ROSALIND A lean cheek, which you have not: a blue341 eye and
sunken, which you have not: an unquestionable342 spirit, which
you have not: a beard neglected, which you have not — but
I pardon you for that, for simply your having in beard is344
a younger brother’s revenue. Then your hose should be
ungartered, your bonnet unbanded346, your sleeve unbuttoned,
your shoe untied and everything about you demonstrating a
careless desolation: but you are no such man: you are rather
point-device in your accoutrements, as349 loving yourself than
seeming the lover of any other.
ORLANDO Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.
ROSALIND Me believe it? You may as soon make her that you
love believe it, which I warrant she is apter353 to do than to
confess she does: that is one of the points in the which
women still355 give the lie to their consciences. But, in good
sooth356, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein
Rosalind is so admired?
ORLANDO I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of
Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he.
ROSALIND But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak?
ORLANDO Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.
ROSALIND Love is merely362 a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as
well a dark house and a whip as madmen do363: and the reason
why they are not so punished and cured is that the lunacy is
so ordinary that the whippers are in love too. Yet I profess365
curing it by counsel.
ORLANDO Did you ever cure any so?
ROSALIND Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to imagine me
his love, his mistress, and I set him every day to woo me. At
which time would I, being but a moonish370 youth, grieve, be
effeminate, changeable, longing and liking, proud, fantastical371,
apish372, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles, for
every passion something and for no passion truly anything,
as boys and women are for the most part cattle of this colour374:
would now like him, now loathe him: then entertain375 him,
then forswear him: now weep for him, then spit at him; that376
I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love to a living377
humour of madness, which was, to forswear the full stream
of the world, and to live in a nook merely379 monastic. And thus
I cured him, and this way will I take upon me to wash your
liver as clean as a sound381 sheep’s heart, that there shall not be
one spot of love in’t.
ORLANDO I would not be cured, youth.
ROSALIND I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind
and come every day to my cote385 and woo me.
ORLANDO Now, by the faith of my love, I will. Tell me where it is.
ROSALIND Go with me to it and I’ll show it you, and by387 the way
you shall tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go?
ORLANDO With all my heart, good youth.
ROSALIND Nay, you must call me Rosalind.— Come, sister, will
you go?
Exeunt
Act 3 Scene 3
running scene 9 continues
Enter Clown [Touchstone], Audrey and Jaques [behind]
TOUCHSTONE Come apace1, good Audrey. I will fetch up your
goats, Audrey. And how2, Audrey, am I the man yet? Doth my
simple feature3 content you?
AUDREY Your features? Lord warrant4 us! What features?
TOUCHSTONE I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most
capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.6
Aside
JAQUES O, knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove7
in a thatched house.
TOUCHSTONE When a man’s verses cannot be understood,
nor a man’s good wit seconded with the forward10 child,
understanding, it strikes a man more dead than a great11
reckoning in a little room. Truly, I would the gods had made
thee poetical.
AUDREY I do not know what ‘poetical’ is. Is it honest14 in deed
and word? Is it a true thing?
TOUCHSTONE No, truly, for the truest poetry is the most
feigning17, and lovers are given to poetry, and what they swear
in poetry may be said as lovers, they do feign.
AUDREY Do you wish then that the gods had made me
poetical?
TOUCHSTONE I do truly, for thou swear’st to me thou art honest21.
Now if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst
AUDREY Would you not have me honest?
TOUCHSTONE No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favoured25, for
honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar.
Aside
JAQUES A material27 fool!
AUDREY Well, I am not fair, and therefore I pray the gods
make me honest.
TOUCHSTONE Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut30
were to put good meat into an unclean dish31.
AUDREY I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul.
TOUCHSTONE Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness;
sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will
marry thee, and to that end I have been with Sir Oliver35
Martext, the vicar of the next36 village, who hath promised to
meet me in this place of the forest and to couple37 us.
Aside
JAQUES I would fain see this meeting38.
AUDREY Well, the gods give us joy!
TOUCHSTONE Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart,
stagger41 in this attempt, for here we have no temple but the
wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But what though42?
Courage! As horns are odious, they are necessary43. It is said,
‘many a man knows no end of his goods44’. Right. Many a
man has good horns, and knows no end of them. Well, that
is the dowry of his wife: ’tis none of his own getting. Horns?
Even so. Poor men alone? No, no: the noblest deer47 hath them
as huge as the rascal48. Is the single man therefore blessed?
No: as a walled49 town is more worthier than a village, so is
the forehead of a married man more honourable than the
bare brow of a bachelor. And by how much defence51 is better
than no skill, by so much is a horn more precious than to52
want.
Enter Sir Oliver Martext
Here comes Sir Oliver.— Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met.
Will you dispatch us55 here under this tree, or shall we go with
you to your chapel?
SIR OLIVER Is there none here to give the woman?
TOUCHSTONE I will not take her on58 gift of any man.
SIR OLIVER Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not
lawful.
Steps forward
JAQUES Proceed, proceed I’ll give her.
TOUCHSTONE Good even, good Master What-ye-call’t62. How do
you, sir? You are very well met. God ’ild you for your last63
company, I am very glad to see you. Even a toy in hand64 h
ere,
sir. Nay, pray be covered65.
JAQUES Will you be married, motley?
TOUCHSTONE As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb67 and
the falcon her bells68, so man hath his desires, and as pigeons
bill, so wedlock would be nibbling69.
JAQUES And will you, being a man of your breeding, be
married under a bush like a beggar? Get you to church, and
have a good priest that can tell you what marriage is: this
fellow will but join you together as they join wainscot73, then
one of you will prove a shrunk panel and, like green74 timber,
warp75, warp.
Aside
TOUCHSTONE I am not in the mind but76 I were better to be
married of him than of another, for he is not like77 to marry
me well78, and not being well married, it will be a good excuse
for me hereafter to leave my wife.
JAQUES Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.
TOUCHSTONE Come, sweet Audrey:
We must be married, or we must live in bawdry82.
Farewell, good Master Oliver. Not —
‘O sweet Oliver, O brave84 Oliver,
Leave me not behind thee’
but —
‘Wind87 away,
Begone, I say,
I will not to wedding with thee.’
SIR OLIVER ’Tis no matter; ne’er a fantastical90 knave of them all
shall flout91 me out of my calling.
Exeunt [separately]
Act 3 Scene 4
running scene 9 continues
Enter Rosalind and Celia
ROSALIND Never talk to me. I will weep.
CELIA Do, I prithee, but yet have the grace to consider that
tears do not become a man.
ROSALIND But have I not cause to weep?
CELIA As good cause as one would desire: therefore weep.
ROSALIND His very hair is of the dissembling colour.6
CELIA Something browner than Judas’. Marry, his kisses7
are Judas’ own children.
ROSALIND I’faith, his hair is of a good colour.
CELIA An excellent colour, your10 chestnut was ever the
only11 colour.
ROSALIND And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of
holy bread13.
CELIA He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana14. A nun
of winter’s sisterhood15 kisses not more religiously, the very ice
of chastity is in them.
ROSALIND But why did he swear he would come this morning,
and comes not?
CELIA Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.
ROSALIND Do you think so?
CELIA Yes, I think he is not a pick-purse nor a horse-
stealer, but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave22 as
a covered goblet23 or a worm-eaten nut.
ROSALIND Not true in love?
CELIA Yes, when he is in, but I think he is not in.
ROSALIND You have heard him swear downright he was.
CELIA ‘Was’ is not ‘is’. Besides, the oath of a lover is no
stronger than the word of a tapster28: they are both the
confirmer of false reckonings29. He attends here in the forest
on the duke your father.
ROSALIND I met the duke yesterday and had much question31
with him: he asked me of what parentage I was; I told him, of
as good as he, so he laughed and let me go. But what talk we
of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando?
CELIA O, that’s a brave man! He writes brave verses, speaks
brave words, swears brave oaths and breaks them bravely,
quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover, as a puny tilter37,
that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a
noble goose39; but all’s brave that youth mounts and folly
guides. Who comes here?
Enter Corin
CORIN Mistress and master, you have oft inquired
After the shepherd that complained of42 love,
Who you saw sitting by me on the turf,
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
That was his mistress.
CELIA Well, and what of him?
CORIN If you will see a pageant47 truly played,
Between the pale complexion of true love
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain,
Go hence a little and I shall conduct you,
If you will mark51 it.
ROSALIND O, come, let us remove52:
The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.
Bring us to this sight, and you shall say
I’ll prove a busy actor in their play.
Exeunt
Act 3 Scene 5
running scene 9 continues
Enter Silvius and Phoebe
SILVIUS Sweet Phoebe, do not scorn me, do not, Phoebe.
Say that you love me not, but say not so
In bitterness. The common executioner,
Whose heart th’accustomed sight of death makes hard,
Falls5 not the axe upon the humbled neck
But first begs pardon6: will you sterner be
Than he that dies and lives7 by bloody drops?
They stand aside
Enter Rosalind, Celia and Corin
PHOEBE I would not be thy executioner.
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
Thou tell’st me there is murder in mine eye:
’Tis pretty11, sure, and very probable,
That eyes, that are the frail’st and softest things,
Who shut their coward gates on atomies13,
Should be called tyrants, butchers, murderers.
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart,
And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee.
Now counterfeit17 to swoon, why now fall down,
Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame,
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers.
Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee:
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
Some scar of it. Lean but upon a rush22,
The cicatrice and capable impressure23
Thy palm some moment keeps. But now mine eyes,
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not,
Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes
That can do hurt.
SILVIUS O dear Phoebe, If ever — as that ever may be near —
You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy29,
Then shall you know the wounds invisible
That love’s keen31 arrows make.
PHOEBE But till that time
Come not thou near me: and when that time comes,
Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not,
As till that time I shall not pity thee.
Steps forward
ROSALIND And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother,
That you insult, exult, and all at once,
Over the wretched? What though38 you have no beauty —
As, by my faith, I see no more in you
Than without candle may go dark to bed40 —
Must you be therefore proud and pitiless?
Why, what means this? Why do you look on me?
I see no more in you than in the ordinary43
Of nature’s sale-work. ’Od’s44 my little life,
I think she means to tangle45 my eyes too!
No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it:
’Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair,
Your bugle48 eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream
That can entame my spirits to your worship.
To Silvius
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her,
Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain51?
You are a thousand times a properer52 man
Than she a woman. ’Tis such fools as you
That makes the world full of ill-favoured children.
’Tis not her glass55 but you that flatters her,
And out of you she sees herself more proper
Than any of her lineaments57 can show her.
But mistress, know yourself: down on your knees,
And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man’s love;
For I must tell you friendly in your ear,
Sell when you can, you are not for all markets.
Cry62 the man mercy, love him, take his offer:
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer63.
So take her to thee, shepherd. Fare you well.
PHOEBE Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together65:
I had rather hear you chide than this man woo.
Aside or to Phoebe/To Silvius
ROSALIND He’s fallen in love with your foulness—
and she’ll fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as
fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I’ll
To Phoebe
sauce70 her with bitter words.— Why look you so
upon me?
PHOEBE For no ill will I bear you.
ROSALIND I pray you do not fall in love with me,
For I am falser than vows made in wine74.
Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house,
’Tis at the tuft of olives, here hard76 by.
Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply77 her hard.
Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better,
And be not proud: though all the world could see,
None could be so abused in sight80 as he.
Come, to our flock.
Exeunt [Rosalind, Celia and Corin]
PHOEBE Dead Shepherd, now I find thy saw of might82,
‘Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?’
SILVIUS Sweet Phoebe—
PHOEBE Ha, what say’st thou, Silvius?
SILVIUS Sweet Phoebe, pity me.