Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. Ros. Why then, 'tis good to be a post. Jaq. 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 ambi tious; 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 contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me, is a most humorous sadness. Ros. 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. Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience. Ros. 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. Orl. Good-day, and happiness, dear Rosalind! Jaq. Nay then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse. [Exit. Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller: Look, you lisp, and wear strange suits; disable t 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. Orl. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise. Ros. 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 clapp'd him o' the shoulder, but I warrant him heartwhole. Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. Kos. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight: I had as lief be woo'd of a snail. Orl. Of a snail? Ros. Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries his house on his head; a better jointure, I think, than you can make a woman: Besides, he brings his destiny with him. Orl. What's that? Ros. Why, horns; which such as you are fain to be beholden to your wives for: but he comes armed in his fortune, and prevents the slander of his wife. Ori. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous. Ros. And I am your Rosalind. • Trifling. Cel. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leer than you. Ros. 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 Rosalind? Orl. I would kiss, before 1 spoke. Rus. 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. Orl. How if the kiss be denied? Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.. Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress? Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress; or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit. Orl. What, of my suit? Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind? Örl. I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of her. Ros. Well, in her person, I say-I will not have you. Orl. Then, in mine own person, I die. Ros. 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, videlicet, 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 chroniclers of that age found it was-Hero of Sestos. But these are all fies; men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love. Orl. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind; for,I protest,her frown might kill me. Ros. 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 it. Orl. Then love me, Rosalind. Ros. Yes, faith will I, Fridays, and Saturdays, and all. Orl. And wilt thou have me? Ros. Ay, and twenty such. Ros. Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?-Come, sister, you shall be the priest, and marry us.-Give me your han Orlando:-What do you say, sister? Orl. Pray thee, marry us. Ros. You must begin,-Will you,Orlando,~ | Cel. Go to: Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind? Orl. I will. Ros. Ay, but when? Orl. Why now; as fast as she can marry us. Ros. Then you must say,-I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. Ros. I might ask you for your commission; but, I do take thee, Orlando, for my hus band: There a girl goes before the priest; and, certainly, a woman's thought runs before ber actions. Ort. So do all thoughts; they are winged. Ros. Now tell me, how long you would have her, after you have possessed her. Orl. For ever, and a day. Ros. Say a day, without the ever: No, no, Orlando; men are April when they woo, Dezember 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 Barbar cock-pigeon over his hen; more clamorous than a parrot against rain; more new-fangled than an ape; more giddy ia 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. Orl, But will my Rosalind do so? Ros. 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. Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say,-Wit, whither wilt? Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for it, till you met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed. Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse that? Ros. 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. Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. Ros. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. Orl. I must attend the duke at dinner; by two o'clock I will be with thee again. Ros. 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 flatfering tongue of yours won me :-'tis but one cast away, and so,-come death.-Two o'clock is your bour? Ori. Ay, sweet Rosalind. Bar the doors. Ros. 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 cen. sure, and keep your promise. Orl. With no less religion, than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind: So, adieu. Ros. Well, time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let time try : Adien! [Exit ORLANDO. Cel. 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. Ros. 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. Cel. Or rather, bottomless; that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out. Ros. 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 Auena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando :-I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come. Cet. And I'll sleep. SCENE II. Another part of the Forest. Enter JAQUES and Lords, in the habit of Foresters. [Exeunt. Cei. 1 warrant you, with pure love, and troubled brain, he hath ta'en his bow and ar rows, and is gone forth-to sleep: Look, who comes here. Enter SILVIUS. Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth ;My gentle Phebe bid me give you this: [Giving a letter. I know not the contents; but, as 1 guess, By the stern brow, and waspish action Which she did use as she was writing of it, It bears an angry tenonr: pardon me, I am but as a guiltless messenger. [letter, Ros. Patience herself would startle at this 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, This is a letter of your own device. [well, Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents; Phebe did write it. Ros. 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: 1 say, she never did invent this letter: This is a man's invention, and his hand. Sil. Sure, it is hers. Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and cruel style, A style for challengers; why, she defies me, Like Turk to Christian: woman's gentle brain Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention, Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect Than in their countenance :-Will you hear the letter? Sil. Call you this railing? Warr'st thou with a woman's heart? If the scorn of your bright eynet Will the faithful offer take Ros. 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 com. pany. [Exit SILVIUS. Enter OLIVER. Oli. 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? Cel. 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, Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, Then I should know you by description; Such garments, and such years: The boy is fair, Of female favour, and bestows himself Like a ripe sister: but the woman low, And browner than her brother. Are not you The owner of the house I did inquire for? Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say, we are. [both; I pray you, tell it. Oli. When last the young Orlando parted He left a promise to return again [from you, Within an hour; and, pacing through the forest, Chewing the food of sweet and bit er fancy, Lo, what befel! he threw his eye aside, And, mark, what object did present itself! Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with And high top bald with dry antiquity, [age, A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself, Who, with her head, nimble in threats, aps proach'd The opening of his mouth; but suddenly Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself, And with indented glides did slip away Into a bush: nuder which bush's shade A lioness, with udders all drawn dry, Lay couching, head on ground, with cat-like When that the sleeping man should stir; for And he did render him the most unnatural Was it you he rescued? Cel. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him? Oli. 'Twas I; but 'tis not I: I do not shame And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind. Oli. Many will swoon when they do look Ros. I would, I were at home. 1 Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sir, a body would think this was well counterfeited: I pray you, tell your brother how well I counterfeited.-Heigh ho! Oli. This was not counterfeit; there is too great testimony in your complexion, that it was a passion of earnest. Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you. Oli. Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit to be a man. Ros. So I do: but, i'faith I should have been a woman by right. Cel. Come, you look paler and paler; pray you, draw homewards :-Good sir, go with us. Oli. That will I, for I must bear answer back: How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. Ros. I shall devise something: But, I pray yon, commend my counterfeiting to him:Will you go? ACT V. SCENE I. The same. Aud. 'Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old gentleman's saying. Touch. A most wicked sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile Mar-text. But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to you. Aud. Ay, I know who 'tis, he hath no interest in me in the world: here comes the man you mean. Enter WILLIAM. Touch. 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. Will. Good even, Audrey. • Describe. [Exeunt. Touch. Good even, gentle friend: Cover thy head, cover thy head; nay, pr'ythee, be covered. How old are you, friend. Will Five and twenty, sir. Touch. A ripe age: Is thy name, William? Touch. A fair name: Wast born i' the forest here? Will. Ay, sir, I thank God. Touch. Thank God;-a good answer: Art rich? Will. 'Faith, sir, so, so. Touch. So, so, is good, very good, very excellent good:-and yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thou wise? Will. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. Touch. Why, thou say'st 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 + Scuffle. lips when he put it into his mouth; meaning - Orl. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a thereby, that grapes were made to eat, and lips to open. You do love this maid? fill. I do, sir. lady. Ros. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to swoon, when he showed me Touch. Give me your hand: Art thou your handkerchief? learned? Will. No, sir. Touch. 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. Will. Which he, sir? Touch. 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 toge ther is, abandon the society of this female; or, clown, thou perishest; or, to thy better understanding, diest; 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'er run thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways; therefore tremble, and depart. Aud. Do, good William. [Exit. Cor. Our master and mistress seek you; come, away, away. Touch. Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey;-I attend, I attend. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The same. Enter ORLANDO and OLIVER. Orl. 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 perséver to enjoy her? Oli. 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. Enter ROSALIND. Orl. You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow: thither will I invite the duke, and all his contented followers: Go you, and prepare Aliena; for, look you, here comes my Rosalind. Ros. God save you, brother. Oli. And you, fair sister. Ros. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee wear thy heart in a scarf. Orl. It is my arm. Ros. I thought, thy heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion. Orl. Ay, and greater wonders than that. Ros. O, I know where you are:-Nay, 'tis true: there was never any thing so sudden, but the fight of two rams, and Cæsar's thrasonical brag of-1 came, saw, and overcame: For your brother and my sister no sooner inet, 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. Orl. They shall be married to-morrow: and I will bid the duke to the nuptial. But, 0, 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 heartheaviness, by how much I shall think my brother happy, in having what he wishes for. Ros. Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind? Orl. I can live no longer by thinking. Ros. I will weary you no longer then 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 yon 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 years old, conversed with a magician, most profound in this 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 to-morrow, human as she is, and without any danger. Orl. Speakest thou in sober meanings? Ros. 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. Phe. Youth, you have done me much un gentleness, To show the letter that I writ to you. Ros. I care not, if I have: it is my study, To seem despiteful and ungentle to you: * Invite. |