As you Like it

William Shakespeare

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  • As you Like it
  • As you Like it

    Actus primus. Scoena Prima.


    Enter Orlando and Adam.


      Orlando. As I remember Adam, it was vpon this fashion
    bequeathed me by will, but poore a thousand
    Crownes, and as thou saist, charged my brother
    on his blessing to breed mee well: and
    there begins my sadnesse: My brother Iaques he keepes
    at schoole, and report speakes goldenly of his profit:
    for my part, he keepes me rustically at home, or (to speak
    more properly) staies me heere at home vnkept: for call
    you that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that differs
    not from the stalling of an Oxe? his horses are bred
    better, for besides that they are faire with their feeding,
    they are taught their mannage, and to that end Riders
    deerely hir'd: but I (his brother) gaine nothing vnder
    him but growth, for the which his Animals on his
    dunghils are as much bound to him as I: besides this nothing
    that he so plentifully giues me, the something that
    nature gaue mee, his countenance seemes to take from
    me: hee lets mee feede with his Hindes, barres mee the
    place of a brother, and as much as in him lies, mines my
    gentility with my education. This is it Adam that
    grieues me, and the spirit of my Father, which I thinke
    is within mee, begins to mutinie against this seruitude.
    I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wise
    remedy how to auoid it.
    Enter Oliuer.


      Adam. Yonder comes my Master, your brother


       Orlan. Goe a-part Adam, and thou shalt heare how
    he will shake me vp


       Oli. Now Sir, what make you heere?
      Orl. Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing


       Oli. What mar you then sir?
      Orl. Marry sir, I am helping you to mar that which
    God made, a poore vnworthy brother of yours with
    idlenesse


       Oliuer. Marry sir be better employed, and be naught
    a while


       Orlan. Shall I keepe your hogs, and eat huskes with
    them? what prodigall portion haue I spent, that I should
    come to such penury?
      Oli. Know you where you are sir?
      Orl. O sir, very well: heere in your Orchard


       Oli. Know you before whom sir?
      Orl. I, better then him I am before knowes mee: I
    know you are my eldest brother, and in the gentle condition
    of bloud you should so know me: the courtesie of
    nations allowes you my better, in that you are the first
    borne, but the same tradition takes not away my bloud,
    were there twenty brothers betwixt vs: I haue as much
    of my father in mee, as you, albeit I confesse your comming
    before me is neerer to his reuerence


       Oli. What Boy


       Orl. Come, come elder brother, you are too yong in this


       Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me villaine?
      Orl. I am no villaine: I am the yongest sonne of Sir
    Rowland de Boys, he was my father, and he is thrice a villaine
    that saies such a father begot villaines: wert thou
    not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy
    throat, till this other had puld out thy tongue for saying
    so, thou hast raild on thy selfe


       Adam. Sweet Masters bee patient, for your Fathers
    remembrance, be at accord


       Oli. Let me goe I say


       Orl. I will not till I please: you shall heare mee: my
    father charg'd you in his will to giue me good education:
    you haue train'd me like a pezant, obscuring and
    hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities: the spirit
    of my father growes strong in mee, and I will no longer
    endure it: therefore allow me such exercises as may become
    a gentleman, or giue mee the poore allottery my
    father left me by testament, with that I will goe buy my
    fortunes


       Oli. 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 haue some part of your will, I pray you
    leaue me


       Orl. I will no further offend you, then becomes mee
    for my good


       Oli. Get you with him, you olde dogge


       Adam. Is old dogge my reward: most true, I haue
    lost my teeth in your seruice: God be with my olde master,
    he would not haue spoke such a word.


    Ex. Orl. Ad.


      Oli. Is it euen so, begin you to grow vpon me? I will
    physicke your ranckenesse, and yet giue no thousand
    crownes neyther: holla Dennis.
    Enter Dennis.


      Den. Calls your worship?
      Oli. Was not Charles the Dukes Wrastler heere to
    speake with me?
      Den. So please you, he is heere at the doore, and importunes
    accesse to you


       Oli. Call him in: 'twill be a good way: and to morrow
    the wrastling is.
    Enter Charles.


      Cha. Good morrow to your worship


       Oli. Good Mounsier Charles: what's the new newes
    at the new Court?
      Charles. There's no newes at the Court Sir, but the
    olde newes: that is, the old Duke is banished by his yonger
    brother the new Duke, and three or foure louing
    Lords haue put themselues into voluntary exile with
    him, whose lands and reuenues enrich the new Duke,
    therefore he giues them good leaue to wander


       Oli. Can you tell if Rosalind the Dukes daughter bee
    banished with her Father?
      Cha. O no; for the Dukes daughter her Cosen so
    loues her, being euer from their Cradles bred together,
    that hee would haue followed her exile, or haue died to
    stay behind her; she is at the Court, and no lesse beloued
    of her Vncle, then his owne daughter, and neuer two Ladies
    loued as they doe


       Oli. Where will the old Duke liue?
      Cha. They say hee is already in the Forrest of Arden,
    and a many merry men with him; and there they liue
    like the old Robin Hood of England: they say many yong
    Gentlemen flocke to him euery day, and fleet the time
    carelesly as they did in the golden world


       Oli. What, you wrastle to morrow before the new
    Duke


       Cha. Marry doe I sir: and I came to acquaint you
    with a matter: I am giuen sir secretly to vnderstand, that
    your yonger brother Orlando hath a disposition to come
    in disguis'd against mee to try a fall: to morrow sir I
    wrastle for my credit, and hee that escapes me without
    some broken limbe, shall acquit him well: your brother
    is but young and tender, and for your loue I would bee
    loth to foyle him, as I must for my owne honour if hee
    come in: therefore out of my loue to you, I came hither
    to acquaint you withall, that either you might stay him
    from his intendment, or brooke such disgrace well as he
    shall runne into, in that it is a thing of his owne search,
    and altogether against my will


       Oli. Charles , I thanke thee for thy loue to me, which
    thou shalt finde I will most kindly requite: I had my
    selfe notice of my Brothers purpose heerein, and haue by
    vnder-hand meanes laboured to disswade him from it;
    but he is resolute. Ile tell thee Charles, it is the stubbornest
    yong fellow of France, full of ambition, an enuious
    emulator of euery mans good parts, a secret &villanous
    contriuer against mee his naturall brother: therefore vse
    thy discretion, I had as liefe thou didst breake his necke
    as his finger. And thou wert best looke to't; for if thou
    dost him any slight disgrace, or if hee doe not mightilie
    grace himselfe on thee, hee will practise against thee by
    poyson, entrap thee by some treacherous deuise, and neuer
    leaue thee till he hath tane thy life by some indirect
    meanes or other: for I assure thee, (and almost with
    teares I speake it) there is not one so young, and so villanous
    this day liuing. I speake but brotherly of him,
    but should I anathomize him to thee, as hee is, I must
    blush, and weepe, and thou must looke pale and
    wonder


       Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to you: if hee
    come to morrow, Ile giue him his payment: if euer hee
    goe alone againe, Ile neuer wrastle for prize more: and
    so God keepe your worship.
    Enter.


    Farewell good Charles. Now will I stirre this Gamester:
    I hope I shall see an end of him; for my soule (yet
    I know not why) hates nothing more then he: yet hee's
    gentle, neuer school'd, and yet learned, full of noble
    deuise, of all sorts enchantingly beloued, and indeed
    so much in the heart of the world, and especially of my
    owne people, who best know him, that I am altogether
    misprised: but it shall not be so long, this wrastler shall
    cleare all: nothing remaines, but that I kindle the boy
    thither, which now Ile goe about.
    Enter.



    Scoena Secunda.


    Enter Rosalind, and Cellia.


      Cel. I pray thee Rosalind, sweet my Coz, be merry


       Ros. Deere Cellia; I show more mirth then I am mistresse
    of, and would you yet were merrier: vnlesse you
    could teach me to forget a banished father, you must not
    learne mee how to remember any extraordinary pleasure


       Cel. Heerein I see thou lou'st mee not with the full
    waight that I loue thee; if my Vncle thy banished father
    had banished thy Vncle the Duke my Father, so thou
    hadst beene still with mee, I could haue taught my loue
    to take thy father for mine; so wouldst thou, if the truth
    of thy loue to me were so righteously temper'd, as mine
    is to thee


       Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate,
    to reioyce in yours


       Cel. You know my Father hath no childe, but I, nor
    none is like to haue; and truely when he dies, thou shalt
    be his heire; for what hee hath taken away from thy father
    perforce, I will render thee againe in affection: by
    mine honor I will, and when I breake that oath, let mee
    turne monster: therefore my sweet Rose, my deare Rose,
    be merry


       Ros. From henceforth I will Coz, and deuise sports:
    let me see, what thinke you of falling in Loue?
      Cel. Marry I prethee doe, to make sport withall: but
    loue no man in good earnest, nor no further in sport neyther,
    then with safety of a pure blush, thou maist in honor
    come off againe


       Ros. What shall be our sport then?
      Cel. Let vs sit and mocke the good houswife Fortune
    from her wheele, that her gifts may henceforth bee
    bestowed equally


       Ros. I would wee could doe so: for her benefits are
    mightily misplaced, and the bountifull blinde woman
    doth most mistake in her gifts to women


       Cel. 'Tis true, for those that she makes faire, she scarce
    makes honest, &those that she makes honest, she makes
    very illfauouredly


       Ros. Nay now thou goest from Fortunes office to Natures:
    Fortune reignes in gifts of the world, not in the
    lineaments of Nature.
    Enter Clowne.


      Cel. No; when Nature hath made a faire creature,
    may she not by Fortune fall into the fire? though nature
    hath giuen vs wit to flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune
    sent in this foole to cut off the argument?
      Ros. Indeed there is fortune too hard for nature, when
    fortune makes natures naturall, the cutter off of natures
    witte


       Cel. Peraduenture this is not Fortunes work neither,
    but Natures, who perceiueth our naturall wits too dull
    to reason of such goddesses, hath sent this Naturall for
    our whetstone: for alwaies the dulnesse of the foole, is
    the whetstone of the wits. How now Witte, whether
    wander you?
      Clow. Mistresse, you must come away to your father


       Cel. Were you made the messenger?
      Clo. No by mine honor, but I was bid to come for you
      Ros. Where learned you that oath foole?
      Clo. Of a certaine Knight, that swore by his Honour
    they were good Pan-cakes, and swore by his Honor the
    Mustard was naught: Now Ile stand to it, the Pancakes
    were naught, and the Mustard was good, and yet was
    not the Knight forsworne


       Cel. How proue you that in the great heape of your
    knowledge?
      Ros. I marry, now vnmuzzle your wisedome


       Clo. Stand you both forth now: stroke your chinnes,
    and sweare by your beards that I am a knaue


       Cel. By our beards (if we had them) thou art


       Clo. By my knauerie (if I had it) then I were: but if
    you sweare by that that is not, you are not forsworn: no
    more was this knight swearing by his Honor, for he neuer
    had anie; or if he had, he had sworne it away, before
    euer he saw those Pancakes, or that Mustard


       Cel. Prethee, who is't that thou means't?
      Clo. One that old Fredericke your Father loues


       Ros. My Fathers loue is enough to honor him enough;
    speake no more of him, you'l be whipt for taxation one
    of these daies


       Clo. The more pittie that fooles may not speak wisely,
    what Wisemen do foolishly


       Cel. By my troth thou saiest true: For, since the little
    wit that fooles haue was silenced, the little foolerie that
    wise men haue makes a great shew; Heere comes Monsieur
    the Beu.
    Enter le Beau.


      Ros. With his mouth full of newes


       Cel. Which he will put on vs, as Pigeons feed their
    young


       Ros. Then shal we be newes-cram'd


       Cel. All the better: we shalbe the more Marketable.
    Boon-iour Monsieur le Beu, what's the newes?
      Le Beu. Faire Princesse,
    you haue lost much good sport


       Cel. Sport: of what colour?
      Le Beu. What colour Madame? How shall I aunswer
    you?
      Ros. As wit and fortune will


       Clo. Or as the destinies decrees


       Cel. Well said, that was laid on with a trowell


       Clo. Nay, if I keepe not my ranke


       Ros. Thou loosest thy old smell


       Le Beu. You amaze me Ladies: I would haue told
    you of good wrastling, which you haue lost the sight of


       Ros. Yet tell vs the manner of the Wrastling


       Le Beu. I wil tell you the beginning: and if it please
    your Ladiships, you may see the end, for the best is yet
    to doe, and heere where you are, they are comming to
    performe it


       Cel. Well, the beginning that is dead and buried


       Le Beu. There comes an old man, and his three sons


       Cel. I could match this beginning with an old tale


       Le Beu. Three proper yong men, of excellent growth
    and presence


       Ros. With bils on their neckes: Be it knowne vnto
    all men by these presents


       Le Beu. The eldest of the three, wrastled with Charles
    the Dukes Wrastler, which Charles in a moment threw
    him, and broke three of his ribbes, that there is little
    hope of life in him: So he seru'd the second, and so the
    third: yonder they lie, the poore old man their Father,
    making such pittiful dole ouer them, that all the beholders
    take his part with weeping


       Ros. Alas


       Clo. But what is the sport Monsieur, that the Ladies
    haue lost?
      Le Beu. Why this that I speake of


       Clo. Thus men may grow wiser euery day. It is the
    first time that euer I heard breaking of ribbes was sport
    for Ladies


       Cel. Or I, I promise thee


       Ros. But is there any else longs to see this broken
    Musicke in his sides? Is there yet another doates vpon
    rib-breaking? Shall we see this wrastling Cosin?
      Le Beu. You must if you stay heere, for heere is the
    place appointed for the wrastling, and they are ready to
    performe it


       Cel. Yonder sure they are comming. Let vs now stay
    and see it.


    Flourish. Enter Duke, Lords, Orlando, Charles, and Attendants.


      Duke. Come on, since the youth will not be intreated
    His owne perill on his forwardnesse


       Ros. Is yonder the man?
      Le Beu. Euen he, Madam


       Cel. Alas, he is too yong: yet he looks successefully
      Du. How now daughter, and Cousin:
    Are you crept hither to see the wrastling?
      Ros. I my Liege, so please you giue vs leaue


       Du. You wil take little delight in it, I can tell you
    there is such oddes in the man: In pitie of the challengers
    youth, I would faine disswade him, but he will not
    bee entreated. Speake to him Ladies, see if you can
    mooue him


       Cel. Call him hether good Monsieuer Le Beu


       Duke. Do so: Ile not be by


       Le Beu. Monsieur the Challenger, the Princesse cals
    for you


       Orl. I attend them with all respect and dutie


       Ros. Young man, haue you challeng'd Charles the
    Wrastler?
      Orl. No faire Princesse: he is the generall challenger,
    I come but in as others do, to try with him the strength
    of my youth


       Cel. Yong Gentleman, your spirits are too bold for
    your yeares: you haue seene cruell proofe of this mans
    strength, if you saw your selfe with your eies, or knew
    your selfe with your iudgment, the feare of your aduenture
    would counsel you to a more equall enterprise. We
    pray you for your owne sake to embrace your own safetie,
    and giue ouer this attempt


       Ros. Do yong Sir, your reputation shall not therefore
    be misprised: we wil make it our suite to the Duke, that
    the wrastling might not go forward


       Orl. I beseech you, punish mee not with your harde
    thoughts, wherein I confesse me much guiltie to denie
    so faire and excellent Ladies anie thing. But let your
    faire eies, and gentle wishes go with mee to my triall;
    wherein if I bee foil'd, there is but one sham'd that was
    neuer gracious: if kil'd, but one dead that is willing to
    be so: I shall do my friends no wrong, for I haue none to
    lament me: the world no iniurie, for in it I haue nothing:
    onely in the world I fil vp a place, which may bee better
    supplied, when I haue made it emptie


       Ros. The little strength that I haue, I would it were
    with you


       Cel. And mine to eeke out hers


       Ros. Fare you well: praie heauen I be deceiu'd in you


       Cel. Your hearts desires be with you


       Char. Come, where is this yong gallant, that is so
    desirous to lie with his mother earth?
      Orl. Readie Sir, but his will hath in it a more modest
    working


       Duk. You shall trie but one fall


       Cha. No, I warrant your Grace you shall not entreat
    him to a second, that haue so mightilie perswaded him
    from a first


       Orl. You meane to mocke me after: you should not
    haue mockt me before: but come your waies


       Ros. Now Hercules, be thy speede yong man


       Cel. I would I were inuisible, to catch the strong fellow
    by the legge.


    Wrastle.


      Ros. Oh excellent yong man


       Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eie, I can tell who
    should downe.


    Shout.


      Duk. No more, no more


       Orl. Yes I beseech your Grace, I am not yet well
    breath'd


       Duk. How do'st thou Charles?
      Le Beu. He cannot speake my Lord


       Duk. Beare him awaie:
    What is thy name yong man?
      Orl. Orlando my Liege, the yongest sonne of Sir Roland
    de Boys


       Duk. I would thou hadst beene son to some man else,
    The world esteem'd thy father honourable,
    But I did finde him still mine enemie:
    Thou should'st haue better pleas'd me with this deede,
    Hadst thou descended from another house:
    But fare thee well, thou art a gallant youth,
    I would thou had'st told me of another Father.


    Exit Duke.


      Cel. Were I my Father (Coze) would I do this?
      Orl. I am more proud to be Sir Rolands sonne,
    His yongest sonne, and would not change that calling
    To be adopted heire to Fredricke


       Ros. My Father lou'd Sir Roland as his soule,
    And all the world was of my Fathers minde,
    Had I before knowne this yong man his sonne,
    I should haue giuen him teares vnto entreaties,
    Ere he should thus haue ventur'd


       Cel. Gentle Cosen,
    Let vs goe thanke him, and encourage him:
    My Fathers rough and enuious disposition
    Sticks me at heart: Sir, you haue well deseru'd,
    If you doe keepe your promises in loue;
    But iustly as you haue exceeded all promise,
    Your Mistris shall be happie


       Ros. Gentleman,
    Weare this for me: one out of suites with fortune
    That could giue more, but that her hand lacks meanes.
    Shall we goe Coze?
      Cel. I: fare you well faire Gentleman


       Orl. Can I not say, I thanke you? My better parts
    Are all throwne downe, and that which here stands vp
    Is but a quintine, a meere liuelesse blocke


       Ros. He cals vs back: my pride fell with my fortunes,
    Ile aske him what he would: Did you call Sir?
    Sir, you haue wrastled well, and ouerthrowne
    More then your enemies


       Cel. Will you goe Coze?
      Ros. Haue with you: fare you well.
    Enter.


      Orl. What passion hangs these waights vpo[n] my toong?
    I cannot speake to her, yet she vrg'd conference.
    Enter Le Beu.


    O poore Orlando! thou art ouerthrowne
    Or Charles, or something weaker masters thee


       Le Beu. Good Sir, I do in friendship counsaile you
    To leaue this place; Albeit you haue deseru'd
    High commendation, true applause, and loue;
    Yet such is now the Dukes condition,
    That he misconsters all that you haue done:
    The Duke is humorous, what he is indeede
    More suites you to conceiue, then I to speake of


       Orl. I thanke you Sir; and pray you tell me this,
    Which of the two was daughter of the Duke,
    That here was at the Wrastling?
      Le Beu. Neither his daughter, if we iudge by manners,
    But yet indeede the taller is his daughter,
    The other is daughter to the banish'd Duke,
    And here detain'd by her vsurping Vncle
    To keepe his daughter companie, whose loues
    Are deerer then the naturall bond of Sisters:
    But I can tell you, that of late this Duke
    Hath tane displeasure 'gainst his gentle Neece,
    Grounded vpon no other argument,
    But that the people praise her for her vertues,
    And pittie her, for her good Fathers sake;
    And on my life his malice 'gainst the Lady
    Will sodainly breake forth: Sir, fare you well,
    Hereafter in a better world then this,
    I shall desire more loue and knowledge of you


       Orl. I rest much bounden to you: fare you well.
    Thus must I from the smoake into the smother,
    From tyrant Duke, vnto a tyrant Brother.
    But heauenly Rosaline.


    Exit


    Scena Tertius.


    Enter Celia and Rosaline.


      Cel. Why Cosen, why Rosaline: Cupid haue mercie,
    Not a word?
      Ros. Not one to throw at a dog


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


       Ros. Then there were two Cosens laid vp, when the
    one should be lam'd with reasons, and the other mad
    without any


       Cel. But is all this for your Father?
      Ros. No, some of it is for my childes Father: Oh
    how full of briers is this working day world


       Cel. They are but burs, Cosen, throwne vpon thee
    in holiday foolerie, if we walke not in the trodden paths
    our very petty-coates will catch them


       Ros. I could shake them off my coate, these burs are
    in my heart


       Cel. Hem them away


       Ros. I would try if I could cry hem, and haue him


       Cel. Come, come, wrastle with thy affections


       Ros. O they take the part of a better wrastler then
    my selfe


       Cel. O, a good wish vpon you: you will trie in time
    in dispight of a fall: but turning these iests out of seruice,
    let vs talke in good earnest: Is it possible on such a sodaine,
    you should fall into so strong a liking with old Sir
    Roulands yongest sonne?
      Ros. The Duke my Father lou'd his Father deerelie


       Cel. Doth it therefore ensue that you should loue his
    Sonne deerelie? By this kinde of chase, I should hate
    him, for my father hated his father deerely; yet I hate
    not Orlando


       Ros. No faith, hate him not for my sake


       Cel. Why should I not? doth he not deserue well?
    Enter Duke with Lords.


      Ros. Let me loue him for that, and do you loue him
    Because I doe. Looke, here comes the Duke


       Cel. With his eies full of anger


       Duk. Mistris, dispatch you with your safest haste,
    And get you from our Court


       Ros. Me Vncle


       Duk. You Cosen,
    Within these ten daies if that thou beest found
    So neere our publike Court as twentie miles,
    Thou diest for it


       Ros. I doe beseech your Grace
    Let me the knowledge of my fault beare with me:
    If with my selfe I hold intelligence,
    Or haue acquaintance with mine owne desires,
    If that I doe not dreame, or be not franticke,
    (As I doe trust I am not) then deere Vncle,
    Neuer so much as in a thought vnborne,
    Did I offend your highnesse


       Duk. Thus doe all Traitors,
    If their purgation did consist in words,
    They are as innocent as grace it selfe;
    Let is suffice thee that I trust thee not


       Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a Traitor;
    Tell me whereon the likelihoods depends?
      Duk. Thou art thy Fathers daughter, there's enough


       Ros. So was I when your highnes took his Dukdome,
    So was I when your highnesse banisht him;
    Treason is not inherited my Lord,
    Or if we did deriue it from our friends,
    What's that to me, my Father was no Traitor,
    Then good my Leige, mistake me not so much,
    To thinke my pouertie is treacherous


       Cel. Deere Soueraigne heare me speake


       Duk. I Celia, we staid her for your sake,
    Else had she with her Father rang'd along


       Cel. I did not then intreat to haue her stay,
    It was your pleasure, and your owne remorse,
    I was too yong that time to value her,
    But now I know her: if she be a Traitor,
    Why so am I: we still haue slept together,
    Rose at an instant, learn'd, plaid, eate together,
    And wheresoere we went, like Iunos Swans,
    Still we went coupled and inseperable


       Duk. She is too subtile for thee, and her smoothnes;
    Her verie silence, and her patience,
    Speake to the people, and they pittie her:
    Thou art a foole, she robs thee of thy name,
    And thou wilt show more bright, &seem more vertuous
    When she is gone: then open not thy lips
    Firme, and irreuocable is my doombe,
    Which I haue past vpon her, she is banish'd


       Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me my Leige,
    I cannot liue out of her companie


       Duk. You are a foole: you Neice prouide your selfe,
    If you out-stay the time, vpon mine honor,
    And in the greatnesse of my word you die.


    Exit Duke,


      Cel. O my poore Rosaline, whether wilt thou goe?
    Wilt thou change Fathers? I will giue thee mine:
    I charge thee be not thou more grieu'd then I am


       Ros. I haue more cause


       Cel. Thou hast not Cosen,
    Prethee be cheerefull; know'st thou not the Duke
    Hath banish'd me his daughter?
      Ros. That he hath not


       Cel. No, hath not? Rosaline lacks then the loue
    Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one,
    Shall we be sundred? shall we part sweete girle?
    No, let my Father seeke another heire:
    Therefore deuise with me how we may flie
    Whether to goe, and what to beare with vs,
    And doe not seeke to take your change vpon you,
    To beare your griefes your selfe, and leaue me out:
    For by this heauen, now at our sorrowes pale;
    Say what thou canst, Ile goe along with thee


       Ros. Why, whether shall we goe?
      Cel. To seeke my Vncle in the Forrest of Arden


       Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to vs,
    (Maides as we are) to trauell forth so farre?
    Beautie prouoketh theeues sooner then gold


       Cel. Ile put my selfe in poore and meane attire,
    And with a kinde of vmber smirch my face,
    The like doe you, so shall we passe along,
    And neuer stir assailants


       Ros. Were it not better,
    Because that I am more then common tall,
    That I did suite me all points like a man,
    A gallant curtelax vpon my thigh,
    A bore-speare in my hand, and in my heart
    Lye there what hidden womans feare there will,
    Weele haue a swashing and a marshall outside,
    As manie other mannish cowards haue,
    That doe outface it with their semblances


       Cel. What shall I call thee when thou art a man?
      Ros. Ile haue no worse a name then Ioues owne Page,
    And therefore looke you call me Ganimed.
    But what will you be call'd?
      Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state:
    No longer Celia, but Aliena


       Ros. But Cosen, what if we assaid to steale
    The clownish Foole out of your Fathers Court:
    Would he not be a comfort to our trauaile?
      Cel. Heele goe along ore the wide world with me,
    Leaue me alone to woe him; Let's away
    And get our Iewels and our wealth together,
    Deuise the fittest time, and safest way
    To hide vs from pursuite that will be made
    After my flight: now goe in we content
    To libertie, and not to banishment.


    Exeunt.


    Actus Secundus. Scoena Prima.


    Enter Duke Senior: Amyens, and two or three Lords like
    Forresters.


      Duk.Sen. Now my Coe-mates, and brothers in exile:
    Hath not old custome made this life more sweete
    Then that of painted pompe? Are not these woods
    More free from perill then the enuious Court?
    Heere feele we not the penaltie of Adam,
    The seasons difference, as the Icie phange
    And churlish chiding of the winters winde,
    Which when it bites and blowes vpon my body
    Euen till I shrinke with cold, I smile, and say
    This is no flattery: these are counsellors
    That feelingly perswade me what I am:
    Sweet are the vses of aduersitie
    Which like the toad, ougly and venemous,
    Weares yet a precious Iewell in his head:
    And this our life exempt from publike haunt,
    Findes tongues in trees, bookes in the running brookes,
    Sermons in stones, and good in euery thing


       Amien. I would not change it, happy is your Grace
    That can translate the stubbornnesse of fortune
    Into so quiet and so sweet a stile


       Du.Sen. Come, shall we goe and kill vs venison?
    And yet it irkes me the poore dapled fooles
    Being natiue Burgers of this desert City,
    Should in their owne confines with forked heads
    Haue their round hanches goard


       1.Lord. Indeed my Lord
    The melancholy Iaques grieues at that,
    And in that kinde sweares you doe more vsurpe
    Then doth your brother that hath banish'd you:
    To day my Lord of Amiens, and my selfe,
    Did steale behinde him as he lay along
    Vnder an oake, whose anticke roote peepes out
    Vpon the brooke that brawles along this wood,
    To the which place a poore sequestred Stag
    That from the Hunters aime had tane a hurt,
    Did come to languish; and indeed my Lord
    The wretched annimall heau'd forth such groanes
    That their discharge did stretch his leatherne coat
    Almost to bursting, and the big round teares
    Cours'd one another downe his innocent nose
    In pitteous chase: and thus the hairie foole,
    Much marked of the melancholie Iaques,
    Stood on th' extremest verge of the swift brooke,
    Augmenting it with teares


       Du.Sen. But what said Iaques?
    Did he not moralize this spectacle?
      1.Lord. O yes, into a thousand similies.
    First, for his weeping into the needlesse streame;
    Poore Deere quoth he, thou mak'st a testament
    As worldlings doe, giuing thy sum of more
    To that which had too much: then being there alone,
    Left and abandoned of his veluet friend;
    'Tis right quoth he, thus miserie doth part
    The Fluxe of companie: anon a carelesse Heard
    Full of the pasture, iumps along by him
    And neuer staies to greet him: I quoth Iaques,
    Sweepe on you fat and greazie Citizens,
    'Tis iust the fashion; wherefore doe you looke
    Vpon that poore and broken bankrupt there?
    Thus most inuectiuely he pierceth through
    The body of Countrie, Citie, Court,
    Yea, and of this our life, swearing that we
    Are meere vsurpers, tyrants, and whats worse
    To fright the Annimals, and to kill them vp
    In their assign'd and natiue dwelling place


       D.Sen. And did you leaue him in this contemplation?
      2.Lord. We did my Lord, weeping and commenting
    Vpon the sobbing Deere


       Du.Sen. Show me the place,
    I loue to cope him in these sullen fits,
    For then he's full of matter


       1.Lor. Ile bring you to him strait.


    Exeunt.


    Scena Secunda.


    Enter Duke, with Lords.


      Duk. Can it be possible that no man saw them?
    It cannot be, some villaines of my Court
    Are of consent and sufferance in this


       1.Lo. I cannot heare of any that did see her,
    The Ladies her attendants of her chamber
    Saw her a bed, and in the morning early,
    They found the bed vntreasur'd of their Mistris


       2.Lor. My Lord, the roynish Clown, at whom so oft,
    Your Grace was wont to laugh is also missing,
    Hisperia the Princesse Gentlewoman
    Confesses that she secretly ore-heard
    Your daughter and her Cosen much commend
    The parts and graces of the Wrastler
    That did but lately foile the synowie Charles,
    And she beleeues where euer they are gone
    That youth is surely in their companie


       Duk. Send to his brother, fetch that gallant hither,
    If he be absent, bring his Brother to me,
    Ile make him finde him: do this sodainly;
    And let not search and inquisition quaile,
    To bring againe these foolish runawaies.


    Exeunt.


    Scena Tertia.


    Enter Orlando and Adam.


      Orl. Who's there?
      Ad. What my yong Master, oh my gentle master,
    Oh my sweet master, O you memorie
    Of old Sir Rowland; why, what make you here?
    Why are you vertuous? Why do people loue you?
    And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant?
    Why would you be so fond to ouercome
    The bonnie priser of the humorous Duke?
    Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.
    Know you not Master, to seeme kinde of men,
    Their graces serue them but as enemies,
    No more doe yours: your vertues gentle Master
    Are sanctified and holy traitors to you:
    Oh what a world is this, when what is comely
    Enuenoms him that beares it?
    Why, what's the matter?
      Ad. O vnhappie youth,
    Come not within these doores: within this roofe
    The enemie of all your graces liues
    Your brother, no, no brother, yet the sonne
    (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 meanes,
    To burne the lodging where you vse to lye,
    And you within it: if he faile of that
    He will haue other meanes to cut you off;
    I ouerheard him: and his practises:
    This is no place, this house is but a butcherie;
    Abhorre it, feare it, doe not enter it


       Ad. Why whether Adam would'st thou haue me go?
      Ad. No matter whether, so you come not here


       Orl. What, would'st thou haue me go &beg my food,
    Or with a base and boistrous Sword enforce
    A theeuish liuing on the common rode?
    This I must do, or know not what to do:
    Yet this I will not do, do how I can,
    I rather will subiect me to the malice
    Of a diuerted blood, and bloudie brother


       Ad. But do not so: I haue fiue hundred Crownes,
    The thriftie hire I saued vnder your Father,
    Which I did store to be my foster Nurse,
    When seruice should in my old limbs lie lame,
    And vnregarded age in corners throwne,
    Take that, and he that doth the Rauens feede,
    Yea prouidently caters for the Sparrow,
    Be comfort to my age: here is the gold,
    All this I giue you, let me be your seruant,
    Though I looke old, yet I am strong and lustie;
    For in my youth I neuer did apply
    Hot, and rebellious liquors in my bloud,
    Nor did not with vnbashfull forehead woe,
    The meanes of weaknesse and debilitie,
    Therefore my age is as a lustie winter,
    Frostie, but kindely; let me goe with you,
    Ile doe the seruice of a yonger man
    In all your businesse and necessities


       Orl. Oh good old man, how well in thee appeares
    The constant seruice of the antique world,
    When seruice sweate for dutie, not for meede:
    Thou art not for the fashion of these times,
    Where none will sweate, but for promotion,
    And hauing that do choake their seruice vp,
    Euen with the hauing, it is not so with thee:
    But poore old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree,
    That cannot so much as a blossome yeelde,
    In lieu of all thy paines and husbandrie,
    But come thy waies, weele goe along together,
    And ere we haue thy youthfull wages spent,
    Weele light vpon some setled low content


       Ad. Master goe on, and I will follow thee
    To the last gaspe with truth and loyaltie,
    From seauentie yeeres, till now almost fourescore
    Here liued I, but now liue here no more
    At seauenteene yeeres, many their fortunes seeke
    But at fourescore, it is too late a weeke,
    Yet fortune cannot recompence me better
    Then to die well, and not my Masters debter.


    Exeunt.


    Scena Quarta.


    Enter Rosaline for Ganimed, Celia for Aliena, and Clowne, alias
    Touchstone.


      Ros. O Iupiter, how merry are my spirits?
      Clo. I care not for my spirits, if my legges were not
    wearie


       Ros. I could finde in my heart to disgrace my mans
    apparell, and to cry like a woman: but I must comfort
    the weaker vessell, as doublet and hose ought to show it
    selfe coragious to petty-coate; therefore courage, good
    Aliena


       Cel. I pray you beare with me, I cannot goe no further


       Clo. For my part, I had rather beare with you, then
    beare you: yet I should beare no crosse if I did beare
    you, for I thinke you haue no money in your purse


       Ros. Well, this is the Forrest of Arden


       Clo. I, now am I in Arden, the more foole I, when I
    was at home I was in a better place, but Trauellers must
    be content.
    Enter Corin and Siluius.


      Ros. I, be so good Touchstone: Look you, who comes
    here, a yong man and an old in solemne talke


       Cor. That is the way to make her scorne you still


       Sil. Oh Corin, that thou knew'st how I do loue her


       Cor. I partly guesse: for I haue lou'd ere now


       Sil. No Corin, being old, thou canst not guesse,
    Though in thy youth thou wast as true a louer
    As euer sigh'd vpon a midnight pillow:
    But if thy loue were euer like to mine,
    As sure I thinke did neuer man loue so:
    How many actions most ridiculous,
    Hast thou beene drawne to by thy fantasie?
      Cor. Into a thousand that I haue forgotten


       Sil. Oh thou didst then neuer loue so hartily,
    If thou remembrest not the slightest folly,
    That euer loue did make thee run into,
    Thou hast not lou'd.
    Or if thou hast not sat as I doe now,
    Wearing thy hearer in thy Mistris praise,
    Thou hast not lou'd.
    Or if thou hast not broke from companie,
    Abruptly as my passion now makes me,
    Thou hast not lou'd.
    O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe.
    Enter.


      Ros. Alas poore Shepheard searching of they would,
    I haue by hard aduenture found mine owne


       Clo. And I mine: I remember when I was in loue, I
    broke my sword vpon a stone, and bid him take that for
    comming a night to Iane Smile, and I remember the kissing
    of her batler, and the Cowes dugs that her prettie
    chopt hands had milk'd; and I remember the wooing
    of a peascod instead of her, from whom I tooke two
    cods, and giuing her them againe, said with weeping
    teares, weare these for my sake: wee that are true Louers,
    runne into strange capers; but as all is mortall in
    nature, so is all nature in loue, mortall in folly


       Ros. Thou speak'st wiser then thou art ware of


       Clo. Nay, I shall nere be ware of mine owne wit, till
    I breake my shins against it


       Ros. Ioue, Ioue, this Shepherds passion,
    Is much vpon my fashion


       Clo. And mine, but it growes something stale with
    mee


       Cel. I pray you, one of you question yon'd man,
    If he for gold will giue vs any foode,
    I faint almost to death


       Clo. Holla; you Clowne


       Ros. Peace foole, he's not thy kinsman


       Cor. Who cals?
      Clo. Your betters Sir


       Cor. Else are they very wretched


       Ros. Peace I say; good euen to your friend


       Cor. And to you gentle Sir, and to you all


       Ros. I prethee Shepheard, if that loue or gold
    Can in this desert place buy entertainment,
    Bring vs where we may rest our selues, and feed:
    Here's a yong maid with trauaile much oppressed,
    And faints for succour


       Cor. Faire Sir, I pittie her,
    And wish for her sake more then for mine owne,
    My fortunes were more able to releeue her:
    But I am shepheard to another man,
    And do not sheere the Fleeces that I graze:
    My master is of churlish disposition,
    And little wreakes to finde the way to heauen
    By doing deeds of hospitalitie.
    Besides his Coate, his Flockes, and bounds of feede
    Are now on sale, and at our sheep-coat 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


       Ros. What is he that shall buy his flocke and pasture?
      Cor. That yong Swaine that you saw heere but erewhile,
    That little cares for buying any thing


       Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honestie,
    Buy thou the Cottage, pasture, and the flocke,
    And thou shalt haue to pay for it of vs


       Cel. And we will mend thy wages:
    I like this place, and willingly could
    Waste my time in it


       Cor. Assuredly the thing is to be sold:
    Go with me, if you like vpon report,
    The soile, the profit, and this kinde of life,
    I will your very faithfull Feeder be,
    And buy it with your Gold right sodainly.


    Exeunt.


    Scena Quinta.


    Enter, Amyens, Iaques, &others.


    Song.


    Vnder the greene wood tree,
    who loues to lye with mee,
    And turne his merrie Note,
    vnto the sweet Birds throte:
    Come hither, come hither, come hither:
    Heere shall he see no enemie,
    But Winter and rough Weather


       Iaq. More, more, I pre'thee more


       Amy. It will make you melancholly Monsieur Iaques
      Iaq. I thanke it: More, I prethee more,
    I can sucke melancholly out of a song,
    As a Weazel suckes egges: More, I pre'thee more


       Amy. My voice is ragged, I know I cannot please
    you


       Iaq. I do not desire you to please me,
    I do desire you to sing:
    Come, more, another stanzo: Cal you 'em stanzo's?
      Amy. What you wil Monsieur Iaques


       Iaq. Nay, I care not for their names, they owe mee
    nothing. Wil you sing?
      Amy. More at your request, then to please my selfe


       Iaq. Well then, if euer I thanke any man, Ile thanke
    you: but that they cal complement is like th' encounter
    of two dog-Apes. And when a man thankes me hartily,
    me thinkes I haue giuen him a penie, and he renders me
    the beggerly thankes. Come sing; and you that wil not
    hold your tongues


       Amy. Wel, Ile end the song. Sirs, couer the while,
    the Duke wil drinke vnder this tree; he hath bin all this
    day to looke you


       Iaq. And I haue bin all this day to auoid him:
    He is too disputeable for my companie:
    I thinke of as many matters as he, but I giue
    Heauen thankes, and make no boast of them.
    Come, warble, come.


    Song. Altogether heere.


    Who doth ambition shunne,
    and loues to liue i'th Sunne:
    Seeking the food he eates,
    and pleas'd with what he gets:
    Come hither, come hither, come hither,
    Heere shall he see.


       Iaq. Ile giue you a verse to this note,
    That I made yesterday in despight of my Inuention


       Amy. And Ile sing it


       Amy. Thus it goes.
    If it do come to passe, that any man turne Asse:
    Leauing his wealth and ease,
    A stubborne will to please,
    Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame:
    Heere shall he see, grosse fooles as he,
    And if he will come to me


       Amy. What's that Ducdame?
      Iaq. 'Tis a Greeke inuocation, to call fools into a circle .
    Ile go sleepe if I can: if I cannot, Ile raile against all
    the first borne of Egypt


       Amy. And Ile go seeke the Duke,
    His banket is prepar'd.


    Exeunt.

    Scena Sexta.


    Enter Orlando, &Adam


       Adam. Deere Master, I can go no further:
    O I die for food. Heere lie I downe,
    And measure out my graue. Farwel kinde master


       Orl. Why how now Adam? No greater heart in thee:
    Liue a little, comfort a little, cheere thy selfe a little.
    If this vncouth Forrest yeeld any thing sauage,
    I wil either be food for it, or bring it for foode to thee:
    Thy conceite is neerer death, then thy powers.
    For my sake be comfortable, hold death a while
    At the armes end: I wil heere be with thee presently,
    And if I bring thee not something to eate,
    I wil giue thee leaue to die: but if thou diest
    Before I come, thou art a mocker of my labor.
    Wel said, thou look'st cheerely,
    And Ile be with thee quickly: yet thou liest
    In the bleake aire. Come, I wil beare thee
    To some shelter, and thou shalt not die
    For lacke of a dinner,
    If there liue any thing in this Desert.
    Cheerely good Adam.


    Exeunt.

    Scena Septima.


    Enter Duke Sen. &Lord, like Out-lawes.


      Du.Sen. I thinke he be transform'd into a beast,
    For I can no where finde him, like a man


       1.Lord. My Lord, he is but euen now gone hence,
    Heere was he merry, hearing of a Song


       Du.Sen. If he compact of iarres, grow Musicall,
    We shall haue shortly discord in the Spheares:
    Go seeke him, tell him I would speake with him.
    Enter Iaques.


      1.Lord. He saues my labor by his owne approach


       Du.Sen. Why how now Monsieur, what a life is this
    That your poore friends must woe your companie,
    What, you looke merrily


       Iaq. A Foole, a foole: I met a foole i'th Forrest,
    A motley Foole (a miserable world:)
    As I do liue by foode, I met a foole,
    Who laid him downe, and bask'd him in the Sun,
    And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good termes,
    In good set termes, and yet a motley foole.
    Good morrow foole (quoth I:) no Sir, quoth he,
    Call me not foole, till heauen hath sent me fortune,
    And then he drew a diall from his poake,
    And looking on it, with lacke-lustre eye,
    Sayes, very wisely, it is ten a clocke:
    Thus we may see (quoth he) how the world wagges:
    'Tis but an houre agoe, since it was nine,
    And after one houre more, 'twill be eleuen,
    And so from houre to houre, we ripe, and ripe,
    And then from houre to houre, we rot, and rot,
    And thereby hangs a tale. When I did heare
    The motley Foole, thus morall on the time,
    My Lungs began to crow like Chanticleere,
    That Fooles should be so deepe contemplatiue:
    And I did laugh, sans intermission
    An houre by his diall. Oh noble foole,
    A worthy foole: Motley's the onely weare


       Du.Sen. What foole is this?
      Iaq. O worthie Foole: One that hath bin a Courtier
    And sayes, if Ladies be but yong, and faire,
    They haue the gift to know it: and in his braine,
    Which is as drie as the remainder bisket
    After a voyage: He hath strange places cram'd
    With obseruation, the which he vents
    In mangled formes. O that I were a foole,
    I am ambitious for a motley coat


       Du.Sen. Thou shalt haue one


       Iaq. It is my onely suite,
    Prouided that you weed your better iudgements
    Of all opinion that growes ranke in them,
    That I am wise. I must haue liberty
    Withall, as large a Charter as the winde,
    To blow on whom I please, for so fooles haue:
    And they that are most gauled with my folly,
    They most must laugh: And why sir must they so?
    The why is plaine, as way to Parish Church:
    Hee, that a Foole doth very wisely hit,
    Doth very foolishly, although he smart
    Seeme senselesse of the bob. If not,
    The Wise-mans folly is anathomiz'd
    Euen by the squandring glances of the foole.
    Inuest me in my motley: Giue me leaue
    To speake my minde, and I will through and through
    Cleanse the foule bodie of th' infected world,
    If they will patiently receiue my medicine


       Du.Sen. Fie on thee. I can tell what thou wouldst do


       Iaq. What, for a Counter, would I do, but good?
      Du.Sen. Most mischeeuous foule sin, in chiding sin:
    For thou thy selfe hast bene a Libertine,
    As sensuall as the brutish sting it selfe,
    And all th' imbossed sores, and headed euils,
    That thou with license of free foot hast caught,
    Would'st thou disgorge into the generall world


       Iaq. Why who cries out on pride,
    That can therein taxe any priuate party:
    Doth it not flow as hugely as the Sea,
    Till that the wearie verie meanes do ebbe.
    What woman in the Citie do I name,
    When that I say the City woman beares
    The cost of Princes on vnworthy shoulders?
    Who can come in, and say that I meane her,
    When such a one as shee, such is her neighbor?
    Or what is he of basest function,
    That sayes his brauerie is not on my cost,
    Thinking that I meane him, but therein suites
    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 himselfe: if he be free,
    Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies
    Vnclaim'd of any man. But who come here?
    Enter Orlando.


      Orl. Forbeare, and eate no more


       Iaq. Why I haue eate none yet


       Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be seru'd


       Iaq. Of what kinde should this Cocke come of?
      Du.Sen. Art thou thus bolden'd man by thy distres?
    Or else a rude despiser of good manners,
    That in ciuility thou seem'st so emptie?
      Orl. You touch'd my veine at first, the thorny point
    Of bare distresse, hath tane from me the shew
    Of smooth ciuility: yet am I in-land bred,
    And know some nourture: But forbeare, I say,
    He dies that touches any of this fruite,
    Till I, and my affaires are answered


       Iaq. And you will not be answer'd with reason,
    I must dye


       Du.Sen. What would you haue?
    Your gentlenesse shall force, more then your force
    Moue vs to gentlenesse


       Orl. I almost die for food, and let me haue it


       Du.Sen. Sit downe and feed, &welcom to our table
      Orl. Speake you so gently? Pardon me I pray you,
    I thought that all things had bin sauage heere,
    And therefore put I on the countenance
    Of sterne command'ment. But what ere you are
    That in this desert inaccessible,
    Vnder the shade of melancholly boughes,
    Loose, and neglect the creeping houres of time:
    If euer you haue look'd on better dayes:
    If euer beene where bels haue knoll'd to Church:
    If euer sate at any good mans feast:
    If euer from your eye-lids wip'd a teare,
    And know what 'tis to pittie, and be pittied:
    Let gentlenesse my strong enforcement be,
    In the which hope, I blush, and hide my Sword


       Du.Sen. True is it, that we haue seene better dayes,
    And haue with holy bell bin knowld to Church,
    And sat at good mens feasts, and wip'd our eies
    Of drops, that sacred pity hath engendred:
    And therefore sit you downe in gentlenesse,
    And take vpon command, what helpe we haue
    That to your wanting may be ministred


       Orl. Then but forbeare your food a little while:
    Whiles (like a Doe) I go to finde my Fawne,
    And giue it food. There is an old poore man,
    Who after me, hath many a weary steppe
    Limpt in pure loue: till he be first suffic'd,
    Opprest with two weake euils, age, and hunger,
    I will not touch a bit


       Duke Sen. Go finde him out,
    And we will nothing waste till you returne


       Orl. I thanke ye, and be blest for your good comfort


       Du.Sen. Thou seest, we are not all alone vnhappie:
    This wide and vniuersall Theater
    Presents more wofull Pageants then the Sceane
    Wherein we play in


       Ia. All the world's a stage,
    And all the men and women, meerely Players;
    They haue their Exits and their Entrances,
    And one man in his time playes many parts,
    His Acts being seuen ages. At first the Infant,
    Mewling, and puking in the Nurses armes:
    Then, the whining Schoole-boy with his Satchell
    And shining morning face, creeping like snaile
    Vnwillingly to schoole. And then the Louer,
    Sighing like Furnace, with a wofull ballad
    Made to his Mistresse eye-brow. Then, a Soldier,
    Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the Pard,
    Ielous in honor, sodaine, and quicke in quarrell,
    Seeking the bubble Reputation
    Euen in the Canons mouth: And then, the Iustice
    In faire round belly, with good Capon lin'd,
    With eyes seuere, and beard of formall cut,
    Full of wise sawes, and moderne instances,
    And so he playes his part. The sixt age shifts
    Into the leane and slipper'd Pantaloone,
    With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side,
    His youthfull hose well sau'd, a world too wide,
    For his shrunke shanke, and his bigge manly voice,
    Turning againe toward childish trebble pipes,
    And whistles in his sound. Last Scene of all,
    That ends this strange euentfull historie,
    Is second childishnesse, and meere obliuion,
    Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans euery thing.
    Enter Orlando with Adam.


      Du.Sen. Welcome: set downe your venerable burthen,
    and let him feede


       Orl. I thanke you most for him


       Ad. So had you neede,
    I scarce can speake to thanke you for my selfe


       Du.Sen. Welcome, fall too: I wil not trouble you,
    As yet to question you about your fortunes:
    Giue vs some Musicke, and good Cozen, sing.


    Song.


    Blow, blow, thou winter winde,
    Thou art not so vnkinde, as mans ingratitude
    Thy tooth is not so keene, because thou art not seene,
    although thy breath be rude.
    Heigh ho, sing heigh ho, vnto the greene holly,
    Most frendship, is fayning; most Louing, meere folly:
    The heigh ho, the holly,
    This Life is most iolly.
    Freize, freize, thou bitter skie that dost not bight so nigh
    as benefitts forgot:
    Though thou the waters warpe, thy sting is not so sharpe,
    as freind remembred not.
    Heigh ho, sing,


       Duke Sen. If that you were the good Sir Rowlands son,
    As you haue whisper'd faithfully you were,
    And as mine eye doth his effigies witnesse,
    Most truly limn'd, and liuing in your face,
    Be truly welcome hither: I am the Duke
    That lou'd your Father, the residue of your fortune,
    Go to my Caue, and tell mee. Good old man,
    Thou art right welcome, as thy masters is:
    Support him by the arme: giue me your hand,
    And let me all your fortunes vnderstand.


    Exeunt.


    Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.


    Enter Duke, Lords, &Oliuer.


      Du. Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be:
    But were I not the better part made mercie,
    I should not seeke an absent argument
    Of my reuenge, thou present: but looke to it,
    Finde out thy brother wheresoere he is,
    Seeke him with Candle: bring him dead, or liuing
    Within this tweluemonth, or turne thou no more
    To seeke a liuing in our Territorie.
    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 thinke against thee


       Ol. Oh that your Highnesse knew my heart in this:
    I neuer lou'd my brother in my life


       Duke. More villaine thou. Well push him out of dores
    And let my officers of such a nature
    Make an extent vpon his house and Lands:
    Do this expediently, and turne him going.


    Exeunt.

    Scena Secunda.


    Enter Orlando.


      Orl. Hang there my verse, in witnesse of my loue,
    And thou thrice crowned Queene of night suruey
    With thy chaste eye, from thy pale spheare aboue
    Thy Huntresse name, that my full life doth sway.
    O Rosalind, these Trees shall be my Bookes,
    And in their barkes my thoughts Ile charracter,
    That euerie eye, which in this Forrest lookes,
    Shall see thy vertue witnest euery where.
    Run, run Orlando, carue on euery Tree,
    The faire, the chaste, and vnexpressiue shee.


    Exit


    Enter Corin &Clowne.


      Co. And how like you this shepherds life Mr Touchstone?
      Clow. Truely Shepheard, in respect of it selfe, it is a
    good life; but in respect that it is a shepheards life, it is
    naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it verie well:
    but in respect that it is priuate, it is a very vild life. Now
    in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth mee well: but in
    respect it is not in the Court, it is tedious. As it is a spare
    life (looke you) it fits my humor well: but as there is no
    more plentie in it, it goes much against my stomacke.
    Has't any Philosophie in thee shepheard?
      Cor. No more, but that I know the more one sickens,
    the worse at ease he is: and that hee that wants money,
    meanes, and content, is without three good frends. That
    the propertie of raine is to wet, and fire to burne: That
    good pasture makes fat sheepe: and that a great cause of
    the night, is lacke of the Sunne: That hee that hath learned
    no wit by Nature, nor Art, may complaine of good
    breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred


       Clo. Such a one is a naturall Philosopher:
    Was't euer in Court, Shepheard?
      Cor. No truly


       Clo. Then thou art damn'd


       Cor. Nay, I hope


       Clo. Truly thou art damn'd, like an ill roasted Egge,
    all on one side


       Cor. For not being at Court? your reason


       Clo. Why, if thou neuer was't at Court, thou neuer
    saw'st good manners: if thou neuer saw'st good maners,
    then thy manners must be wicked, and wickednes is sin,
    and sinne is damnation: Thou art in a parlous state shepheard


       Cor. Not a whit Touchstone, those that are good maners
    at the Court, are as ridiculous in the Countrey, as
    the behauiour of the Countrie is most mockeable at the
    Court. You told me, you salute not at the Court, but
    you kisse your hands; that courtesie would be vncleanlie
    if Courtiers were shepheards


       Clo. Instance, briefly: come, instance


       Cor. Why we are still handling our Ewes, and their
    Fels you know are greasie


       Clo. Why do not your Courtiers hands sweate? and
    is not the grease of a Mutton, as wholesome as the sweat
    of a man? Shallow, shallow: A better instance I say:
    Come


       Cor. Besides, our hands are hard


       Clo. Your lips wil feele them the sooner. Shallow agen:
    a more sounder instance, come


       Cor. And they are often tarr'd ouer, with the surgery
    of our sheepe: and would you haue vs kisse Tarre? The
    Courtiers hands are perfum'd with Ciuet


       Clo. Most shallow man: Thou wormes meate in respect
    of a good peece of flesh indeed: learne of the wise
    and perpend: Ciuet is of a baser birth then Tarre, the
    verie vncleanly fluxe of a Cat. Mend the instance Shepheard


       Cor. You haue too Courtly a wit, for me, Ile rest


       Clo. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God helpe thee shallow
    man: God make incision in thee, thou art raw


       Cor. Sir, I am a true Labourer, I earne that I eate: get
    that I weare; owe no man hate, enuie no mans happinesse:
    glad of other mens good content with my harme:
    and the greatest of my pride, is to see my Ewes graze, my Lambes sucke


       Clo. That is another simple sinne in you, to bring the
    Ewes and the Rammes together, and to offer to get your
    liuing, by the copulation of Cattle, to be bawd to a Belweather,
    and to betray a shee-Lambe of a tweluemonth
    to a crooked-pated olde Cuckoldly Ramme, out of all
    reasonable match. If thou bee'st not damn'd for this, the
    diuell himselfe will haue no shepherds, I cannot see else
    how thou shouldst scape


       Cor. Heere comes yong Mr Ganimed, my new Mistrisses
    Brother.
    Enter Rosalind


       Ros. From the east to westerne Inde,
    no iewel is like Rosalinde,
    Hir worth being mounted on the winde,
    through all the world beares Rosalinde.
    All the pictures fairest Linde,
    are but blacke to Rosalinde:
    Let no face bee kept in mind,
    but the faire of Rosalinde


       Clo. Ile rime you so, eight yeares together; dinners,
    and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted: it is the right
    Butter-womens ranke to Market


       Ros. Out Foole


       Clo. For a taste.
    If a Hart doe lacke a Hinde,
    Let him seeke out Rosalinde:
    If the Cat will after kinde,
    so be sure will Rosalinde:
    Wintred garments must be linde,
    so must slender Rosalinde:
    They that reap must sheafe and binde,
    then to cart with Rosalinde.
    Sweetest nut, hath sowrest rinde,
    such a nut is Rosalinde.
    He that sweetest rose will finde,
    must finde Loues pricke, &Rosalinde.
    This is the verie false gallop of Verses, why doe you infect
    your selfe with them?
      Ros. Peace you dull foole, I found them on a tree


       Clo. Truely the tree yeelds bad fruite


       Ros. Ile graffe it with you, and then I shall graffe it
    with a Medler: then it will be the earliest fruit i'th country:
    for you'l be rotten ere you bee halfe ripe, and that's
    the right vertue of the Medler


       Clo. You haue said: but whether wisely or no, let the
    Forrest iudge.
    Enter Celia with a writing.


      Ros. Peace, here comes my sister reading, stand aside


       Cel. Why should this Desert bee,
    for it is vnpeopled? Noe:
    Tonges Ile hang on euerie tree,
    that shall ciuill sayings shoe.
    Some, how briefe the Life of man
    runs his erring pilgrimage,
    That the stretching of a span,
    buckles in his summe of age.
    Some of violated vowes,
    twixt the soules of friend, and friend:
    But vpon the fairest bowes,
    or at euerie sentence end;
    Will I Rosalinda write,
    teaching all that reade, to know
    The quintessence of euerie sprite,
    heauen would in little show.
    Therefore heauen Nature charg'd,
    that one bodie should be fill'd
    With all Graces wide enlarg'd,
    nature presently distill'd
    Helens cheeke, but not his heart,
    Cleopatra's Maiestie:
    Attalanta's better part,
    sad Lucrecia's Modestie.
    Thus Rosalinde of manie parts,
    by Heauenly Synode was deuis'd,
    Of manie faces, eyes, and hearts,
    to haue the touches deerest pris'd.
    Heauen would that shee these gifts should haue,
    and I to liue and die her slaue


       Ros. O most gentle Iupiter, what tedious homilie of
    Loue haue you wearied your parishioners withall, and
    neuer cri'de, haue patience good people


       Cel. How now backe friends: Shepheard, go off a little:
    go with him sirrah


       Clo. Come Shepheard, let vs make an honorable retreit,
    though not with bagge and baggage, yet with
    scrip and scrippage.
    Enter.


      Cel. Didst thou heare these verses?
      Ros. O yes, I heard them all, and more too, for some
    of them had in them more feete then the Verses would
    beare


       Cel. That's no matter: the feet might beare y verses


       Ros. I, but the feet were lame, and could not beare
    themselues without the verse, and therefore stood lamely
    in the verse


       Cel. But didst thou heare without wondering, how
    thy name should be hang'd and carued vpon these trees?
      Ros. I was seuen of the nine daies out of the wonder,
    before you came: for looke heere what I found on a
    Palme tree; I was neuer so berim'd since Pythagoras time
    that I was an Irish Rat, which I can hardly remember


       Cel. Tro you, who hath done this?
      Ros. Is it a man?
      Cel. And a chaine that you once wore about his neck:
    change you colour?
      Ros. I pre'thee who?
      Cel. O Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for friends to
    meete; but Mountaines may bee remoou'd with Earthquakes,
    and so encounter


       Ros. Nay, but who is it?
      Cel. Is it possible?
      Ros. Nay, I pre'thee now, with most petitionary vehemence,
    tell me who it is


       Cel. O wonderfull, wonderfull, and most wonderfull
    wonderfull, and yet againe wonderful, and after that out
    of all hooping


       Ros. Good my complection, dost thou think though
    I am caparison'd like a man, I haue a doublet and hose in
    my disposition? One inch of delay more, is a South-sea
    of discouerie. I pre'thee tell me, who is it quickely, and
    speake apace: I would thou couldst stammer, that thou
    might'st powre this conceal'd man out of thy mouth, as
    Wine comes out of a narrow-mouth'd bottle: either too
    much at once, or none at all. I pre'thee take the Corke
    out of thy mouth, that I may drinke thy tydings


       Cel. So you may put a man in your belly


       Ros. Is he of Gods making? What manner of man?
    Is his head worth a hat? Or his chin worth a beard?
      Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard


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


       Cel. It is yong Orlando, that tript vp the Wrastlers
    heeles, and your heart, both in an instant


       Ros. Nay, but the diuell take mocking: speake sadde
    brow, and true maid


       Cel. I'faith (Coz) tis he


       Ros. Orlando?
      Cel. Orlando


       Ros. Alas the day, what shall I do with my doublet hose? What did he when thou saw'st him? What sayde
    he? How look'd he? Wherein went he? What makes hee
    heere? Did he aske for me? Where remaines he? How
    parted he with thee? And when shalt thou see him againe?
    Answer me in one word


       Cel. You must borrow me Gargantuas mouth first:
    'tis a Word too great for any mouth of this Ages size, to
    say I and no, to these particulars, is more then to answer
    in a Catechisme


       Ros. But doth he know that I am in this Forrest, and
    in mans apparrell? Looks he as freshly, as he did the day
    he Wrastled?
      Cel. It is as easie to count Atomies as to resolue the
    propositions of a Louer: but take a taste of my finding
    him, and rellish it with good obseruance. I found him
    vnder a tree like a drop'd Acorne


       Ros. It may wel be cal'd Ioues tree, when it droppes
    forth fruite


       Cel. Giue me audience, good Madam


       Ros. Proceed


       Cel. There lay hee stretch'd along like a Wounded
    knight


       Ros. Though it be pittie to see such a sight, it well
    becomes the ground


       Cel. Cry holla, to the tongue, I prethee: it curuettes
    vnseasonably. He was furnish'd like a Hunter


       Ros. O ominous, he comes to kill my Hart


       Cel. I would sing my song without a burthen, thou
    bring'st me out of tune


       Ros. Do you not know I am a woman, when I thinke,
    I must speake: sweet, say on.
    Enter Orlando &Iaques.


      Cel. You bring me out. Soft, comes he not heere?
      Ros. 'Tis he, slinke by, and note him


       Iaq. I thanke you for your company, but good faith
    I had as liefe haue beene my selfe alone


       Orl. And so had I: but yet for fashion sake
    I thanke you too, for your societie


       Iaq. God buy you, let's meet as little as we can


       Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers


       Iaq. I pray you marre no more trees with Writing
    Loue-songs in their barkes


       Orl. I pray you marre no moe of my verses with reading
    them ill-fauouredly


       Iaq. Rosalinde is your loues name?
      Orl. Yes, Iust


       Iaq. I do not like her name


       Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you when she
    was christen'd


       Iaq. What stature is she of?
      Orl. Iust as high as my heart


       Iaq. You are ful of prety answers: haue you not bin acquainted
    with goldsmiths wiues, &cond the[m] out of rings
      Orl. Not so: but I answer you right painted cloath,
    from whence you haue studied your questions


       Iaq. You haue a nimble wit; I thinke 'twas made of
    Attalanta's heeles. Will you sitte downe with me, and
    wee two, will raile against our Mistris the world, and all
    our miserie


       Orl. I wil chide no breather in the world but my selfe
    against whom I know most faults


       Iaq. The worst fault you haue, is to be in loue


       Orl. 'Tis a fault I will not change, for your best vertue:
    I am wearie of you


       Iaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a Foole, when I
    found you


       Orl. He is drown'd in the brooke, looke but in, and
    you shall see him


       Iaq. There I shal see mine owne figure


       Orl. Which I take to be either a foole, or a Cipher


       Iaq. Ile tarrie no longer with you, farewell good signior
    Loue


       Orl. I am glad of your departure: Adieu good Monsieur
    Melancholly


       Ros. I wil speake to him like a sawcie Lacky, and vnder
    that habit play the knaue with him, do you hear Forrester


       Orl. Verie wel, what would you?
      Ros. I pray you, what i'st a clocke?
      Orl. You should aske me what time o' day: there's no
    clocke in the Forrest


       Ros. Then there is no true Louer in the Forrest, else
    sighing euerie minute, and groaning euerie houre wold
    detect the lazie foot of time, as wel as a clocke


       Orl. And why not the swift foote of time? Had not
    that bin as proper?
      Ros. By no meanes sir; Time trauels in diuers paces,
    with diuers persons: Ile tel you who Time ambles withall,
    who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal,
    and who he stands stil withall


       Orl. I prethee, who doth he trot withal?
      Ros. Marry he trots hard with a yong maid, between
    the contract of her marriage, and the day it is solemnizd:
    if the interim be but a sennight, Times pace is so hard,
    that it seemes the length of seuen yeare


       Orl. Who ambles Time withal?
      Ros. With a Priest that lacks Latine, and a rich man
    that hath not the Gowt: for the one sleepes easily because
    he cannot study, and the other liues merrily, because
    he feeles no paine: the one lacking the burthen of
    leane and wasteful Learning; the other knowing no burthen
    of heauie tedious penurie. These Time ambles
    withal


       Orl. Who doth he gallop withal?
      Ros. With a theefe to the gallowes: for though hee
    go as softly as foot can fall, he thinkes himselfe too soon
    there


       Orl. Who staies it stil withal?
      Ros. With Lawiers in the vacation: for they sleepe
    betweene Terme and Terme, and then they perceiue not
    how time moues


       Orl. Where dwel you prettie youth?
      Ros. With this Shepheardesse my sister: heere in the
    skirts of the Forrest, like fringe vpon a petticoat


       Orl. Are you natiue of this place?
      Ros. As the Conie that you see dwell where shee is
    kindled


       Orl. Your accent is something finer, then you could
    purchase in so remoued a dwelling


       Ros. I haue bin told so of many: but indeed, an olde
    religious Vnckle of mine taught me to speake, who was
    in his youth an inland man, one that knew Courtship too
    well: for there he fel in loue. I haue heard him read many
    Lectors against it, and I thanke God, I am not a Woman
    to be touch'd with so many giddie offences as hee
    hath generally tax'd their whole sex withal


       Orl. Can you remember any of the principall euils,
    that he laid to the charge of women?
      Ros. There were none principal, they were all like
    one another, as halfepence are, euerie one fault seeming
    monstrous, til his fellow-fault came to match it


       Orl. I prethee recount some of them


       Ros. No: I wil not cast away my physick, but on those
    that are sicke. There is a man haunts the Forrest, that abuses
    our yong plants with caruing Rosalinde on their
    barkes; hangs Oades vpon Hauthornes, and Elegies on
    brambles; all (forsooth) defying the name of Rosalinde.
    If I could meet that Fancie-monger, I would giue him
    some good counsel, for he seemes to haue the Quotidian
    of Loue vpon him


       Orl. I am he that is so Loue-shak'd, I pray you tel
    me your remedie


       Ros. There is none of my Vnckles markes vpon you:
    he taught me how to know a man in loue: in which cage
    of rushes, I am sure you art not prisoner


       Orl. What were his markes?
      Ros. A leane cheeke, which you haue not: a blew eie
    and sunken, which you haue not: an vnquestionable spirit,
    which you haue not: a beard neglected, which you
    haue not: (but I pardon you for that, for simply your hauing
    in beard, is a yonger brothers reuennew) then your
    hose should be vngarter'd, your bonnet vnbanded, your
    sleeue vnbutton'd, your shoo vnti'de, and euerie thing
    about you, demonstrating a carelesse desolation: but you
    are no such man; you are rather point deuice in your
    accoustrements,
    as louing your selfe, then seeming the Louer
    of any other


       Orl. Faire youth, I would I could make thee beleeue I Loue


       Ros. Me beleeue it? You may assoone make her that
    you Loue beleeue it, which I warrant she is apter to do,
    then to confesse she do's: that is one of the points, in the
    which women stil giue the lie to their consciences. But
    in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the
    Trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired?
      Orl. I sweare to thee youth, by the white hand of
    Rosalind, I am that he, that vnfortunate he


       Ros. But are you so much in loue, as your rimes speak?
      Orl. Neither rime nor reason can expresse how much


       Ros. Loue is meerely a madnesse, and I tel you, deserues
    as wel a darke house, and a whip, as madmen do:
    and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured, is
    that the Lunacie is so ordinarie, that the whippers are in
    loue too: yet I professe curing it by counsel


       Orl. Did you euer cure any so?
      Ros. Yes one, and in this manner. Hee was to imagine
    me his Loue, his Mistris: and I set him euerie day
    to woe me. At which time would I, being but a moonish
    youth, greeue, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and
    liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, ful
    of teares, full of smiles; for euerie passion something, and
    for no passion truly any thing, as boyes and women are
    for the most part, cattle of this colour: would now like
    him, now loath him: then entertaine him, then forswear
    him: now weepe for him, then spit at him; that I draue
    my Sutor from his mad humor of loue, to a liuing humor
    of madnes, w was to forsweare the ful stream of y world,
    and to liue in a nooke meerly Monastick: and thus I cur'd
    him, and this way wil I take vpon mee to wash your Liuer
    as cleane as a sound sheepes heart, that there shal not
    be one spot of Loue in't


       Orl. I would not be cured, youth


       Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind,
    and come euerie day to my Coat, and woe me


       Orlan. Now by the faith of my loue, I will; Tel me
    where it is


       Ros. Go with me to it, and Ile shew it you: and by
    the way, you shal tell me, where in the Forrest you liue:
    Wil you go?
      Orl. With all my heart, good youth


       Ros. Nay, you must call mee Rosalind: Come sister,
    will you go?


    Exeunt.



    Scoena Tertia.


    Enter Clowne, Audrey, &Iaques.


      Clo. Come apace good Audrey, I wil fetch vp your
    Goates, Audrey: and how Audrey am I the man yet?
    Doth my simple feature content you?
      Aud. Your features, Lord warrant vs: what features?
      Clo. I am heere with thee, and thy Goats, as the most
    capricious Poet honest Ouid was among the Gothes


       Iaq. O knowledge ill inhabited, worse then Ioue in
    a thatch'd house


       Clo. When a mans verses cannot be vnderstood, nor
    a mans good wit seconded with the forward childe, vnderstanding:
    it strikes a man more dead then a great reckoning
    in a little roome: truly, I would the Gods hadde
    made thee poeticall


       Aud. I do not know what Poetical is: is it honest in
    deed and word: is it a true thing?
      Clo. No trulie: for the truest poetrie is the most faining,
    and Louers are giuen to Poetrie: and what they
    sweare in Poetrie, may be said as Louers, they do feigne


       Aud. Do you wish then that the Gods had made me
    Poeticall?
      Clow. I do truly: for thou swear'st to me thou art honest:
    Now if thou wert a Poet, I might haue some hope
    thou didst feigne


       Aud. Would you not haue me honest?
      Clo. No truly, vnlesse thou wert hard fauour'd: for
    honestie coupled to beautie, is to haue Honie a sawce to
    Sugar


       Iaq. A materiall foole


       Aud. Well, I am not faire, and therefore I pray the
    Gods make me honest


       Clo. Truly, and to cast away honestie vppon a foule
    slut, were to put good meate into an vncleane dish


       Aud. I am not a slut, though I thanke the Goddes I
    am foule


       Clo. Well, praised be the Gods, for thy foulnesse; sluttishnesse
    may come heereafter. But be it, as it may bee,
    I wil marrie thee: and to that end, I haue bin with Sir
    Oliuer Mar-text, the Vicar of the next village, who hath
    promis'd to meete me in this place of the Forrest, and to
    couple vs


       Iaq. I would faine see this meeting


       Aud. Wel, the Gods giue vs ioy


       Clo. Amen. A man may if he were of a fearful heart,
    stagger in this attempt: for heere wee haue no Temple
    but the wood, no assembly but horne-beasts. But what
    though? Courage. As hornes are odious, they are necessarie.
    It is said, many a man knowes no end of his goods;
    right: Many a man has good Hornes, and knows no end
    of them. Well, that is the dowrie of his wife, 'tis none
    of his owne getting; hornes, euen so poore men alone:
    No, no, the noblest Deere hath them as huge as the Rascall:
    Is the single man therefore blessed? No, as a wall'd
    Towne is more worthier then a village, so is the forehead
    of a married man, more honourable then the bare
    brow of a Batcheller: and by how much defence is better
    then no skill, by so much is a horne more precious
    then to want.
    Enter Sir Oliuer Mar-text.


    Heere comes Sir Oliuer: Sir Oliuer Mar-text you are
    wel met. Will you dispatch vs heere vnder this tree, or
    shal we go with you to your Chappell?
      Ol. Is there none heere to giue the woman?
      Clo. I wil not take her on guift of any man


       Ol. Truly she must be giuen, or the marriage is not
    lawfull


       Iaq. Proceed, proceede: Ile giue her


       Clo. Good euen good Mr what ye cal't: how do you
    Sir, you are verie well met: goddild you for your last
    companie, I am verie glad to see you, euen a toy in hand
    heere Sir: Nay, pray be couer'd


       Iaq. Wil you be married, Motley?
      Clo. As the Oxe hath his bow sir, the horse his curb,
    and the Falcon her bels, so man hath his desires, and as
    Pigeons bill, so wedlocke would be nibling


       Iaq. And wil you (being a man of your breeding) be
    married vnder a bush like a begger? Get you to church,
    and haue a good Priest that can tel you what marriage is,
    this fellow wil but ioyne you together, as they ioyne
    Wainscot, then one of you wil proue a shrunke pannell,
    and like greene timber, warpe, warpe


       Clo. I am not in the minde, but I were better to bee
    married of him then of another, for he is not like to marrie
    me wel: and not being wel married, it wil be a good
    excuse for me heereafter, to leaue my wife


       Iaq. Goe thou with mee,
    And let me counsel thee


       Ol. Come sweete Audrey,
    We must be married, or we must liue in baudrey:
    Farewel good Mr Oliuer: Not O sweet Oliuer, O braue
    Oliuer leaue me not behind thee: But winde away, bee
    gone I say, I wil not to wedding with thee


       Ol. 'Tis no matter; Ne're a fantastical knaue of them
    all shal flout me out of my calling.


    Exeunt.


    Scoena Quarta.


    Enter Rosalind &Celia.


      Ros. Neuer talke to me, I wil weepe


       Cel. Do I prethee, but yet haue the grace to consider,
    that teares do not become a man


       Ros. But haue I not cause to weepe?
      Cel. As good cause as one would desire,
    Therefore weepe


       Ros. His very haire
    Is of the dissembling colour


       Cel. Something browner then Iudasses:
    Marrie his kisses are Iudasses owne children


       Ros. I'faith his haire is of a good colour


       Cel. An excellent colour:
    Your Chessenut was euer the onely colour:
      Ros. And his kissing is as ful of sanctitie,
    As the touch of holy bread


       Cel. Hee hath bought a paire of cast lips of Diana: a
    Nun of winters sisterhood kisses not more religiouslie,
    the very yce of chastity is in them


       Rosa. But why did hee sweare hee would come this
    morning, and comes not?
      Cel. Nay certainly there is no truth in him


       Ros. Doe you thinke so?
      Cel. Yes, I thinke he is not a picke purse, nor a horse-stealer,
    but for his verity in loue, I doe thinke him as
    concaue as a couered goblet, or a Worme-eaten nut


       Ros. Not true in loue?
      Cel. Yes, when he is in, but I thinke he is not in


       Ros. You haue heard him sweare downright he was


       Cel. Was, is not is: besides, the oath of Louer is no
    stronger then the word of a Tapster, they are both the
    confirmer of false reckonings, he attends here in the forrest
    on the Duke your father


       Ros. I met the Duke yesterday, and had much question
    with him: he askt me of what parentage I was; I
    told him of as good as he, so he laugh'd and let mee goe.
    But what talke wee of Fathers, when there is such a man
    as Orlando?
      Cel. O that's a braue man, hee writes braue verses,
    speakes braue words, sweares braue oathes, and breakes
    them brauely, quite trauers athwart the heart of his louer,
    as a puisny Tilter, y spurs his horse but on one side,
    breakes his staffe like a noble goose; but all's braue that
    youth mounts, and folly guides: who comes heere?
    Enter Corin.


      Corin. Mistresse and Master, you haue oft enquired
    After the Shepheard that complain'd of loue,
    Who you saw sitting by me on the Turph,
    Praising the proud disdainfull Shepherdesse
    That was his Mistresse


       Cel. Well: and what of him?
      Cor. If you will see a pageant truely plaid
    Betweene the pale complexion of true Loue,
    And the red glowe of scorne and prowd disdaine,
    Goe hence a little, and I shall conduct you
    If you will marke it


       Ros. O come, let vs remoue,
    The sight of Louers feedeth those in loue:
    Bring vs to this sight, and you shall say
    Ile proue a busie actor in their play.


    Exeunt.


    Scena Quinta.



    Enter Siluius and Phebe.


      Sil. Sweet Phebe doe not scorne me, do not Phebe
    Say that you loue me not, but say not so
    In bitternesse; the common executioner
    Whose heart th' accustom'd sight of death makes hard
    Falls not the axe vpon the humbled neck,
    But first begs pardon: will you sterner be
    Then he that dies and liues by bloody drops?
    Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Corin.


      Phe. I would not be thy executioner,
    I flye thee, for I would not iniure thee:
    Thou tellst me there is murder in mine eye,
    'Tis pretty sure, and very probable,
    That eyes that are the frailst, and softest things,
    Who shut their coward gates on atomyes,
    Should be called tyrants, butchers, murtherers.
    Now I doe frowne on thee with all my heart,
    And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee:
    Now counterfeit to swound, why now fall downe,
    Or if thou canst not, oh for shame, for shame,
    Lye not, to say mine eyes are murtherers:
    Now shew the wound mine eye hath made in thee,
    Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remaines
    Some scarre of it: Leane vpon a rush
    The Cicatrice and capable impressure
    Thy palme some moment keepes: but now mine eyes
    Which I haue darted at thee, hurt thee not,
    Nor I am sure there is no force in eyes
    That can doe hurt


       Sil. O deere Phebe,
    If euer (as that euer may be neere)
    You meet in some fresh cheeke the power of fancie,
    Then shall you know the wounds inuisible
    That Loues keene arrows make


       Phe. But till that time
    Come not thou neere me: and when that time comes,
    Afflict me with thy mockes, pitty me not,
    As till that time I shall not pitty thee


       Ros. And why I pray you? who might be your mother
    That you insult, exult, and all at once
    Ouer the wretched? what though you haue no beauty
    As by my faith, I see no more in you
    Then without Candle may goe darke to bed:
    Must you be therefore prowd and pittilesse?
    Why what meanes this? why do you looke on me?
    I see no more in you then in the ordinary
    Of Natures sale-worke? 'ods my little life,
    I thinke she meanes to tangle my eies too:
    No faith proud Mistresse, hope not after it,
    'Tis not your inkie browes, your blacke silke haire,
    Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheeke of creame
    That can entame my spirits to your worship:
    You foolish Shepheard, wherefore do you follow her
    Like foggy South, puffing with winde and raine,
    You are a thousand times a properer man
    Then she a woman. 'Tis such fooles as you
    That makes the world full of ill-fauourd children:
    'Tis not her glasse, but you that flatters her,
    And out of you she sees her selfe more proper
    Then any of her lineaments can show her:
    But Mistris, know your selfe, downe on your knees
    And thanke heauen, fasting, for a good mans loue;
    For I must tell you friendly in your eare,
    Sell when you can, you are not for all markets:
    Cry the man mercy, loue him, take his offer,
    Foule is most foule, being foule to be a scoffer.
    So take her to thee Shepheard, fareyouwell


       Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a yere together,
    I had rather here you chide, then this man wooe


       Ros. Hees falne in loue with your foulnesse, &shee'll
    Fall in loue with my anger. If it be so, as fast
    As she answeres thee with frowning lookes, ile sauce
    Her with bitter words: why looke you so vpon me?
      Phe. For no ill will I beare you


       Ros. I pray you do not fall in loue with mee,
    For I am falser then vowes made in wine:
    Besides, I like you not: if you will know my house,
    'Tis at the tufft of Oliues, here hard by:
    Will you goe Sister? Shepheard ply her hard:
    Come Sister: Shepheardesse, looke on him better
    And be not proud, though all the world could see,
    None could be so abus'd in sight as hee.
    Come, to our flocke,
    Enter.


      Phe. Dead Shepheard, now I find thy saw of might,
    Who euer lov'd, that lou'd not at first sight?
      Sil. Sweet Phebe


       Phe. Hah: what saist thou Siluius?
      Sil. Sweet Phebe pitty me


       Phe. Why I am sorry for thee gentle Siluius


       Sil. Where euer sorrow is, reliefe would be:
    If you doe sorrow at my griefe in loue,
    By giuing loue your sorrow, and my griefe
    Were both extermin'd


       Phe. Thou hast my loue, is not that neighbourly?
      Sil. I would haue you


       Phe. Why that were couetousnesse:
    Siluius; the time was, that I hated thee;
    And yet it is not, that I beare thee loue,
    But since that thou canst talke of loue so well,
    Thy company, which erst was irkesome to me
    I will endure; and Ile employ thee too:
    But doe not looke for further recompence
    Then thine owne gladnesse, that thou art employd


       Sil. So holy, and so perfect is my loue,
    And I in such a pouerty of grace,
    That I shall thinke it a most plenteous crop
    To gleane the broken eares after the man
    That the maine haruest reapes: loose now and then
    A scattred smile, and that Ile liue vpon


       Phe. Knowst thou the youth that spoke to mee yerewhile?
      Sil. Not very well, but I haue met him oft,
    And he hath bought the Cottage and the bounds
    That the old Carlot once was Master of


       Phe. Thinke not I loue him, though I ask for him,
    'Tis but a peeuish boy, yet he talkes well,
    But what care I for words? yet words do well
    When he that speakes them pleases those that heare:
    It is a pretty youth, not very prettie,
    But sure hee's proud, and yet his pride becomes him;
    Hee'll make a proper man: the best thing in him
    Is his complexion: and faster then his tongue
    Did make offence, his eye did heale it vp:
    He is not very tall, yet for his yeeres hee's tall:
    His leg is but so so, and yet 'tis well:
    There was a pretty rednesse in his lip,
    A little riper, and more lustie red
    Then that mixt in his cheeke: 'twas iust the difference
    Betwixt the constant red, and mingled Damaske.
    There be some women Siluius, had they markt him
    In parcells as I did, would haue gone neere
    To fall in loue with him: but for my part
    I loue him not, nor hate him not: and yet
    Haue more cause to hate him then to loue him,
    For what had he to doe to chide at me?
    He said mine eyes were black, and my haire blacke,
    And now I am remembred, scorn'd at me:
    I maruell why I answer'd not againe,
    But that's all one: omittance is no quittance:
    Ile write to him a very tanting Letter,
    And thou shalt beare it, wilt thou Siluius?
      Sil. Phebe, with all my heart


       Phe. Ile write it strait:
    The matter's in my head, and in my heart,
    I will be bitter with him, and passing short;
    Goe with me Siluius.


    Exeunt.


    Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.


    Enter Rosalind, and Celia, and Iaques.


      Iaq. I prethee, pretty youth, let me better acquainted
    with thee


       Ros They say you are a melancholly fellow


       Iaq. I am so: I doe loue it better then laughing


       Ros. Those that are in extremity of either, are abhominable
    fellowes, and betray themselues to euery moderne
    censure, worse then drunkards


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


       Ros. Why then 'tis good to be a poste


       Iaq. I haue neither the Schollers melancholy, which
    is emulation: nor the Musitians, which is fantasticall;
    nor the Courtiers, which is proud: nor the Souldiers,
    which is ambitious: nor the Lawiers, which is politick:
    nor the Ladies, which is nice: nor the Louers, which
    is all these: but it is a melancholy of mine owne, compounded
    of many simples, extracted from many obiects,
    and indeed the sundrie contemplation of my trauells, in
    which by often rumination, wraps me in a most humorous
    sadnesse


       Ros. A Traueller: by my faith you haue great reason
    to be sad: I feare you haue sold your owne Lands,
    to see other mens; then to haue seene much, and to haue
    nothing, is to haue rich eyes and poore hands


       Iaq. Yes, I haue gain'd my experience.
    Enter Orlando.


      Ros. And your experience makes you sad: I had rather
    haue a foole to make me merrie, then experience to
    make me sad, and to trauaile for it too


       Orl. Good day, and happinesse, deere Rosalind


       Iaq. Nay then God buy you, and you talke in blanke
    verse


       Ros. Farewell Mounsieur Trauellor: looke you
    lispe, and weare strange suites; disable all the benefits
    of your owne Countrie: be out of loue with your
    natiuitie, and almost chide God for making you that
    countenance you are; or I will scarce thinke you haue
    swam in a Gundello. Why how now Orlando, where
    haue you bin all this while? you a louer? and you
    serue me such another tricke, neuer come in my sight
    more


       Orl. My faire Rosalind, I come within an houre of my
    promise


       Ros. Breake an houres promise in loue? hee that
    will diuide a minute into a thousand parts, and breake
    but a part of the thousand part of a minute in the affairs
    of loue, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapt
    him oth' shoulder, but Ile warrant him heart hole


       Orl. Pardon me deere Rosalind


       Ros. Nay, and you be so tardie, come no more in my
    sight, I had as liefe be woo'd of a Snaile


       Orl. Of a Snaile?
      Ros. I, of a Snaile: for though he comes slowly, hee
    carries his house on his head; a better ioyncture I thinke
    then you make a woman: besides, he brings his destinie
    with him


       Orl. What's that?
      Ros. Why hornes: w such as you are faine to be beholding
    to your wiues for: but he comes armed in his
    fortune, and preuents the slander of his wife


       Orl. Vertue is no horne-maker: and my Rosalind is
    vertuous


       Ros. And I am your Rosalind


       Cel. It pleases him to call you so: but he hath a Rosalind
    of a better leere then you


       Ros. Come, wooe me, wooe mee: for now I am in a
    holy-day humor, and like enough to consent: What
    would you say to me now, and I were your verie, verie
    Rosalind?
      Orl. I would kisse before I spoke


       Ros. Nay, you were better speake first, and when you
    were grauel'd, for lacke of matter, you might take occasion
    to kisse: verie good Orators when they are out,
    they will spit, and for louers, lacking (God warne vs)
    matter, the cleanliest shift is to kisse


       Orl. How if the kisse be denide?
      Ros. Then she puts you to entreatie, and there begins
    new matter


       Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloued
    Mistris?
      Ros. Marrie that should you if I were your Mistris,
    or I should thinke my honestie ranker then my wit


       Orl. What, of my suite?
      Ros. Not out of your apparrell, and yet out of your
    suite:
    Am not I your Rosalind?
      Orl. I take some ioy to say you are, because I would
    be talking of her


       Ros. Well, in her person, I say I will not haue you


       Orl. Then in mine owne person, I die


       Ros. No faith, die by Attorney: the poore world is
    almost six thousand yeeres old, and in all this time there
    was not anie man died in his owne person (videlicet) in
    a loue cause: Troilous had his braines dash'd out with a
    Grecian club, yet he did what hee could to die before,
    and he is one of the patternes of loue. Leander, he would
    haue liu'd manie a faire yeere though Hero had turn'd
    Nun; if it had not bin for a hot Midsomer-night, for
    (good youth) he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont,
    and being taken with the crampe, was droun'd,
    and the foolish Chronoclers of that age, found it was
    Hero of Cestos. But these are all lies, men haue died
    from time to time, and wormes haue eaten them, but not
    for loue


       Orl. I would not haue my right Rosalind of this mind,
    for I protest her frowne might kill me


       Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a flie: but come,
    now I will be your Rosalind in a more comming-on disposition:
    and aske me what you will, I will grant it


       Orl. Then loue me Rosalind


       Ros. Yes faith will I, fridaies and saterdaies, and all


       Orl. And wilt thou haue me?
      Ros. I, and twentie such


       Orl. What saiest thou?
      Ros. Are you not good?
      Orl. I hope so


       Rosalind. Why then, can one desire too much of a
    good thing: Come sister, you shall be the Priest, and
    marrie vs: giue me your hand Orlando: What doe you
    say sister?
      Orl. Pray thee marrie vs


       Cel. I cannot say the words


       Ros. You must begin, will you Orlando


       Cel. Goe too: wil you Orlando, haue to wife this Rosalind?
      Orl. I will


       Ros. I, but when?
      Orl. Why now, as fast as she can marrie vs


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


       Orl. I take thee Rosalind for wife


       Ros. I might aske you for your Commission,
    But I doe take thee Orlando for my husband: there's a
    girle goes before the Priest, and certainely a Womans
    thought runs before her actions


       Orl. So do all thoughts, they are wing'd


       Ros. Now tell me how long you would haue her, after
    you haue possest her?
      Orl. For euer, and a day


       Ros. Say a day, without the euer: no, no Orlando, men
    are Aprill when they woe, December when they wed:
    Maides are May when they are maides, but the sky changes
    when they are wiues: I will bee more iealous of
    thee, then a Barbary cocke-pidgeon ouer his hen, more
    clamorous then a Parrat against raine, more new-fangled
    then an ape, more giddy in my desires, then a monkey:
    I will weepe for nothing, like Diana in the Fountaine,
    &I wil do that when you are dispos'd to be merry:
    I will laugh like a Hyen, and that when thou art inclin'd
    to sleepe


       Orl. But will my Rosalind doe so?
      Ros. By my life, she will doe as I doe


       Orl. O but she is wise


       Ros. Or else shee could not haue the wit to doe this:
    the wiser, the waywarder: make the doores vpon a womans
    wit, and it will out at the casement: shut that, and
    'twill out at the key-hole: stop that, 'twill flie with the
    smoake out at the chimney


       Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might
    say, wit whether wil't?
      Ros. Nay, you might keepe that checke for it, till you
    met your wiues wit going to your neighbours bed


       Orl. And what wit could wit haue, to excuse that?
      Rosa. Marry to say, she came to seeke you there: you
    shall neuer take her without her answer, vnlesse you take
    her without her tongue: o that woman that cannot
    make her fault her husbands occasion, let her neuer nurse
    her childe her selfe, for she will breed it like a foole


       Orl. For these two houres Rosalinde, I wil leaue thee


       Ros. Alas, deere loue, I cannot lacke thee two houres


       Orl. I must attend the Duke at dinner, by two a clock
    I will be with thee againe


       Ros. I, goe your waies, goe your waies: I knew what
    you would proue, my friends told mee as much, and I
    thought no lesse: that flattering tongue of yours wonne
    me: 'tis but one cast away, and so come death: two o'
    clocke is your howre


       Orl. I, sweet Rosalind


       Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God
    mend mee, and by all pretty oathes that are not dangerous,
    if you breake one iot of your promise, or come one
    minute behinde your houre, I will thinke you the most
    patheticall breake-promise, and the most hollow louer,
    and the most vnworthy of her you call Rosalinde, that
    may bee chosen out of the grosse band of the vnfaithfull:
    therefore beware my censure, and keep your promise


       Orl. With no lesse religion, then if thou wert indeed
    my Rosalind: so adieu


       Ros. Well, Time is the olde Iustice that examines all
    such offenders, and let time try: adieu.
    Enter.


      Cel. You haue simply misus'd our sexe in your loue-prate:
    we must haue your doublet and hose pluckt ouer
    your head, and shew the world what the bird hath done
    to her owne neast


       Ros. O coz, coz, coz: my pretty little coz, that thou
    didst know how many fathome deepe I am in loue: but
    it cannot bee sounded: my affection hath an vnknowne
    bottome, like the Bay of Portugall


       Cel. Or rather bottomlesse, that as fast as you poure
    affection in, it runs out


       Ros. No, that same wicked Bastard of Venus, that was
    begot of thought, conceiu'd of spleene, and borne of
    madnesse, that blinde rascally boy, that abuses euery
    ones eyes, because his owne are out, let him bee iudge,
    how deepe I am in loue: ile tell thee Aliena, I cannot be
    out of the sight of Orlando: Ile goe finde a shadow, and
    sigh till he come


       Cel. And Ile sleepe.


    Exeunt.



    Scena Secunda.


    Enter Iaques and Lords, Forresters.


      Iaq. Which is he that killed the Deare?
      Lord. Sir, it was I


       Iaq. Let's present him to the Duke like a Romane
    Conquerour, and it would doe well to set the Deares
    horns vpon his head, for a branch of victory; haue you
    no song Forrester for this purpose?
      Lord. Yes Sir


       Iaq. Sing it: 'tis no matter how it bee in tune, so it
    make noyse enough.


    Musicke, Song.


    What shall he haue that kild the Deare?
    His Leather skin, and hornes to weare:
    Then sing him home, the rest shall beare this burthen;
    Take thou no scorne to weare the horne,
    It was a crest ere thou wast borne,
    Thy fathers father wore it,
    And thy father bore it,
    The horne, the horne, the lusty horne,
    Is not a thing to laugh to scorne.


    Exeunt.



    Scoena Tertia.


    Enter Rosalind and Celia.


      Ros. How say you now, is it not past two a clock?
    And heere much Orlando


       Cel. I warrant you, with pure loue, &troubled brain,
    Enter Siluius.


    He hath t'ane his bow and arrowes, and is gone forth
    To sleepe: looke who comes heere


       Sil. My errand is to you, faire youth,
    My gentle Phebe, did bid me giue you this:
    I know not the contents, but as I guesse
    By the sterne brow, and waspish action
    Which she did vse, as she was writing of it,
    It beares an angry tenure; pardon me,
    I am but as a guiltlesse messenger


       Ros. Patience her selfe would startle at this letter,
    And play the swaggerer, beare this, beare all:
    Shee saies I am not faire, that I lacke manners,
    She calls me proud, and that she could not loue me
    Were man as rare as Phenix: 'od's my will,
    Her loue is not the Hare that I doe hunt,
    Why writes she so to me? well Shepheard, well,
    This is a Letter of your owne deuice


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


       Ros. Come, come, you are a foole,
    And turn'd into the extremity of loue.
    I saw her hand, she has a leatherne hand,
    A freestone coloured hand: I verily did thinke
    That her old gloues were on, but twas her hands:
    She has a huswiues hand, but that's no matter:
    I say she neuer did inuent this letter,
    This is a mans inuention, and his hand


       Sil. Sure it is hers


       Ros. Why, tis a boysterous and a cruell stile,
    A stile for challengers: why, she defies me,
    Like Turke to Christian: womens gentle braine
    Could not drop forth such giant rude inuention,
    Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect
    Then in their countenance: will you heare the letter?
      Sil. So please you, for I neuer heard it yet:
    Yet heard too much of Phebes crueltie


       Ros. She Phebes me: marke how the tyrant writes.


    Read.


    Art thou god, to Shepherd turn'd?
    That a maidens heart hath burn'd.
    Can a woman raile thus?
      Sil. Call you this railing?
      Ros.


    Read.


    Why, thy godhead laid a part,
    War'st thou with a womans heart?
    Did you euer heare such railing?
    Whiles the eye of man did wooe me,
    That could do no vengeance to me.
    Meaning me a beast.
    If the scorne of your bright eine
    Haue power to raise such loue in mine,
    Alacke, in me, what strange effect
    Would they worke in milde aspect?
    Whiles you chid me, I did loue,
    How then might your praiers moue?
    He that brings this loue to thee,
    Little knowes this Loue in me:
    And by him seale vp thy minde,
    Whether that thy youth and kinde
    Will the faithfull offer take
    Of me, and all that I can make,
    Or else by him my loue denie,
    And then Ile studie how to die


       Sil. Call you this chiding?
      Cel. Alas poore Shepheard


       Ros. Doe you pitty him? No, he deserues no pitty:
    wilt thou loue such a woman? what to make thee an instrument,
    and play false straines vpon thee? not to be endur'd.
    Well, goe your way to her; (for I see Loue hath
    made thee a tame snake) and say this to her; That if she
    loue me, I charge her to loue thee: if she will not, I will
    neuer haue her, vnlesse thou intreat for her: if you bee a
    true louer hence, and not a word; for here comes more
    company.


    Exit. Sil.


    Enter Oliuer.


      Oliu. Good morrow, faire ones: pray you, (if you | know)
    Where in the Purlews of this Forrest, stands
    A sheep-coat, fenc'd about with Oliue-trees


       Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbor bottom
    The ranke of Oziers, by the murmuring streame
    Left on your right hand, brings you to the place:
    But at this howre, the house doth keepe it selfe,
    There's none within


       Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
    Then should I know you by description,
    Such garments, and such yeeres: the boy is faire,
    Of femall fauour, and bestowes himselfe
    Like a ripe sister: the woman low
    And browner then her brother: are not you
    The owner of the house I did enquire for?
      Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are


       Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both,
    And to that youth hee calls his Rosalind,
    He sends this bloudy napkin; are you he?
      Ros. I am: what must we vnderstand by this?
      Oli. 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


       Cel. I pray you tell it


       Oli. When last the yong Orlando parted from you,
    He left a promise to returne againe
    Within an houre, and pacing through the Forrest,
    Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancie,
    Loe what befell: he threw his eye aside,
    And marke what obiect did present it selfe
    Vnder an old Oake, whose bows were moss'd with age
    And high top, bald with drie antiquitie:
    A wretched ragged man, ore-growne with haire
    Lay sleeping on his back; about his necke
    A greene and guilded snake had wreath'd it selfe,
    Who with her head, nimble in threats approach'd
    The opening of his mouth: but sodainly
    Seeing Orlando, it vnlink'd it selfe,
    And with indented glides, did slip away
    Into a bush, vnder which bushes shade
    A Lyonnesse, with vdders all drawne drie,
    Lay cowching head on ground, with catlike watch
    When that the sleeping man should stirre; for 'tis
    The royall disposition of that beast
    To prey on nothing, that doth seeme as dead:
    This seene, Orlando did approach the man,
    And found it was his brother, his elder brother


       Cel. O I haue heard him speake of that same brother,
    And he did render him the most vnnaturall
    That liu'd amongst men


       Oli. And well he might so doe,
    For well I know he was vnnaturall


       Ros. But to Orlando: did he leaue him there
    Food to the suck'd and hungry Lyonnesse?
      Oli. Twice did he turne his backe, and purpos'd so:
    But kindnesse, nobler euer then reuenge,
    And Nature stronger then his iust occasion,
    Made him giue battell to the Lyonnesse:
    Who quickly fell before him, in which hurtling
    From miserable slumber I awaked


       Cel. Are you his brother?
      Ros. Was't you he rescu'd?
      Cel. Was't you that did so oft contriue to kill him?
      Oli. 'Twas I: but 'tis not I: I doe not shame
    To tell you what I was, since my conuersion
    So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am


       Ros. But for the bloody napkin?
      Oli. By and by:
    When from the first to last betwixt vs two,
    Teares our recountments had most kindely bath'd,
    As how I came into that Desert place.
    In briefe, he led me to the gentle Duke,
    Who gaue me fresh aray, and entertainment,
    Committing me vnto my brothers loue,
    Who led me instantly vnto his Caue,
    There stript himselfe, and heere vpon his arme
    The Lyonnesse had torne some flesh away,
    Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted,
    And cride in fainting vpon Rosalinde.
    Briefe, I recouer'd him, bound vp 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 giue this napkin
    Died in this bloud, vnto the Shepheard youth,
    That he in sport doth call his Rosalind


       Cel. Why how now Ganimed, sweet Ganimed


       Oli. Many will swoon when they do look on bloud


       Cel. There is more in it; Cosen Ganimed


       Oli. Looke, he recouers


       Ros. I would I were at home


       Cel. Wee'll lead you thither:
    I pray you will you take him by the arme


       Oli. Be of good cheere youth: you a man?
    You lacke a mans heart


       Ros. I doe so, I confesse it:
    Ah, sirra, a body would thinke 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 doe: but yfaith, I should haue beene a woman
    by right


       Cel. Come, you looke paler and paler: pray you draw
    homewards: good sir, goe with vs


       Oli. That will I: for I must beare answere backe
    How you excuse my brother, Rosalind


       Ros. I shall deuise something: but I pray you commend
    my counterfeiting to him: will you goe?


    Exeunt.


    Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.



    Enter Clowne and Awdrie.


      Clow. We shall finde a time Awdrie, patience gentle
    Awdrie


       Awd. Faith the Priest was good enough, for all the
    olde gentlemans saying


       Clow. A most wicked Sir Oliuer, Awdrie, a most vile
    Mar-text. But Awdrie, there is a youth heere in the
    Forrest layes claime to you


       Awd. I, I know who 'tis: he hath no interest in mee
    in the world: here comes the man you meane.
    Enter William.


      Clo. It is meat and drinke to me to see a Clowne, by
    my troth, we that haue good wits, haue much to answer
    for: we shall be flouting: we cannot hold


       Will. Good eu'n Audrey


       Aud. God ye good eu'n William


       Will. And good eu'n to you Sir


       Clo. Good eu'n gentle friend. Couer thy head, couer
    thy head: Nay prethee bee couer'd. How olde are you
    Friend?
      Will. Fiue and twentie Sir


       Clo. A ripe age: Is thy name William?
      Will. William, sir


       Clo. A faire name. Was't borne i'th Forrest heere?
      Will. I sir, I thanke God


       Clo. Thanke God: A good answer:
    Art rich?
      Will. 'Faith sir, so, so


       Cle. So, so, is good, very good, very excellent good:
    and yet it is not, it is but so, so:
    Art thou wise?
      Will. I sir, I haue a prettie wit


       Clo. Why, thou saist well. I do now remember a saying:
    The Foole doth thinke he is wise, but the wiseman
    knowes himselfe to be a Foole. The Heathen Philosopher,
    when he had a desire to eate a Grape, would open
    his lips when he put it into his mouth, meaning thereby,
    that Grapes were made to eate, and lippes to open.
    You do loue this maid?
      Will. I do sir


       Clo. Giue me your hand: Art thou Learned?
      Will. No sir


       Clo. Then learne this of me, To haue, is to haue. For
    it is a figure in Rhetoricke, that drink being powr'd out
    of a cup into a glasse, by filling the one, doth empty the
    other. For all your Writers do consent, that ipse is hee:
    now you are not ipse, for I am he


       Will. Which he sir?
      Clo. He sir, that must marrie this woman: Therefore
    you Clowne, abandon: which is in the vulgar, leaue the
    societie: which in the boorish, is companie, of this female:
    which in the common, is woman: which together,
    is, abandon the society of this Female, or Clowne
    thou perishest: or to thy better vnderstanding, dyest; or
    (to wit) I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into
    death, thy libertie into bondage: I will deale in poyson
    with thee, or in bastinado, or in steele: I will bandy
    with thee in faction, I will ore-run thee with policie: I
    will kill thee a hundred and fifty wayes, therefore tremble
    and depart


       Aud. Do good William


       Will. God rest you merry sir.


    Exit


    Enter Corin.


      Cor. Our Master and Mistresse seekes you: come away,
    away


       Clo. Trip Audry, trip Audry, I attend,
    I attend.


    Exeunt.


    Scoena Secunda.


    Enter Orlando &Oliuer.


      Orl. Is't possible, that on so little acquaintance you
    should like her? that, but seeing, you should loue her?
    And louing woo? and wooing, she should graunt? And
    will you perseuer to enioy her?
      Ol. Neither call the giddinesse of it in question; the
    pouertie of her, the small acquaintance, my sodaine woing,
    nor sodaine consenting: but say with mee, I loue
    Aliena: say with her, that she loues mee; consent with
    both, that we may enioy each other: it shall be to your
    good: for my fathers house, and all the reuennew, that
    was old Sir Rowlands will I estate vpon you, and heere
    liue and die a Shepherd.
    Enter Rosalind.


      Orl. You haue my consent.
    Let your Wedding be to morrow: thither will I
    Inuite the Duke, and all's contented followers:
    Go you, and prepare Aliena; for looke you,
    Heere comes my Rosalinde


       Ros. God saue you brother


       Ol. And you faire sister


       Ros. Oh my deere Orlando, how it greeues me to see
    thee weare thy heart in a scarfe


       Orl. It is my arme


       Ros. I thought thy heart had beene wounded with
    the clawes of a Lion


       Orl. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a Lady


       Ros. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeyted
    to sound, when he shew'd me your handkercher?
      Orl. I, and greater wonders then that


       Ros. O, I know where you are: nay, tis true: there
    was neuer any thing so sodaine, but the sight of two
    Rammes, and Cesars Thrasonicall bragge of I came, saw,
    and ouercome. For your brother, and my sister, no sooner
    met, but they look'd: no sooner look'd, but they
    lou'd; no sooner lou'd, but they sigh'd: no sooner sigh'd
    but they ask'd one another the reason: no sooner knew
    the reason, but they sought the remedie: and in these
    degrees, haue they made a paire of staires to marriage,
    which they will climbe incontinent, or else bee incontinent
    before marriage; they are in the verie wrath of
    loue, and they will together. Clubbes cannot part
    them


       Orl. They shall be married to morrow: and I will
    bid the Duke to the Nuptiall. But O, how bitter a thing
    it is, to looke into happines through another mans eies:
    by so much the more shall I to morrow be at the height
    of heart heauinesse, by how much I shal thinke my brother
    happie, in hauing what he wishes for


       Ros. Why then to morrow, I cannot serue your turne
    for Rosalind?
      Orl. I can liue no longer by thinking


       Ros. I will wearie you then no longer with idle talking.
    Know of me then (for now I speake to some purpose)
    that I know you are a Gentleman of good conceit:
    I speake not this, that you should beare a good opinion
    of my knowledge: insomuch (I say) I know you are: neither
    do I labor for a greater esteeme then may in some
    little measure draw a beleefe from you, to do your selfe
    good, and not to grace me. Beleeue then, if you please,
    that I can do strange things: I haue since I was three
    yeare old conuerst with a Magitian, most profound in
    his Art, and yet not damnable. If you do loue Rosalinde
    so neere the hart, as your gesture cries it out: when your
    brother marries Aliena, shall you marrie her. I know into
    what straights of Fortune she is driuen, and it is not
    impossible to me, if it appeare not inconuenient to you,
    to set her before your eyes to morrow, humane as she is,
    and without any danger


       Orl. Speak'st thou in sober meanings?
      Ros. By my life I do, which I tender deerly, though
    I say I am a Magitian: Therefore put you in your best aray,
    bid your friends: for if you will be married to morrow,
    you shall: and to Rosalind if you will.
    Enter Siluius &Phebe.


    Looke, here comes a Louer of mine, and a louer of hers


       Phe. Youth, you haue done me much vngentlenesse,
    To shew the letter that I writ to you


       Ros. I care not if I haue: it is my studie
    To seeme despightfull and vngentle to you:
    you are there followed by a faithful shepheard,
    Looke vpon him, loue him: he worships you


       Phe. Good shepheard, tell this youth what 'tis to loue
      Sil. It is to be all made of sighes and teares,
    And so am I for Phebe


       Phe. And I for Ganimed


       Orl. And I for Rosalind


       Ros. And I for no woman


       Sil. It is to be all made of faith and seruice,
    And so am I for Phebe


       Phe. And I for Ganimed


       Orl. And I for Rosalind


       Ros. And I for no woman


       Sil. It is to be all made of fantasie,
    All made of passion, and all made of wishes,
    All adoration, dutie, and obseruance,
    All humblenesse, all patience, and impatience,
    All puritie, all triall, all obseruance:
    And so am I for Phebe


       Phe. And so am I for Ganimed


       Orl. And so am I for Rosalind


       Ros. And so am I for no woman


       Phe. If this be so, why blame you me to loue you?
      Sil. If this be so, why blame you me to loue you?
      Orl. If this be so, why blame you me to loue you?
      Ros. Why do you speake too, Why blame you mee
    to loue you


       Orl. To her, that is not heere, nor doth not heare


       Ros. Pray you no more of this, 'tis like the howling
    of Irish Wolues against the Moone: I will helpe you
    if I can: I would loue you if I could: To morrow meet
    me altogether: I wil marrie you, if euer I marrie Woman,
    and Ile be married to morrow: I will satisfie you,
    if euer I satisfi'd man, and you shall bee married to morrow.
    I wil content you, if what pleases you contents
    you, and you shal be married to morrow: As you loue
    Rosalind meet, as you loue Phebe meet, and as I loue no
    woman, Ile meet: so fare you wel: I haue left you commands


       Sil. Ile not faile, if I liue


       Phe. Nor I


       Orl. Nor I.


    Exeunt.



    Scoena Tertia.


    Enter Clowne and Audrey.


      Clo. To morrow is the ioyfull day Audrey, to morow
    will we be married


       Aud. I do desire it with all my heart: and I hope it is
    no dishonest desire, to desire to be a woman of y world?
    Heere come two of the banish'd Dukes Pages.
    Enter two Pages.


      1.Pa. Wel met honest Gentleman


       Clo. By my troth well met: come, sit, sit, and a song


       2.Pa. We are for you, sit i'th middle


       1.Pa. Shal we clap into't roundly, without hauking,
    or spitting, or saying we are hoarse, which are the onely
    prologues to a bad voice


       2.Pa. I faith, y'faith, and both in a tune like two
    gipsies on a horse.


    Song.


    It was a Louer, and his lasse,
    With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
    That o're the greene corne feild did passe,
    In the spring time, the onely pretty rang time.
    When Birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding.
    Sweet Louers loue the spring,
    And therefore take the present time.
    With a hey, &a ho, and a hey nonino,
    For loue is crowned with the prime.
    In spring time, Betweene the acres of the Rie,
    With a hey, and a ho, &a hey nonino:
    These prettie Country folks would lie.
    In spring time, This Carroll they began that houre,
    With a hey and a ho, &a hey nonino:
    How that a life was but a Flower,
    In spring time,


       Clo. Truly yong Gentlemen, though there was no
    great matter in the dittie, yet y note was very vntunable
      1.Pa. you are deceiu'd Sir, we kept time, we lost not
    our time


       Clo. By my troth yes: I count it but time lost to heare
    such a foolish song. God buy you, and God mend your
    voices. Come Audrie.


    Exeunt.


    Scena Quarta.


    Enter Duke Senior, Amyens, Iaques, Orlando, Oliuer, Celia.


      Du.Sen. Dost thou beleeue Orlando, that the boy
    Can do all this that he hath promised?
      Orl. I sometimes do beleeue, and somtimes do not,
    As those that feare they hope, and know they feare.
    Enter Rosalinde, Siluius, &Phebe.


      Ros. Patience once more, whiles our co[m]pact is vrg'd:
    You say, if I bring in your Rosalinde,
    You wil bestow her on Orlando heere?
      Du.Se. That would I, had I kingdoms to giue with hir


       Ros. And you say you wil haue her, when I bring hir?
      Orl. That would I, were I of all kingdomes King


       Ros. You say, you'l marrie me, if I be willing


       Phe. That will I, should I die the houre after


       Ros. But if you do refuse to marrie me,
    You'l giue your selfe to this most faithfull Shepheard


       Phe. So is the bargaine


       Ros. You say that you'l haue Phebe if she will


       Sil. Though to haue her and death, were both one
    thing


       Ros. I haue promis'd to make all this matter euen:
    Keepe you your word, O Duke, to giue your daughter,
    You yours Orlando, to receiue his daughter:
    Keepe you your word Phebe, that you'l marrie me,
    Or else refusing me to wed this shepheard:
    Keepe your word Siluius, that you'l marrie her
    If she refuse me, and from hence I go
    To make these doubts all euen.


    Exit Ros. and Celia.


      Du.Sen. I do remember in this shepheard boy,
    Some liuely touches of my daughters fauour


       Orl. My Lord, the first time that I euer saw him,
    Me thought he was a brother to your daughter:
    But my good Lord, this Boy is Forrest borne,
    And hath bin tutor'd in the rudiments
    Of many desperate studies, by his vnckle,
    Whom he reports to be a great Magitian.
    Enter Clowne and Audrey.


    Obscured in the circle of this Forrest


       Iaq. There is sure another flood toward, and these
    couples are comming to the Arke. Here comes a payre
    of verie strange beasts, which in all tongues, are call'd
    Fooles


       Clo. Salutation and greeting to you all


       Iaq. Good my Lord, bid him welcome: This is the
    Motley-minded Gentleman, that I haue so often met in
    the Forrest: he hath bin a Courtier he sweares


       Clo. If any man doubt that, let him put mee to my
    purgation, I haue trod a measure, I haue flattred a Lady,
    I haue bin politicke with my friend, smooth with mine
    enemie, I haue vndone three Tailors, I haue had foure
    quarrels, and like to haue fought one


       Iaq. And how was that tane vp?
      Clo. 'Faith we met, and found the quarrel was vpon
    the seuenth cause


       Iaq. How seuenth cause? Good my Lord, like this
    fellow


       Du.Se. I like him very well


       Clo. God'ild you sir, I desire you of the like: I presse
    in heere sir, amongst the rest of the Country copulatiues
    to sweare, and to forsweare, according as mariage binds
    and blood breakes: a poore virgin sir, an il-fauor'd thing
    sir, but mine owne, a poore humour of mine sir, to take
    that that no man else will: rich honestie dwels like a miser
    sir, in a poore house, as your Pearle in your foule oyster


       Du.Se. By my faith, he is very swift, and sententious
      Clo. According to the fooles bolt sir, and such dulcet
    diseases


       Iaq. But for the seuenth cause. How did you finde
    the quarrell on the seuenth cause?
      Clo. Vpon a lye, seuen times remoued: (beare your
    bodie more seeming Audry) as thus sir: I did dislike the
    cut of a certaine Courtiers beard: he sent me word, if I
    said his beard was not cut well, hee was in the minde it
    was: this is call'd the retort courteous. If I sent him
    word againe, it was not well cut, he wold send me word
    he cut it to please himselfe: this is call'd the quip modest.
    If againe, it was not well cut, he disabled my iudgment:
    this is called, the reply churlish. If againe it was not well
    cut, he would answer I spake not true: this is call'd the
    reproofe valiant. If againe, it was not well cut, he wold
    say, I lie: this is call'd the counter-checke quarrelsome:
    and so to lye circumstantiall, and the lye direct


       Iaq. And how oft did you say his beard was not well
    cut?
      Clo. I durst go no further then the lye circumstantial:
    nor he durst not giue me the lye direct: and so wee measur'd
    swords, and parted


       Iaq. Can you nominate in order now, the degrees of
    the lye


       Clo. O sir, we quarrel in print, by the booke: as you
    haue bookes 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 Reproofe valiant: the fift, the Counterchecke quarrelsome:
    the sixt, the Lye with circumstance: the seauenth,
    the Lye direct: all these you may auoyd, but the
    Lye direct: and you may auoide that too, with an If. I
    knew when seuen Iustices could not take vp a Quarrell,
    but when the parties were met themselues, one of them
    thought but of an If; as if you saide so, then I saide so:
    and they shooke hands, and swore brothers. Your If, is
    the onely peace-maker: much vertue in if


       Iaq. Is not this a rare fellow my Lord? He's as good
    at any thing, and yet a foole


       Du.Se. He vses his folly like a stalking-horse, and vnder
    the presentation of that he shoots his wit.
    Enter Hymen, Rosalind, and Celia.


    Still Musicke.


      Hymen. Then is there mirth in heauen,
    When earthly things made eauen
    attone together.
    Good Duke receiue thy daughter,
    Hymen from Heauen brought her,
    Yea brought her hether.
    That thou mightst ioyne his hand with his,
    Whose heart within his bosome is


       Ros. To you I giue my selfe, for I am yours.
    To you I giue my selfe, for I am yours


       Du.Se. If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter


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


       Phe. If sight &shape be true, why then my loue adieu
      Ros. Ile haue no Father, if you be not he:
    Ile haue no Husband, if you be not he:
    Nor ne're wed woman, if you be not shee


       Hy. Peace hoa: I barre confusion,
    'Tis I must make conclusion
    Of these most strange euents:
    Here's eight that must take hands,
    To ioyne in Hymens bands,
    If truth holds true contents.
    You and you, no crosse shall part;
    You and you, are hart in hart:
    You, to his loue must accord,
    Or haue a Woman to your Lord.
    You and you, are sure together,
    As the Winter to fowle Weather:
    Whiles a Wedlocke Hymne we sing,
    Feede your selues with questioning:
    That reason, wonder may diminish
    How thus we met, and these things finish.


    Song.


    Wedding is great Iunos crowne,
    O blessed bond of boord and bed:
    'Tis Hymen peoples euerie towne,
    High wedlock then be honored:
    Honor, high honor and renowne
    To Hymen, God of euerie Towne


       Du.Se. O my deere Neece, welcome thou art to me,
    Euen daughter welcome, in no lesse degree


       Phe. I wil not eate my word, now thou art mine,
    Thy faith, my fancie to thee doth combine.
    Enter Second Brother.


      2.Bro. Let me haue audience for a word or two:
    I am the second sonne of old Sir Rowland,
    That bring these tidings to this faire assembly.
    Duke Frederick hearing how that euerie day
    Men of great worth resorted to this forrest,
    Addrest a mightie power, which were on foote
    In his owne conduct, purposely to take
    His brother heere, and put him to the sword:
    And to the skirts of this wilde Wood he came;
    Where, meeting with an old Religious man,
    After some question with him, was conuerted
    Both from his enterprize, and from the world:
    His crowne bequeathing to his banish'd Brother,
    And all their Lands restor'd to him againe
    That were with him exil'd. This to be true,
    I do engage my life


       Du.Se. Welcome yong man:
    Thou offer'st fairely to thy brothers wedding:
    To one his lands with-held, and to the other
    A land it selfe at large, a potent Dukedome.
    First, in this Forrest, let vs do those ends
    That heere were well begun, and wel begot:
    And after, euery of this happie number
    That haue endur'd shrew'd daies, and nights with vs,
    Shal share the good of our returned fortune,
    According to the measure of their states.
    Meane time, forget this new-falne dignitie,
    And fall into our Rusticke Reuelrie:
    Play Musicke, and you Brides and Bride-groomes all,
    With measure heap'd in ioy, to'th Measures fall


       Iaq. Sir, by your patience: if I heard you rightly,
    The Duke hath put on a Religious life,
    And throwne into neglect the pompous Court


       2.Bro. He hath


       Iaq. To him will I: out of these conuertites,
    There is much matter to be heard, and learn'd:
    you to your former Honor, I bequeath
    your patience, and your vertue, well deserues it.
    you to a loue, that your true faith doth merit:
    you to your land, and loue, and great allies:
    you to a long, and well-deserued bed:
    And you to wrangling, for thy louing voyage
    Is but for two moneths victuall'd: So to your pleasures,
    I am for other, then for dancing meazures


       Du.Se. Stay, Iaques, stay


       Iaq. To see no pastime, I: what you would haue,
    Ile stay to know, at your abandon'd caue.
    Enter.


      Du.Se. Proceed, proceed: wee'l begin these rights,
    As we do trust, they'l end in true delights.


    Exit


      Ros. It is not the fashion to see the Ladie the Epilogue:
    but it is no more vnhandsome, then to see the
    Lord the Prologue. If it be true, that good wine needs
    no bush, 'tis true, that a good play needes no Epilogue.
    Yet to good wine they do vse good bushes: and good
    playes proue the better by the helpe of good Epilogues:
    What a case am I in then, that am neither a good Epilogue,
    nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalfe of a
    good play? I am not furnish'd like a Begger, therefore
    to begge will not become mee. My way is to coniure
    you, and Ile begin with the Women. I charge you (O
    women) for the loue you beare to men, to like as much
    of this Play, as please you: And I charge you (O men)
    for the loue you beare to women (as I perceiue by your
    simpring, none of you hates them) that betweene you,
    and the women, the play may please. If I were a Woman,
    I would kisse as many of you as had beards that
    pleas'd me, complexions that lik'd me, and breaths that
    I defi'de not: And I am sure, as many as haue good
    beards, or good faces, or sweet breaths, will for my kind
    offer, when I make curt'sie, bid me farewell.
    Enter.


    FINIS. As you Like it.