him. But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica, Some welcome for the mistress of the house. Laun. Sola, sola, wo, ha, ho, sola, sola! Laun. Sola! did you see master Lorenzo, and mistress Lorenzo? sola, sola! Lor. Leave hollaing, man; here. Laun. Tell him, there's a post come from my master, with his horn full of good news; my master will be here ere morning. [Erit. Lor. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their coming. And yet no matter:-Why should we go in? But in his motion like an angel sings, Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn; musick. poet Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods; Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage, Enter Portia and Nerissa at a distance. Por. That light we see is burning in my hall. How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world. candle. Por. So doth the greater glory dim the less: The nightingale, if she should sing by day, Or I am much deceived, of Portia. Lor. Dear lady, welcome home. Por. We have been praying for our husbands' welfare, Lor. Which speed, we hope, the better for our words. Give order to my servants, that they take [A tucket sounds. Lor. Your husband is at hand, I hear his trumpet; We are no tell-tales, madam; fear you not. It looks a little paler; 'tis a day,, Enter Bassanio, Antonio, Gratiano, and their Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes, If you would walk in absence of the sun. For a light wife doth make a heavy husband, Por. Let me give light, but let me not be light; But God sort all!-You are welcome home, my And never be Bassanio so for me; lord. Bass. I thank you, madam; give welcome to my friend. To whom I am so infinitely bound. Por. You should in all sense be much bound to him, For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. wrong; Gratiano and Nerissa seem to talk apart. Gra. By yonder moon, I swear, you do me In faith, I gave it the judge's clerk: Would he were gelt that had it, for my part, Since you do take it, love, so much at heart. Por. A quarrel, ho, already! what's the matter? Gra. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring That she did give me whose posy was For all the world like cutler's poetry Upon a knife, Love me, and leave me not. Ner. What talk you of the posy, or the value? You swore to me, when I did give it you, That you would wear it till your hour of death; And that which you did swear to keep for me, kept it, Gave it a judge's clerk!-but well I know, The clerk will ne'er wear hair on his face that had it. Gra. He will, an if he live to be a man. Ner. Ay, if a woman live to be a man. Gra. Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth,A kind of boy; a little scrubbed boy, No higher than thyself; the judge's clerk; A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee: I could not for my heart deny it him. Por. You were to blame, I must be plain with you, To part so slightly with your wife's first gift: Bass. Why, I were best to cut my left hand off, And swear I lost the ring defending it. [Aside. Gra. My lord Bassanio gave his ring away Unto the judge that begg'd it, and, indeed, Deserv'd it too; and then the boy, his clerk, That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine; And neither man, nor master, would take aught But the two rings. Por. What ring gave you, my lord? Not that, I hope, which you receiv'd of me. Bass. If I could add a lie unto a fault, I would deny it: but you see, my finger Hath not the ring upon it, it is gone. Por. Even so void is your false heart of truth. By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed Until I see the ring. Ner. Nor I in yours, Till I again see mine. sure. Por. If you had known the virtue of the ring, Or half her worthiness that gave the ring, Or your own honour to contain the ring, You would not then have parted with the ring. What man is there so much unreasonable, If you had pleased to have defended it With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty To urge the thing held as a ceremony ? Nerissa teaches me what to believe; I'll die for't, but some woman had the ring. Bass. No, by mine honour, madam, by my soul. No woman had it, but a civil doctor, Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me, And begg'd the ring; the which I did deny him, And suffer'd him to go displeas'd away; Even he that had held up the very life Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady? I was enforc'd to send it after him; I was beset with shame and courtesy ; The ring of me to give the worthy doctor. No, not my body, nor my husband's bed: If you do not, if I be left alone, Now, by mine honour, which is yet my own, Ner. And I his clerk; therefore be well advis'd, How you do leave me to mine own protection. Gra. Well, do you so: let not me take him then; For, if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen. Ant. I am the unhappy subject of these quar rels. Por. Sir, grieve not you; You are welcome notwithstanding. Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong; And, in the hearing of these many friends, I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes, Wherein I see myself, Por. Mark you but that! In both my eyes he doubly sees himself: In each eye, one :-swear by your double self, And there's an oath of credit. Bass. Nay, but hear me : Pardon this fault, and by my soul'l swear, I never more will break an oath with thee. Por. Then you shall be his surety: Give him this; And bid him keep it better than the other. ring. Bass. By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor! Por. I had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio; For by this ring the doctor lay with me. Ner. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano; For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk, In lieu of this, last night did lie with me. Gra. Why, this is like the mending of high ways In summer, where the ways are fair enough: Here is a letter, read it at your leisure; I am dumb. Unless he live until he be a man. Bass. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow; Por. Let not that doctor e'er come near my For here I read for certain, that my ships house; Since he hath got the jewel that I lov❜d, Are safely come to road. Por. How now, Lorenzo 7 DUKE, living in erile. PERSONS REPRESENTED. FREDERICK, Brother to the Duke, and LE BEAU, a Courtier attending upon Fre- CHARLES, his Wrestler. OLIVER, SIR OLIVER MAR-TEXT, a Vicar. WILLIAM, a Country Fellow in love with A Person representing Hymen. ROSALIND, Daughter to the banished Duke. JAQUES, Sons of Sir Rowland de Bois. PHEBE, a Shepherdess. ORLANDO,Y ADAM, DENNIS, Servants to Oliver. TOUCHSTONE, a Clown. AUDREY, a country Wench. Lords belonging to the two Dukes; Pages, Foresters, and other Attendants. The SCENE lies, first, near Oliver's House; afterwards, partly in the Usurper's Court, and partly in the Forest of Arden. ACT I. Oli. What mar you then, sir 7 Orl. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that SCENE I. An Orchard, near Oliver's House. which God made, a poor unworthy brother of Enter Orlando and Adam. yours, with idleness. Oli. Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile. Orl. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed me by will: But a poor Orl. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat huska thousand crowns; and, as thou say'st, charged with them? What prodigal portion have I spent my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well: that I should come to such penury? and there begins my sadness. My brother Jaques Oli. Know you where you are, sir? he keeps at school, and report speaks goldenly Orl. O, sir, very well: here in your orchard. of his profit: for my part, he keeps me rustically Oli. Know you before whom, sir? at home, or, to speak more properly, stays me Orl. Ay, better than he I am before knows here at home unkept: For call you that keeping me. I know, you are my eldest brother; and, for a gentleman of my birth, that differs not from in the gentle condition of blood, you should so the stalling of an ox? His horses are bred bet-know me: The courtesy of nations allows you ter; for, besides that they are fair with their my better, in that you are the first-born; but feeding, they are taught their manage, and to the same tradition takes not away my blood, that end riders dearly hired: but I, his brother, were there twenty brothers betwixt us: I have gain nothing under him but growth for the as much of my father in me, as you; albeit, I which his animals on his dunghills are as much confess, your coming before me is nearer to his bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he reverence. 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 Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain. him lies, mines my gentilfty with my education. Orl. I am no villain: I am the youngest son This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit of Sir Rowland de Bois; he was my father; 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. Enter Oliver. Adam. Yonder comes my master, your brother. Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up. Oli. Now, sir! what make you here? 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. Oli. Let me go, I say. Orl. I will not, till 1 please: you shall hear me. My father charged you in his will to give Orl. Nothing: I am not taught to make any me good education: you have trained me like a thing. peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all gen Oli. And what wilt thou do 7 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. Orl. I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good. tleman-like qualities; the spirit of my father and villanous contriver against me his natural grows strong in me, and I will no longer endure brother; therefore use thy discretion; I had as it: therefore allow me such exercises as may lief thou didst break his neck as his finger: and become a gentleman, or give me the poor allot-thou wert best look to't; for if thou dost him tery my father left me by testament: with that any slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace 1 will go buy my fortunes. 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: or, 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. Cha. I am heartily glad 1 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. Exit. Oli. 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. Oli. Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? I will physick your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. Hola, Dennis! Enter Dennis. Den. Calls your worship? Oli. Was not Charles, the Duke's wrestler, here to speak with me? Den. So please you, he is here at the door, and importunes access to you. Oli. Call him in. [Exit Dennis.]-Twill be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is. Enter Charles. Cha. Good morrow to your worship. Oli. Good monsieur Charles !-what's the new news at the new court! Cha. 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. Oli. Can you tell, if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, be banished with her father. Oli. Farewell, good Charles.-Now will 1 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 school'd, 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. [Exit. SCENE II. A Lawn before the Duke's Palace. Enter Rosalind and Celia. Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. Ros. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than 1 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. Cha. O, no; for the duke's daughter, her cou- Cel. Herein, I see, thou lovest me not with sin, so loves her,-being ever from their cradles the full weight that I love thee: if my uncle, thy 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. Oli. Where will the old duke live? Cha. 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. Oli. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke? 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 would'st thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously temper'd as mine is to thee. Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to rejoice in yours. Cel. 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 ren der 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. Ros. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports: let me see; What think you of falling in love? Cha. 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 disguis'd against me to try a fall: To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he that escapes me without some Cel. Marry, I pr'ythee, do, to make sport broken fimb, shall acquit him well. Your bro- withal: but love no man in good earnest; nor ther is but young, and tender; and, for your no further in sport neither, than with safety of love, I would be loath to foil him, as I must, for a pure blush thou may'st in honour come o 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. again. Ros. What shall be our sport then? Ros. I would, we could do so; for her benefits Oli. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, are mightily misplaced: and the bountiful blind which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. woman doth most mistake in her gifts to women. I had myself notice of my brother's purpose Cel. "Tis true: for those that she makes fair, herein, and have by underhand means laboured she scarce makes honest; and those that she to dissuade him from it: but he is resolute. I'll makes honest, she makes very ill-favour'dly. tell thee, Charles,-it is the stubbornest young Ros. Nay, now thou goest from fortune's office fellow of France: full of ambition, an envious to nature's fortune reigns in gifts of the world, emulator of every man's good parts, a secret not in the lineaments of nature. Enter Touchstone. Le Beau. There comes an old man, and his three sons, Cel. I could match this beginning with an old tale. Le Beau. Three proper young men, of excel lent growth and presence; Cel. 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? Ros. With bills on their necks,-Be it known Ros. Indeed, there is fortune too hard for na-unto all men by these presents,ture; when fortune makes nature's natural the Le Beau. The eldest of the three wrestled with cutter off of nature's wit. 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. Ros. Alas! Cel. Peradventure, this is not fortune's work neither, but nature's; who perceiving our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, hath sent this natural for our whetstone: for always the dulness of the fool is the whetstone of his wits.-How now, wit? whither wander you? Touch. Mistress, you must come away to your father. Cel. Were you made the messenger 7 Touch. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come for you. Ros. Where learned you that oath, fool? Touch. Of a certain knight, that swore by his honour they were good pancakes, and swore by his honour the mustard was naught: now ' stand to it, the pancakes were naught, and the mustard was good; and yet was not the knight forsworn. Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge? Ros. Ay, marry; now unmuzzle your wisdom. Touch. Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and swear by your beards that I am knave. a Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou art. Touch. 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. Cel. 'Pr'ythee, who is't that thou mean'st? Touch. One that old Frederick, your father, loves. Cel. My father's love is enough to honour him. Enough! speak no more of him; you'll be whipp'd for taxation, one of these days. Touch. The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely, what wise men do foolishly. Cel. By my troth, thou say'st 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. Enter Le Beau. Ros. With his mouth full of news. 1 Touch. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies have lost? Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of. Touch. Thus men may grow wiser every day! it is the first time that ever I heard, breaking of ribs was sport for ladies. Cel. Or I, I promise thee. Ros. But is there any else longs to see this broken musick 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. Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming: Let us now stay and see it. Flourish. Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, Or- Cel. Alas, he is too young: yet he looks successfully. Duke F. How now, daughter and cousin? are you crept hither to see the wrestling? Ros. Ay, my liege: so please you give us leave. Duke F. You will take little delight in it, I can tell you, there is such odds in the men: 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. Cel. Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau. Duke F. Do so; I'll not be by. [Duke F. goes apart. Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the princesses call for you. Orl. I attend them, with all respect and duty. Cel. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed Ros. Young man, have you challenged Charles their young. the wrestler? Orl. No, fair princess; he is the general chalmar-lenger: I come but in, as others do, to try with him the strength of my youth. Ros. Then shall we be news-cramm'd. Cel. All the better; we shall be the more ketable. Bonjour, Monsieur Le Beau; What's the news? Le Beau. Fair princess, you have lost much good sport. Cel. Sport ? Of what colour? Cel. 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, Le Beau. What colour, madam ? how shall the fear of your adventure would counsel you to answer you? Ros. As wit and fortune will. Cel. Well said: that was laid on with a trowel. Le Beau. You amaze me, ladies: I would have told you of good wrestling, which you have lost the sight of. Ros. Yet 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. Cel. Well,-the beginning, that is dead and buried a more equal enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own safety, and give over this attempt. Ros. 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. Orl. 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 is willing to be so; I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none to la ment me; the world no injury, for in it I have |