation of my travels, in which my often
	rumination wraps me m a most humorous sadness.

ROSALIND	A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to
	be sad: I fear you have sold your own lands to see
	other men's; then, to have seen much and to have
	nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands.

JAQUES	Yes, I have gained my experience.

ROSALIND	And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have
	a fool to make me merry than experience to make me
	sad; and to travel for it too!

	[Enter ORLANDO]

ORLANDO	Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind!

JAQUES	Nay, then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse.


ROSALIND	Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: look you lisp and
	wear strange suits, disable all the benefits of your
	own country, be out of love with your nativity and
	almost chide God for making you that countenance you
	are, or I will scarce think you have swam in a
	gondola. Why, how now, Orlando! where have you been
	all this while? You a lover! An you serve me such
	another trick, never come in my sight more.

ORLANDO	My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise.

ROSALIND	Break an hour's promise in love! He that will
	divide a minute into a thousand parts and break but
	a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the
	affairs of love, it may be said of him that Cupid
	hath clapped him o' the shoulder, but I'll warrant
	him heart-whole.

ORLANDO	Pardon me, dear Rosalind.

ROSALIND	Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight: I
	had as lief be wooed of a snail.

ORLANDO	Of a snail?

ROSALIND	Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he
	carries his house on his head; a better jointure,
	I think, than you make a woman: besides he brings
	his destiny with him.

ORLANDO	What's that?

ROSALIND	Why, horns, which such as you are fain to be
	beholding to your wives for: but he comes armed in
	his fortune and prevents the slander of his wife.

ORLANDO	Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous.

ROSALIND	And I am your Rosalind.

CELIA	It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a
	Rosalind of a better leer than you.

ROSALIND	Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday
	humour and like enough to consent. What would you
	say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind?

ORLANDO	I would kiss before I spoke.

ROSALIND	Nay, you were better speak first, and when you were
	gravelled for lack of matter, you might take
	occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are
	out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking--God
	warn us!--matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.

ORLANDO	How if the kiss be denied?

ROSALIND	Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.

ORLANDO	Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress?

ROSALIND	Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, or
	I should think my honesty ranker than my wit.

ORLANDO	What, of my suit?

ROSALIND	Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit.
	Am not I your Rosalind?

ORLANDO	I take some joy to say you are, because I would be
	talking of her.

ROSALIND	Well in her person I say I will not have you.

ORLANDO	Then in mine own person I die.

ROSALIND	No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is
	almost six thousand years old, and in all this time
	there was not any man died in his own person,
	videlicit, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains
	dashed out with a Grecian club; yet he did what he
	could to die before, and he is one of the patterns
	of love. Leander, he would have lived many a fair
	year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been
	for a hot midsummer night; for, good youth, he went
	but forth to wash him in the Hellespont and being
	taken with the cramp was drowned and the foolish
	coroners of that age found it was 'Hero of Sestos.'
	But these are all lies: men have died from time to
	time and worms have eaten them, but not for love.

ORLANDO	I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind,
	for, I protest, her frown might kill me.

ROSALIND	By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now
	I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on
	disposition, and ask me what you will. I will grant

ORLANDO	Then love me, Rosalind.

ROSALIND	Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all.

ORLANDO	And wilt thou have me?

ROSALIND	Ay, and twenty such.

ORLANDO	What sayest thou?

ROSALIND	Are you not good?

ORLANDO	I hope so.

ROSALIND	Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?
	Come, sister, you shall be the priest and marry us.
	Give me your hand, Orlando. What do you say, sister?

ORLANDO	Pray thee, marry us.

CELIA	I cannot say the words.

ROSALIND	You must begin, 'Will you, Orlando--'

CELIA	Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind?


ROSALIND	Ay, but when?

ORLANDO	Why now; as fast as she can marry us.

ROSALIND	Then you must say 'I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.'

ORLANDO	I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.

ROSALIND	I might ask you for your commission; but I do take
	thee, Orlando, for my husband: there's a girl goes
	before the priest; and certainly a woman's thought
	runs before her actions.

ORLANDO	So do all thoughts; they are winged.

ROSALIND	Now tell me how long you would have her after you
	have possessed her.

ORLANDO	For ever and a day.

ROSALIND	Say 'a day,' without the 'ever.' No, no, Orlando;
	men are April when they woo, December when they wed:
	maids are May when they are maids, but the sky
	changes when they are wives. I will be more jealous
	of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen,
	more clamorous than a parrot against rain, more
	new-fangled than an ape, more giddy in my desires
	than a monkey: I will weep for nothing, like Diana
	in the fountain, and I will do that when you are
	disposed to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, 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
	wit and it will out at the casement; 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?'

ROSALIND	Nay, you might keep that cheque 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 take 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 nurse 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 one 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 behind your hour, I will think you the most
	pathetical break-promise and the most hollow lover
	and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind that
	may be chosen out of the gross band of the
	unfaithful: therefore beware my censure and keep
	your promise.

ORLANDO	With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my
	Rosalind: so adieu.

ROSALIND	Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such
	offenders, and let Time try: adieu.


CELIA	You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate:
	we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your
	head, and show the world what the bird hath done to
	her own nest.

ROSALIND	O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou
	didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But
	it cannot be sounded: 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 Venus that was begot
	of thought, conceived of spleen and born of madness,
	that blind rascally boy that abuses every one'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 shadow and
	sigh till he come.

CELIA	And I'll sleep.




SCENE II	The forest.

	[Enter JAQUES, Lords, and Foresters]

JAQUES	Which is he that killed the deer?

A 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 branch of victory. Have
	you no song, forester, for this purpose?

Forester	Yes, sir.

JAQUES	Sing it: 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it
	make noise enough.
Forester	What shall he have that kill'd the deer?
	His leather skin and horns to wear.
	Then sing him home;

	[The rest shall bear this burden]

	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 lusty horn
	Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.




SCENE III	The forest.


ROSALIND	How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? and
	here much Orlando!

CELIA	I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he
	hath ta'en his bow and arrows and is gone forth to
	sleep. Look, who comes here.

	[Enter SILVIUS]

SILVIUS	My errand is to you, fair youth;
	My gentle Phebe bid me give you this:
	I know not the contents; but, as I guess
	By the stern brow and waspish action
	Which she did use as she was writing of it,
	It bears an angry tenor: pardon me:
	I am but as a guiltless messenger.

ROSALIND	Patience herself would startle at this letter
	And play the swaggerer; 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's 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 device.

SILVIUS	No, I protest, I know not the contents:
	Phebe did write it.

ROSALIND	Come, come, you are a fool
	And turn'd into the extremity of love.
	I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand.
	A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think
	That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands:
	She has a huswife's hand; but that's no matter:
	I say she never did invent this letter;
	This is a man's invention and his hand.

SILVIUS	Sure, it is hers.

ROSALIND	Why, 'tis a boisterous 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-rude invention
	Such Ethiope 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 Phebe's cruelty.

ROSALIND	She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes.


	Art thou god to shepherd turn'd,
	That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?
	Can a woman rail thus?

SILVIUS	Call you this railing?


	Why, thy godhead laid apart,
	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 vengeance to me.
	Meaning me a beast.
	If the scorn of your bright eyne
	Have power to raise such love in mine,
	Alack, in me what strange effect
	Would they work in mild aspect!
	Whiles you chid me, I did love;
	How then might your prayers move!
	He that brings this love to thee
	Little knows this love in me:
	And by him seal up thy mind;
	Whether that thy youth and kind
	Will the faithful offer take
	Of me and all that I can make;
	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
	instrument and play false strains upon thee! not to
	be endured! Well, go your way to her, for I see
	love hath made thee a tame snake, 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.


	[Enter OLIVER]

OLIVER	Good morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you know,
	Where in the purlieus of this forest stands
	A sheep-cote fenced about with olive trees?

CELIA	West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom:
	The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream
	Left 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 bestows himself
	Like a ripe sister: the woman low
	And browner than her brother.' Are not you
	The owner of the house I did inquire for?

CELIA	It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are.

OLIVER	Orlando doth commend him to you both,
	And to that youth he calls his Rosalind
	He sends this bloody napkin. 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 handkercher was stain'd.

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 fancy,
	Lo, what befell! he threw his eye aside,
	And mark what object did present itself:
	Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age
	And high top bald with dry antiquity,
	A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,
	Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck
	A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself,
	Who with her head nimble in threats approach'd
	The opening of his mouth; but suddenly,
	Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself,
	And with indented glides did slip away
	Into a bush: under which bush's shade
	A lioness, with udders all drawn dry,
	Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch,
	When that 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 him the most unnatural
	That lived amongst men.

OLIVER	And well he might so do,
	For well I know he was unnatural.

ROSALIND	But, to Orlando: did he leave him there,
	Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness?

OLIVER	Twice did he turn his back and purposed so;
	But kindness, nobler ever than revenge,
	And nature, stronger than his just occasion,
	Made him give battle to the lioness,
	Who quickly fell before him: in which hurtling
	From miserable slumber I awaked.

CELIA	Are you his brother?

ROSALIND	Wast 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, for the bloody napkin?

OLIVER	By and by.
	When from the first to last betwixt us two
	Tears our recountments had most kindly bathed,
	As how I came into that desert place:--
	In brief, he led me to the gentle duke,
	Who gave me fresh array and entertainment,
	Committing me unto my brother's love;
	Who led me instantly unto his cave,
	There stripp'd 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 recover'd him, bound up his wound;
	And, after some small space, 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 his blood unto the shepherd youth
	That he in sport doth call his Rosalind.

	[ROSALIND swoons]

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 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 body 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 earnest.

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?




SCENE I	The forest.


TOUCHSTONE	We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey.

AUDREY	Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old
	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 in me in
	the world: here comes the man you mean.

TOUCHSTONE	It is meat and drink to me to see a clown: by my
	troth, we that have good wits have much to answer
	for; we shall be flouting; we cannot hold.

	[Enter WILLIAM]

WILLIAM	Good even, Audrey.

AUDREY	God ye good even, William.

WILLIAM	And good even to you, sir.

TOUCHSTONE	Good even, gentle friend. Cover thy head, 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' the forest here?

WILLIAM	Ay, sir, I thank God.

TOUCHSTONE	'Thank God;' a good 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 learned?

WILLIAM	No, sir.

TOUCHSTONE	Then learn this of me: to have, is to have; for it
	is a figure 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 ipse
	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 vulgar leave,--the
	society,--which in the boorish is company,--of this
	female,--which in the common is woman; which
	together is, abandon the society of this female, or,
	clown, thou perishest; or, to thy better
	understanding, diest; or, to wit 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 faction; I will o'errun thee with
	policy; I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways:
	therefore tremble and depart.

AUDREY	Do, good William.

WILLIAM	God rest you merry, sir.


	[Enter CORIN]

CORIN	Our master and mistress seeks you; come, away, away!

TOUCHSTONE	Trip, Audrey! trip, Audrey! I attend, I attend.




SCENE II	The forest.


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 persever to enjoy her?

OLIVER	Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the
	poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden
	wooing, nor her sudden consenting; but say with me,
	I love Aliena; say with her that she loves me;
	consent with both that we may enjoy each other: it
	shall be to your good; for my father's house and all
	the revenue that was old Sir Rowland's will I
	estate upon you, and here live and die a shepherd.

ORLANDO	You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow:
	thither will I invite the duke and all's contented
	followers. Go you and prepare Aliena; for look
	you, here comes my Rosalind.


ROSALIND	God save you, brother.

OLIVER	And you, fair sister.


ROSALIND	O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee
	wear thy heart in a scarf!

ORLANDO	It is my arm.

ROSALIND	I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws
	of a lion.

ORLANDO	Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady.

ROSALIND	Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to
	swoon when he showed me your handkerchief?

ORLANDO	Ay, and greater wonders than that.

ROSALIND	O, I know where you are: nay, 'tis true: there was
	never any thing so sudden but the fight of two rams
	and Caesar's thrasonical brag of 'I came, saw, and
	overcame:' for your brother and my sister no sooner
	met but they looked, no sooner looked but they
	loved, no sooner loved but they sighed, no sooner
	sighed but they asked one another the reason, no
	sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy;
	and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs
	to marriage which they will climb incontinent, or
	else be incontinent before marriage: they are in
	the very wrath of love and they will together; clubs
	cannot part them.

ORLANDO	They shall be married to-morrow, and I will bid the
	duke to the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a thing it
	is to look into happiness through another man's
	eyes! By so much the more shall I to-morrow be at
	the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I shall
	think my brother happy in having what he wishes for.

ROSALIND	Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind?

ORLANDO	I can live no longer by thinking.

ROSALIND	I will weary you then no longer with idle talking.
	Know of me then, for now I speak to some purpose,
	that I know you are a gentleman of good conceit: I
	speak not this that you should bear a good opinion
	of my knowledge, insomuch I say I know you are;
	neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may in
	some little measure draw a belief from you, to do
	yourself good and not to grace me. Believe then, if
	you please, that I can do strange things: I have,
	since I was three year old, conversed with a
	magician, most profound in his art and yet not
	damnable. If you do love Rosalind so near the heart
	as your gesture cries it out, when your brother
	marries Aliena, shall you marry her: I know into
	what straits of fortune she is driven; and it is
	not impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient
	to you, to set her before your eyes tomorrow human
	as she is and without any danger.

ORLANDO	Speakest thou in sober meanings?

ROSALIND	By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, though I
	say I am a magician. Therefore, put you in your
	best array: bid your friends; for if you will be
	married to-morrow, you shall, and to Rosalind, if you will.

	[Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE]

	Look, here comes a lover of mine and a lover of hers.

PHEBE	Youth, you have done me much ungentleness,
	To show the letter that I writ to you.

ROSALIND	I care not if I have: it is my study
	To seem despiteful and ungentle to you:
	You are there followed by a faithful shepherd;
	Look upon him, love him; he worships you.

PHEBE	Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love.

SILVIUS	It is to be all made of sighs and tears;
	And so am I for Phebe.

PHEBE	And I for Ganymede.

ORLANDO	And I for Rosalind.

ROSALIND	And I for no woman.

SILVIUS	It is to be all made of faith and service;
	And so am I for Phebe.

PHEBE	And I for Ganymede.

ORLANDO	And I for Rosalind.

ROSALIND	And I for no woman.

SILVIUS	It is to be all made of fantasy,
	All made of passion and all made of wishes,
	All adoration, duty, and observance,
	All humbleness, all patience and impatience,
	All purity, all trial, all observance;
	And so am I for Phebe.

PHEBE	And so am I for Ganymede.

ORLANDO	And so am I for Rosalind.

ROSALIND	And so am I for no woman.

PHEBE	If this be so, why blame you me to love you?

SILVIUS	If this be so, why blame you me to love you?

ORLANDO	If this be so, why blame you me to love you?

ROSALIND	Who do you speak to, 'Why blame you me to love you?'

ORLANDO	To her that is not here, nor doth not hear.

ROSALIND	Pray you, no more of this; 'tis like the howling
	of Irish wolves against the moon.


	I will help you, if I can:


	I would love you, if I could. To-morrow meet me all together.


	I will marry you, if ever I marry woman, and I'll be
	married to-morrow:


	I will satisfy you, if ever I satisfied man, and you
	shall be married to-morrow:


	I will content you, if what pleases you contents
	you, and you shall be married to-morrow.


	As you love Rosalind, meet:


	as you love Phebe, meet: and as I love no woman,
	I'll meet. So fare you well: I have left you commands.

SILVIUS	I'll not fail, if I live.






SCENE III	The forest.


TOUCHSTONE	To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey; to-morrow will
	we be married.

AUDREY	I do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is
	no dishonest desire to desire to be a woman of the
	world. Here comes two of the banished duke's pages.

	[Enter two Pages]

First Page	Well met, honest gentleman.

TOUCHSTONE	By my troth, well met. Come, sit, sit, and a song.

Second Page	We are for you: sit i' the middle.

First Page	Shall we clap into't roundly, without hawking or
	spitting or saying we are hoarse, which are the only
	prologues to a bad voice?

Second Page	I'faith, i'faith; and both in a tune, like two
	gipsies on a horse.
	It was a lover and his lass,
	With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
	That o'er the green corn-field did pass
	In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
	When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding:
	Sweet lovers love the spring.

	Between the acres of the rye,
	With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino
	These pretty country folks would lie,
	In spring time, &c.

	This carol they began that hour,
	With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
	How that a life was but a flower
	In spring time, &c.

	And therefore take the present time,
	With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino;
	For love is crowned with the prime
	In spring time, &c.

TOUCHSTONE	Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no great
	matter in the ditty, yet the note was very

First Page	You are deceived, sir: we kept time, we lost not our time.

TOUCHSTONE	By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear
	such a foolish song. God be wi' you; and God mend
	your voices! Come, Audrey.




SCENE IV	The forest.

	and CELIA]

DUKE SENIOR	Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy
	Can do all this that he hath promised?

ORLANDO	I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not;
	As those that fear they hope, and know they fear.


ROSALIND	Patience once more, whiles our compact is urged:
	You say, if I bring in your Rosalind,
	You will bestow her on Orlando here?

DUKE SENIOR	That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her.

ROSALIND	And you say, you will have her, when I bring her?

ORLANDO	That would I, were I of all kingdoms king.

ROSALIND	You say, you'll marry me, if I be willing?

PHEBE	That will I, should I die the hour after.

ROSALIND	But if you do refuse to marry me,
	You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd?

PHEBE	So is the bargain.

ROSALIND	You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she will?

SILVIUS	Though to have her and death were both one thing.

ROSALIND	I have promised to make all this matter even.
	Keep you your word, O duke, to give your daughter;
	You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter:
	Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me,
	Or else refusing me, to wed this shepherd:
	Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her.
	If she refuse me: and from hence I go,
	To make these doubts all even.

	[Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA]

DUKE SENIOR	I do remember in this shepherd boy
	Some lively touches of my daughter's favour.

ORLANDO	My lord, the first time that I ever saw him
	Methought he was a brother to your daughter:
	But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born,
	And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments
	Of many desperate studies by his uncle,
	Whom he reports to be a great magician,
	Obscured in the circle of this forest.


JAQUES	There is, sure, another flood toward, and these
	couples are coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of
	very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools.

TOUCHSTONE	Salutation and greeting to you all!

JAQUES	Good my lord, bid him welcome: this is the
	motley-minded gentleman that I have so often met in
	the forest: he hath been a courtier, he swears.

TOUCHSTONE	If any man doubt that, let him put me to my
	purgation. I have trod a measure; I have flattered
	a lady; I have been politic with my friend, smooth
	with mine enemy; I have undone three tailors; I have
	had four quarrels, and like to have fought one.

JAQUES	And how was that ta'en up?

TOUCHSTONE	Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the
	seventh cause.

JAQUES	How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this fellow.

DUKE SENIOR	I like him very well.

TOUCHSTONE	God 'ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I
	press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country
	copulatives, to swear and to forswear: according as
	marriage binds and blood breaks: a poor virgin,
	sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own; a poor
	humour of mine, sir, to take that that no man else
	will: rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a
	poor house; as your pearl in your foul oyster.

DUKE SENIOR	By my faith, he is very swift and sententious.

TOUCHSTONE	According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such dulcet diseases.

JAQUES	But, for the seventh cause; how did you find the
	quarrel on the seventh cause?

TOUCHSTONE	Upon a lie seven times removed:--bear your body more
	seeming, Audrey:--as thus, sir. I did dislike the
	cut of a certain courtier's beard: he sent me word,
	if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the
	mind it was: this is called the Retort Courteous.
	If I sent him word again 'it was not well cut,' he
	would send me word, he cut it to please himself:
	this is called the Quip Modest. If again 'it was
	not well cut,' he disabled my judgment: this is
	called the Reply Churlish. If again 'it was not
	well cut,' he would answer, I spake not true: this
	is called the Reproof Valiant. If again 'it was not
	well cut,' he would say I lied: this is called the
	Counter-cheque Quarrelsome: and so to the Lie
	Circumstantial and the Lie Direct.

JAQUES	And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut?

TOUCHSTONE	I durst go no further than the Lie Circumstantial,
	nor he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we
	measured swords and parted.

JAQUES	Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie?

TOUCHSTONE	O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book; as you have
	books for good manners: I will name you the degrees.
	The first, the Retort Courteous; the second, the
	Quip Modest; the third, the Reply Churlish; the
	fourth, the Reproof Valiant; the fifth, the
	Countercheque Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with
	Circumstance; the seventh, the Lie Direct. All
	these you may avoid but the Lie Direct; and you may
	avoid that too, with an If. I knew when seven
	justices could not take up a quarrel, but when the
	parties were met themselves, one of them thought but
	of an If, as, 'If you said so, then I said so;' and
	they shook hands and swore brothers. Your If is the
	only peacemaker; much virtue in If.

JAQUES	Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's as good at
	any thing and yet a fool.

DUKE SENIOR	He uses his folly like a stalking-horse and under
	the presentation of that he shoots his wit.


	[Still Music]

HYMEN	        Then is there mirth in heaven,
	When earthly things made even
	Atone together.
	Good duke, receive thy daughter
	Hymen from heaven brought her,
	Yea, brought her hither,
	That thou mightst join her hand with his
	Whose heart within his bosom is.

ROSALIND	[To DUKE SENIOR]  To you I give myself, for I am yours.


	To you I give myself, for I am yours.

DUKE SENIOR	If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter.

ORLANDO	If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind.

PHEBE	If sight and shape be true,
	Why then, my love adieu!

ROSALIND	I'll have no father, if you be not he:
	I'll have no husband, if you be not he:
	Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she.

HYMEN	        Peace, ho! I bar confusion:
	'Tis I must make conclusion
	Of these most strange events:
	Here's eight that must take hands
	To join in Hymen's bands,
	If truth holds true contents.
	You and you no cross shall part:
	You and you are heart in heart
	You to his love must accord,
	Or have a woman to your lord:
	You and you are sure together,
	As the winter to foul weather.
	Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing,
	Feed yourselves with questioning;
	That reason wonder may diminish,
	How thus we met, and these things finish.
	Wedding is great Juno's crown:
	O blessed bond of board and bed!
	'Tis Hymen peoples every town;
	High wedlock then be honoured:
	Honour, high honour and renown,
	To Hymen, god of every town!

DUKE SENIOR	O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me!
	Even daughter, welcome, in no less degree.

PHEBE	I will not eat my word, now thou art mine;
	Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine.


JAQUES DE BOYS	Let me have audience for a word or two:
	I am the second son of old Sir Rowland,
	That bring these tidings to this fair assembly.
	Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day
	Men of great worth resorted to this forest,
	Address'd a mighty power; which were on foot,
	In his own conduct, purposely to take
	His brother here and put him to the sword:
	And to the skirts of this wild wood he came;
	Where meeting with an old religious man,
	After some question with him, was converted
	Both from his enterprise and from the world,
	His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother,
	And all their lands restored to them again
	That were with him exiled. This to be true,
	I do engage my life.

DUKE SENIOR	Welcome, young man;
	Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding:
	To one his lands withheld, and to the other
	A land itself at large, a potent dukedom.
	First, in this forest, let us do those ends
	That here were well begun and well begot:
	And after, every of this happy number
	That have endured shrewd days and nights with us
	Shall share the good of our returned fortune,
	According to the measure of their states.
	Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity
	And fall into our rustic revelry.
	Play, music! And you, brides and bridegrooms all,
	With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall.

JAQUES	Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly,
	The duke hath put on a religious life
	And thrown into neglect the pompous court?


JAQUES	To him will I : out of these convertites
	There is much matter to be heard and learn'd.


	You to your former honour I bequeath;
	Your patience and your virtue well deserves it:


	You to a love that your true faith doth merit:


	You to your land and love and great allies:


	You to a long and well-deserved bed:


	And you to wrangling; for thy loving voyage
	Is but for two months victuall'd. So, to your pleasures:
	I am for other than for dancing measures.

DUKE SENIOR	Stay, Jaques, stay.

JAQUES	To see no pastime I	what you would have
	I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave.


DUKE SENIOR	Proceed, proceed: we will begin these rites,
	As we do trust they'll end, in true delights.

	[A dance]



ROSALIND	It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue;
	but it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord
	the prologue. If it be true that good wine needs
	no bush, 'tis true that a good play needs no
	epilogue; yet to good wine they do use good bushes,
	and good plays prove the better by the help of good
	epilogues. What a case am I in then, that am
	neither a good epilogue nor cannot insinuate with
	you in the behalf of a good play! I am not
	furnished like a beggar, therefore to beg will not
	become me: my way is to conjure you; and I'll begin
	with the women. I charge you, O women, for the love
	you bear to men, to like as much of this play as
	please you: and I charge you, O men, for the love
	you bear to women--as I perceive by your simpering,
	none of you hates them--that between you and the
	women the play may please. If I were a woman I
	would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased
	me, complexions that liked me and breaths that I
	defied not: and, I am sure, as many as have good
	beards or good faces or sweet breaths will, for my
	kind offer, when I make curtsy, bid me farewell.


Next: Comedy of Errors