_A table set out. Enter_ DUKE senior, AMIENS, _and_ Lords _like_
outlaws.
_Duke S._ I think he be transform’d into a beast;
For I can no where find him like a man.
_First Lord._ My lord, he is but even now gone hence:
Here was he merry, hearing of a song.
_Duke S._ If he, compact of jars, grow musical, 5
We shall have shortly discord in the spheres.
Go, seek him: tell him I would speak with him.
_Enter_ JAQUES.
_First Lord._ He saves my labour by his own approach.
_Duke S._ Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this,
That your poor friends must woo your company? 10
What, you look merrily!
_Jaq._ A fool, a fool! I met a fool i’ the forest,
A motley fool; a miserable world!
As I do live by food, I met a fool;
Who laid him down and bask’d him in the sun, 15
And rail’d on Lady Fortune in good terms,
In good set terms, and yet a motley fool.
‘Good morrow, fool,’ quoth I. ‘No, sir,’ quoth he,
‘Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune:’
And then he drew a dial from his poke, 20
And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
Says very wisely, ‘It is ten o’clock:
Thus we may see,’ quoth he, ‘how the world wags:
’Tis but an hour ago since it was nine;
And after one hour more ’twill be eleven; 25
And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,
And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot;
And thereby hangs a tale.’ When I did hear
The motley fool thus moral on the time,
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, 30
That fools should be so deep-contemplative;
And I did laugh sans intermission
An hour by his dial. O noble fool!
A worthy fool! Motley’s the only wear.
_Duke S._ What fool is this? 35
_Jaq._ O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier,
And says, if ladies be but young and fair,
They have the gift to know it: and in his brain,
Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit
After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm’d 40
With observation, the which he vents
In mangled forms. O that I were a fool!
I am ambitious for a motley coat.
_Duke S._ Thou shalt have one.
_Jaq._ It is my only suit;
Provided that you weed your better judgements 45
Of all opinion that grows rank in them
That I am wise. I must have liberty
Withal, as large a charter as the wind,
To blow on whom I please; for so fools have;
And they that are most galled with my folly, 50
They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so?
The ‘why’ is plain as way to parish church:
He that a fool doth very wisely hit
Doth very foolishly, although he smart,
Not to seem senseless of the bob: if not, 55
The wise man’s folly is anatomized
Even by the squandering glances of the fool.
Invest me in my motley; give me leave
To speak my mind, and I will through and through
Cleanse the foul body of the infected world, 60
If they will patiently receive my medicine.
_Duke S._ Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do.
_Jaq._ What, for a counter, would I do but good?
_Duke S._ Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin:
For thou thyself hast been a libertine, 65
As sensual as the brutish sting itself;
And all the embossed sores and headed evils,
That thou with license of free foot hast caught,
Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.
_Jaq._ Why, who cries out on pride, 70
That can therein tax any private party?
Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,
Till that the weary very means do ebb?
What woman in the city do I name,
When that I say the city-woman bears 75
The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders?
Who can come in and say that I mean her,
When such a one as she such is her neighbour?
Or what is he of basest function,
That says his bravery is not of my cost, 80
Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits
His folly to the mettle of my speech?
There then; how then? what then? Let me see wherein
My tongue hath wrong’d him: if it do him right,
Then he hath wrong’d himself; if he be free, 85
Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies,
Unclaim’d of any man. But who comes here?
_Enter_ ORLANDO, _with his sword drawn_.
_Orl._ Forbear, and eat no more.
_Jaq._ Why, I have eat none yet.
_Orl._ Nor shalt not, till necessity be served.
_Jaq._ Of what kind should this cock come of? 90
_Duke S._ Art thou thus bolden’d, man, by thy distress,
Or else a rude despiser of good manners,
That in civility thou seem’st so empty?
_Orl._ You touch’d my vein at first: the thorny point
Of bare distress hath ta’en from me the show 95
Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred
And know some nurture. But forbear, I say:
He dies that touches any of this fruit
Till I and my affairs are answered.
_Jaq._ An you will not be answered with reason, I 100
must die.
_Duke S._ What would you have? Your gentleness shall force,
More than your force move us to gentleness.
_Orl._ I almost die for food; and let me have it.
_Duke S._ Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table. 105
_Orl._ Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you:
I thought that all things had been savage here;
And therefore put I on the countenance
Of stern commandment. But whate’er you are
That in this desert inaccessible, 110
Under the shade of melancholy boughs,
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time;
If ever you have look’d on better days,
If ever been where bells have knoll’d to church,
If ever sat at any good man’s feast, 115
If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear
And know what ’tis to pity and be pitied,
Let gentleness my strong enforcement be:
In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.
_Duke S._ True is it that we have seen better days, 120
And have with holy bell been knoll’d to church
And sat at good men’s feasts and wiped our eyes
Of drops that sacred pity hath engender’d:
And therefore sit you down in gentleness
And take upon command what help we have 125
That to your wanting may be minister’d.
_Orl._ Then but forbear your food a little while,
Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn
And give it food. There is an old poor man,
Who after me hath many a weary step 130
Limp’d in pure love: till he be first sufficed,
Oppress’d with two weak evils, age and hunger,
I will not touch a bit.
_Duke S._ Go find him out,
And we will nothing waste till you return.
_Orl._ I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort! 135
[_Exit._
_Duke S._ Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy:
This wide and universal theatre
Presents more woeful pageants than the scene
Wherein we play in.
_Jaq._ All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players: 140
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel 145
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, 150
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, 155
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide 160
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion, 165
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.
_Re-enter_ ORLANDO, _with_ ADAM.
_Duke S._ Welcome. Set down your venerable burthen,
And let him feed.
_Orl._ I thank you most for him.
_Adam._ So had you need:
I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. 170
_Duke S._ Welcome; fall to: I will not trouble you
As yet, to question you about your fortunes.
Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing.
SONG.
_Ami._ Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind 175
As man’s ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly: 180
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky
That dost not bite so nigh 185
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remember’d not.
Heigh-ho! sing, &c. 190
_Duke S._ If that you were the good Sir Rowland’s son,
As you have whisper’d faithfully you were,
And as mine eye doth his effigies witness
Most truly limn’d and living in your face,
Be truly welcome hither: I am the Duke 195
That loved your father: the residue of your fortune,
Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man,
Thou art right welcome as thy master is.
Support him by the arm. Give me your hand,
And let me all your fortunes understand. [_Exeunt._ 200
~~~~~
Linenotes: _As You Like It_, II, 7.
SCENE VII. A table set out] Rowe.
Enter...] Enter Duke Sen. & Lord,... Ff.
10: After this line Capell inserts _And cannot have ’t?_
13: _miserable world_] _miserable varlet_ Hanmer (Warburton).
_miserable word_ Becket conj. _miserable!—well,—_ Jackson conj.
_miserable ort_ Hunter conj.
25: _one_] _an_ Reed (1803).
31: _deep-contemplative_] Reed.
34–36: _A worthy...O worthy_] _O worthy...A worthy_ Anon. conj.
53: _He that_] _He whom_ Pope.
54, 55: _Doth very foolishly,...Not to seem_] _Doth, very
foolishly...Seem_ Whiter conj.
55: _Not to seem senseless_] Theobald (Warburton). _Sceme
senselesse_ Ff. _But to seem senseless_ Collier (Collier MS.). _Seem
else than senseless_ or _Seem less than senseless_ Anon. conj.
56: _wise man’s_] _Wise-man’s_ F1 F2 F3. _wise-man’s_ F4.
64: _sin_] _fin_ F1.
66: _sting_] _sty_ Johnson conj.
73: _weary very means_] F3 F4. (_meanes_ F3). _wearie verie
meanes_ F1 F2. _very very means_ Pope. _weary venom means_ Jackson
conj. _very wearing means_ Collier conj. _very means of wear_
Collier MS. _wearer’s very means_ Singer. _weary-very means_ or
_very-weary means_ Staunton conj. _tributary streams_ Lloyd conj.
83: _There then; how then? what then?_] _There then, how then,
what then,_ Ff. _There then; how, what then?_ Capell. _Where then?
how...then?_ Malone conj.
_what then? Let me_] _Let me then_ Hanmer.
87: _any....comes_] F2 F3 F4. _any man. But who come_ F1.
Enter......drawn.] Theobald. Enter Orlando. Ff.
90: _Of what_] _What_ Capell conj.
_come of_] _come_ Rowe.
95: _hath_] F1. _that hath_ F2 F3 F4.
_ta’en_] _torn_ Johnson conj.
100, 101: Printed as verse, ending _reason...die_ in Ff. First as
prose by Capell. _If...not Be...die_ Pope.
100: _An_] _And_ Ff. _If_ Pope.
_answered_] _answer’d_ Ff.
_reason_] _reasons_ Staunton conj.
102, 103: As three lines ending _have?...your force...gentleness_ in
Ff.
109: _commandment_] _command’ment_ Ff.
119: _blush_] F1. _bush_ F2 F3 F4.
125: _command_] _demand_ Johnson conj. _commend_ Collier (Collier
MS.).
130: _a_] om. F4.
132: _Oppressed....hunger_] Should follow line 129. Anon. conj.
135: [Exit.] Rowe. om. Ff.
139: _Wherein we play in_] _Wherein we play_ Pope. _Which we do play
in_ Capell conj.
_Wherein..._ Jaq. _All_] _Wherein in we play._ Jaq. _Why, all_
Steevens conj. _wherein we play._ Jaq. _Ay, all_ Anon. conj.
141: _exits_] _Exits_ (in italics) Ff.
143: _ages_] _labours_ Mason conj.
_At first_] _As first_ Capell conj. _Act first_ or _First_ Anon.
conj.
145: _Then_] _And then_ Rowe (ed. 2). _Then there’s_ Anon. conj.
150: _pard_] _Pand_ Anon. conj.
161: _shank_] F3 F4. _shanke_ F1 F2. _shanks_ Hanmer.
167, 168: _Welcome...feed_] Printed as prose in Ff.
174: Ami.] Amiens sings. Johnson. om. Ff.
175–178: As two lines in Ff.
178: _Because_] _Beside,_ Becket conj.
_Because...seen_] _Thou causest not that teen_ Hanmer. _Because
the heart’s not seen_ Farmer conj. _Because thou art foreseen_
Staunton conj.
_seen_] _sheen_ Warburton.
182: _Then,_] Rowe. _The_ Ff.
184–189: As four lines in Ff.
189: _remember’d_] _remembering_ Hanmer.
198: _master_] _masters_ F1.
~~~~~
ACT III.
SCENE I. _A room in the palace._
_Enter_ DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, _and_ OLIVER.
_Duke F._ Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be:
But were I not the better part made mercy,
I should not seek an absent argument
Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it:
Find out thy brother, wheresoe’er he is; 5
Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living
Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more
To seek a living in our territory.
Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine
Worth seizure do we seize into our hands, 10
Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother’s mouth
Of what we think against thee.
_Oli._ O that your Highness knew my heart in this!
I never loved my brother in my life.
_Duke F._ More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors; 15
And let my officers of such a nature
Make an extent upon his house and lands:
Do this expediently and turn him going. [_Exeunt._
~~~~~
Linenotes: _As You Like It_, III, 1.
SCENE I. A room...] Capell.
Duke F.] Duke, F1.
1: _see_] _seen_ Singer (Collier MS.).
3: _seek_] F1. _see_ F2 F3 F4.
~~~~~
SCENE II. _The Forest._
_Enter_ ORLANDO, _with a paper_.
_Orl._ Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love:
And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey
With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above,
Thy huntress’ name that my full life doth sway.
O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books 5
And in their barks my thoughts I’ll character;
That every eye which in this forest looks
Shall see thy virtue witness’d every where.
Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree
The fair, the chaste and unexpressive she. [_Exit._ 10
_Enter_ CORIN _and_ TOUCHSTONE.
_Cor._ And how like you this shepherd’s life, Master
Touchstone?
_Touch._ Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good
life; but in respect that it is a shepherd’s life, it is naught.
In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in 15
respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now, in
respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect
it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life,
look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more
plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any 20
philosophy in thee, shepherd?
_Cor._ No more but that I know the more one sickens the
worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money, means
and content is without three good friends; that the property
of rain is to wet and fire to burn; that good pasture makes 25
fat sheep, and that a great cause of the night is lack of the
sun; that he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art may
complain of good breeding or comes of a very dull kindred.
_Touch._ Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever
in court, shepherd? 30
_Cor._ No, truly.
_Touch._ Then thou art damned.
_Cor._ Nay, I hope.
_Touch._ Truly, thou art damned like an ill-roasted egg,
all on one side. 35
_Cor._ For not being at court? Your reason.
_Touch._ Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never
sawest good manners; if thou never sawest good manners,
then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is sin,
and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd. 40
_Cor._ Not a whit, Touchstone: those that are good manners
at the court are as ridiculous in the country as the behaviour
of the country is most mockable at the court. You
told me you salute not at the court, but you kiss your hands:
that courtesy would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds. 45
_Touch._ Instance, briefly; come, instance.
_Cor._ Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their
fells, you know, are greasy.
_Touch._ Why, do not your courtier’s hands sweat? and
is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of 50
a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say; come.
_Cor._ Besides, our hands are hard.
_Touch._ Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow
again. A more sounder instance, come.
_Cor._ And they are often tarred over with the surgery of 55
our sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier’s
hands are perfumed with civet.
_Touch._ Most shallow man! thou worms-meat, in respect
of a good piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and
perpend: civet is of a baser birth than tar, the very uncleanly 60
flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd.
_Cor._ You have too courtly a wit for me: I ’ll rest.
_Touch._ Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee, shallow
man! God make incision in thee! thou art raw.
_Cor._ Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get that 65
I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man’s happiness, glad of
other men’s good, content with my harm, and the greatest
of my pride is to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck.
_Touch._ That is another simple sin in you, to bring the
ewes and the rams together and to offer to get your living 70
by the copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a bell-wether,
and to betray a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to a
crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If
thou beest not damned for this, the devil himself will have
no shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst ’scape. 75
_Cor._ Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new
mistress’s brother.
_Enter_ ROSALIND, _with a paper, reading_.
_Ros._ From the east to western Ind,
No jewel is like Rosalind.
Her worth, being mounted on the wind, 80
Through all the world bears Rosalind.
All the pictures fairest lined
Are but black to Rosalind.
Let no face be kept in mind
But the fair of Rosalind. 85
_Touch._ I’ll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners
and suppers and sleeping-hours excepted: it is the right
butter-women’s rank to market.
_Ros._ Out, fool!
_Touch._ For a taste: 90
If a hart do lack a hind,
Let him seek out Rosalind.
If the cat will after kind,
So be sure will Rosalind.
Winter garments must be lined, 95
So must slender Rosalind.
They that reap must sheaf and bind;
Then to cart with Rosalind.
Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,
Such a nut is Rosalind. 100
He that sweetest rose will find,
Must find love’s prick and Rosalind.
This is the very false gallop of verses: why do you infect
yourself with them?
_Ros._ Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree. 105
_Touch._ Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.
_Ros._ I’ll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it
with a medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit i’ the country;
for you’ll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that’s the
right virtue of the medlar. 110
_Touch._ You have said; but whether wisely or no, let
the forest judge.
_Enter_ CELIA, _with a writing_.
_Ros._ Peace!
Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside.
_Cel._ [_reads_] Why should this a desert be? 115
For it is unpeopled? No;
Tongues I’ll hang on every tree,
That shall civil sayings show:
Some, how brief the life of man
Runs his erring pilgrimage, 120
That the stretching of a span
Buckles in his sum of age;
Some, of violated vows
’Twixt the souls of friend and friend:
But upon the fairest boughs, 125
Or at every sentence end,
Will I Rosalinda write,
Teaching all that read to know
The quintessence of every sprite
Heaven would in little show. 130
Therefore Heaven Nature charged
That one body should be fill’d
With all graces wide-enlarged:
Nature presently distill’d
Helen’s cheek, but not her heart, 135
Cleopatra’s majesty,
Atalanta’s better part,
Sad Lucretia’s modesty.
Thus Rosalind of many parts
By heavenly synod was devised; 140
Of many faces, eyes and hearts,
To have the touches dearest prized.
Heaven would that she these gifts should have,
And I to live and die her slave.
_Ros._ O most gentle pulpiter! what tedious homily of 145
love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never
cried ‘Have patience, good people’!
_Cel._ How now! back, friends! Shepherd, go off a little.
Go with him, sirrah.
_Touch._ Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable 150
retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip
and scrippage. [_Exeunt Corin and Touchstone._
_Cel._ Didst thou hear these verses?
_Ros._ O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some
of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear. 155
_Cel._ That’s no matter: the feet might bear the verses.
_Ros._ Ay, but the feet were lame and could not bear
themselves without the verse and therefore stood lamely
in the verse.
_Cel._ But didst thou hear without wondering how thy 160
name should be hanged and carved upon these trees?
_Ros._ I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder
before you came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree.
I was never so be-rhymed since Pythagoras’ time,
that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember. 165
_Cel._ Trow you who hath done this?
_Ros._ Is it a man?
_Cel._ And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck.
Change you colour?
_Ros._ I prithee, who? 170
_Cel._ O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to
meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes
and so encounter.
_Ros._ Nay, but who is it?
_Cel._ Is it possible? 175
_Ros._ Nay, I prithee now with most petitionary vehemence,
tell me who it is.
_Cel._ O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful!
and yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all
hooping! 180
_Ros._ Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I
am caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and hose in
my disposition? One inch of delay more is a South-sea of
discovery; I prithee, tell me who is it quickly, and speak
apace. I would thou couldst stammer, that thou mightst 185
pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes
out of a narrow-mouthed bottle, either too much at once,
or none at all. I prithee, take the cork out of thy mouth
that I may drink thy tidings.
_Cel._ So you may put a man in your belly. 190
_Ros._ Is he of God’s 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 be
thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay 195
me not the knowledge of his chin.
_Cel._ It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler’s
heels and your heart both in an instant.
_Ros._ Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak, sad
brow and true maid. 200
_Cel._ I’ faith, coz, ’tis he.
_Ros._ Orlando?
_Cel._ Orlando.
_Ros._ Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet
and hose? What did he when thou sawest him? What 205
said he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes
he here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How
parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see him again?
Answer me in one word.
_Cel._ You must borrow me Gargantua’s mouth first: ’tis 210
a word too great for any mouth of this age’s size. To say
ay and no to these particulars is more than to answer in a
catechism.
_Ros._ But doth he know that I am in this forest and in
man’s apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he 215
wrestled?
_Cel._ It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the
propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my finding him,
and relish it with good observance. I found him under a
tree, like a dropped acorn. 220
_Ros._ It may well be called Jove’s tree, when it drops
forth such fruit.
_Cel._ Give me audience, good madam.
_Ros._ Proceed.
_Cel._ There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded 225
knight.
_Ros._ Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes
the ground.
_Cel._ Cry ‘holla’ to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets
unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter. 230
_Ros._ O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.
_Cel._ I would sing my song without a burden: thou
bringest me out of tune.
_Ros._ Do you not know I am a woman? when I think,
I must speak. Sweet, say on. 235
_Cel._ You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here?
_Enter_ ORLANDO _and_ JAQUES.
_Ros._ Tis he: slink by, and note him.
_Jaq._ I thank you for your company; but, good faith,
I had as lief have been myself alone.
_Orl._ And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, 240
I thank you too for your society.
_Jaq._ God buy you: let’s meet as little as we can.
_Orl._ I do desire we may be better strangers.
_Jaq._ I pray you, mar no more trees with writing love-songs
in their barks. 245
_Orl._ I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading
them ill-favouredly.
_Jaq._ Rosalind is your love’s name?
_Orl._ Yes, just.
_Jaq._ I do not like her name. 250
_Orl._ There was no thought of pleasing you when she
was christened.
_Jaq._ What stature is she of?
_Orl._ Just as high as my heart.
_Jaq._ You are full of pretty answers. Have you not 255
been acquainted with goldsmiths’ wives, and conned them
out of rings?
_Orl._ Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth,
from whence you have studied your questions.
_Jaq._ You have a nimble wit: I think ’twas made of 260
Atalanta’s heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two
will rail against our mistress the world, and all our misery.
_Orl._ I will chide no breather in the world but myself,
against whom I know most faults.
_Jaq._ The worst fault you have is to be in love. 265
_Orl._ ’Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue.
I am weary of you.
_Jaq._ By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I
found you.
_Orl._ He is drowned in the brook: look but in, and you 270
shall see him.
_Jaq._ There I shall see mine own figure.
_Orl._ Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.
_Jaq._ I’ll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good Signior
Love. 275
_Orl._ I am glad of your departure: adieu, good Monsieur
Melancholy. [_Exit Jaques._
_Ros._ [_Aside to Celia_] I will speak to him like a saucy
lackey, and under that habit play the knave with him. Do
you hear, forester? 280
_Orl._ Very well: what would you?
_Ros._ I pray you, what is’t o’clock?
_Orl._ You should ask me what time o’ day: there’s no
clock in the forest.
_Ros._ Then there is no true lover in the forest; else 285
sighing every minute and groaning every hour would
detect the lazy foot of Time as well as a clock.
_Orl._ And why not the swift foot of Time? had not
that been as proper?
_Ros._ By no means, sir: Time travels in divers paces 290
with divers persons. I’ll tell you who Time ambles withal,
who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal and who
he stands still withal.
_Orl._ I prithee, who doth he trot withal?
_Ros._ Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between 295
the contract of her marriage and the day it is solemnized:
if the interim be but a se’nnight, Time’s pace is so hard
that it seems the length of seven year.
_Orl._ Who ambles Time withal?
_Ros._ With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich man 300
that hath not the gout; for the one sleeps easily because
he cannot study, and the other lives merrily because he
feels no pain; the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful
learning, the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious
penury: these Time ambles withal. 305
_Orl._ Who doth he gallop withal?
_Ros._ With a thief to the gallows; for though he go as
softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there.
_Orl._ Who stays it still withal?
_Ros._ With lawyers in the vacation; for they sleep between 310
term and term and then they perceive not how Time
moves.
_Orl._ Where dwell you, pretty youth?
_Ros._ With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the skirts
of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat. 315
_Orl._ Are you native of this place?
_Ros._ As the cony that you see dwell where she is kindled.
_Orl._ Your accent is something finer than you could
purchase in so removed a dwelling.
_Ros._ I have been told so of many: but indeed an old 320
religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his
youth an inland man; one that knew courtship too well, for
there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures
against it, and I thank God I am not a woman, to be
touched with so many giddy offences as he hath generally 325
taxed their whole sex withal.
_Orl._ Can you remember any of the principal evils
that he laid to the charge of women?
_Ros._ There were none principal; they were all like
one another as half-pence are, every one fault seeming 330
monstrous till his fellow-fault came to match it.
_Orl._ I prithee, recount some of them.
_Ros._ No, I will not cast away my physic but on those
that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest, that abuses
our young plants with carving Rosalind on their barks; 335
hangs odes upon hawthorns and elegies on brambles; all,
forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind: if I could meet
that fancy-monger, I would give him some good counsel,
for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him.
_Orl._ I am he that is so love-shaked: I pray you, tell 340
me your remedy.
_Ros._ There is none of my uncle’s marks upon you: he
taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of
rushes I am sure you are not prisoner.
_Orl._ What were his marks? 345
_Ros._ A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye
and sunken, which you have not; an unquestionable spirit,
which you have not; a beard neglected, which you have
not; but I pardon you for that, for simply your having in
beard is a younger brother’s revenue: then your hose should 350
be ungartered, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned,
your shoe untied and every thing about you demonstrating
a careless desolation; but you are no such man;
you are rather point-device in your accoutrements as loving
yourself than seeming the lover of any other. 355
_Orl._ Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I
love.
_Ros._ Me believe it! you may as soon make her that
you love believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do
than to confess she does: that is one of the points in the 360
which women still give the lie to their consciences. But, in
good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees,
wherein Rosalind is so admired?
_Orl._ I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of
Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he. 365
_Ros._ But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak?
_Orl._ Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.
_Ros._ Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves
as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do: and
the reason why they are not so punished and cured is, that 370
the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too.
Yet I profess curing it by counsel.
_Orl._ Did you ever cure any so?
_Ros._ Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to imagine
me his love, his mistress; and I set him every day to woo 375
me: at which time would I, being but a moonish youth,
grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing and liking;
proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears,
full of smiles; for every passion something and for no
passion truly any thing, as boys and women are for the 380
most part cattle of this colour: would now like him, now
loathe him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now
weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor from
his mad humour of love to a living humour of madness;
which was, to forswear the full stream of the world and to 385
live in a nook merely monastic. And thus I cured him;
and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as
clean as a sound sheep’s heart, that there shall not be one
spot of love in’t.
_Orl._ I would not be cured, youth. 390
_Ros._ I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind
and come every day to my cote and woo me.
_Orl._ Now, by the faith of my love, I will: tell me
where it is.
_Ros._ Go with me to it and I’ll show it you: and by 395
the way you shall tell me where in the forest you live.
Will you go?
_Orl._ With all my heart, good youth.
_Ros._ Nay, you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister,
will you go? [_Exeunt._ 400
~~~~~
Linenotes: _As You Like It_, III, 2.
SCENE II. Enter...paper] Capell. Enter Orlando. Ff.
11: SCENE III. Pope.
25: _good_] _pood_ F1.
28: _good_] _bad_ Hanmer. _gross_ Warburton.
33: _hope._] _hope—_ Rowe.
41: _Touchstone_] _Mr. Touchstone_ Capell.
50: _a mutton_] F1. _mutton_ F2 F3 F4.
54: _more sounder_] _sounder_ Pope.
56: _courtier’s_] _countiers_ F2.
59: _flesh indeed!_] _flesh indeed:_ Ff. _flesh: indeed!—_ Steevens.
71: _bawd_] F1 F2. _a bawd_ F3 F4.
76: _Master_] _M^r_ Ff.
77: SCENE IV. Pope.
Enter R....reading.] Capell. Enter Rosalind. Ff.
78: _western_] _the western_ Pope.
82: _lined_] _Linde_ F1 F2 F3. _Lind_ F4. _limn’d_ Capell.
84: _face_] _fair_ S. Walker conj.
85: _the fair of_] F1 F2. _the most fair_ F3 F4. _the face of_
Rowe (ed. 2). _of the fair_ Becket conj.
88: _rank to_] F3 F4. _ranke to_ F1 F2. _rate to_ Hanmer. _rant
at_ Grey conj.
95: _Winter_] F3 F4. _Wintred_ F1 F2.
99: _nut_] F1 F2. _meat_ F3 F4.
112: _forest_] _forester_ Warburton.
113: SCENE V. Pope.
115: [reads] om. Ff.
_a desert_] Rowe. _desert_ Ff. _desert silent_ Steevens
(Tyrwhitt conj.).
129: _The_] F1 F2. _This_ F3 F4.
131: _charged_] _charg’d_ F1 F2. _chang’d_ F3 F4.
135: _cheek_] _cheeke_ F1 F2. _cheeks_ F3 F4.
_her_] Rowe. _his_ Ff.
145: _pulpiter_] Edd. (Spedding conj.). _Jupiter_ Ff. _Juniper_
Warburton.
147: _cried_] _cride, have your parishiones withall, and never
cri’de_ F2.
148: _back, friends_] _back-friends_ _Theobald._
152: [Exeunt C. and T.] Exit. Ff.
153: SCENE VI. Pope.
162: _the wonder_] F1 _wonder_ F2 F3 F4.
163, 164: _palm-tree_] _plane-tree_ Collier conj.
164: _Pythagoras’_] _Pythagoras._ Ff. _Pythagoras’s_ Rowe.
168: _And_] _Ay, and_ Capell.
169: _you_] F1 F2. _your_ F3 F4.
177: _tell_] _till_ F2.
180: _hooping_] F1 F2 F3. _hoping_ F4. _whooping_ Theobald.
181: _Good my_] _Odd’s my_ Theobald. _Good! cry_ Becket conj. _Goad
my_ Jackson conj. _Hood my_ Staunton conj.
_complexion_] _coz perplexer_ Heath conj.
182: _hose_] F1. _a hose_ F2 F3 F4.
183, 184: _South-sea of discovery;_] _South-sea off discovery._
Theobald (Warburton). _South-sea Discover,_ Johnson conj. _South-sea
discovery:_ Id. conj. _south-sea-off discovery._ Capell.
184: _who is it_] _who is it?_ Hanmer. _who it is_ Anon. conj.
200: _maid_] _mind_ Anon. conj.
210: _Gargantua’s_] _Garagantua’s_ Pope.
212: _in_] om. Heath conj.
216: _wrestled_] _wrastled_ F1 F3 F4. _wrasted_ F2.
217: _atomies_] F1 F2. _atomes_ F3 F4. _atoms_ Rowe.
219: _good_] _a good_ Steevens.
219, 220: _a tree_] _an oak-tree_ Hanmer (Warburton conj.).
221, 222: _drops forth such_] F2 F3 F4. _droppes forth_ F1.
_drops such_ Capell.
229: _thy tongue_] Rowe. _the tongue_ Ff.
230: _unseasonably_] _very unseasonably_ Reed (1803).
231: _heart_] _Hart_ Ff.
236: SCENE VII. Pope.
_here_] _heere_ F1. _nerre_ F2. _near _ F3 F4.
Enter...] Ff (after line 235).
242: _buy_] Ff. _b’w’_ Rowe.
246: _more_] _moe_ F1.
258: _you_] _your_ Mason conj.
_right_] _right in the stile of the_ Hanmer.
259: _your_] _you_ F2.
264: _most_] F1. _no_ F2 F3 F4.
276: SCENE VIII. Pope.
277: [Exit...] om. Ff.
280: [Advances. Capell.
290: _paces_] F1 F2. _places_ F3 F4.
294: _who_] F1. _whom_ F2 F3 F4.
_doth he trot_] _ambles Time_ Hunter conj.
295: _trots hard_] _ambles_ Id. conj.
297: _hard_] _ambling_ Id. conj.
298: _year_] _years_ F4.
299: _ambles Time_] _doth he trot_ Hunter conj.
305: _ambles_] _trots_ Hunter conj.
306: _Who_] F1. _Whom_ F2 F3 F4.
309: _Who_] F1. _Whom_ F2 F3 F4.
_stays it_] _stands he_ Collier (Collier MS.).
317: _kindled_] _kind-led_ Pope. See note (VII).
323: _lectures_] F3 F4. _lectors_ F1. _lecturs_ F2.
324: _and_] om. F3 F4.
330: _one_] F1 F2. _ones_ F3 F4.
331: _monstrous_] _most monstrous_ S. Walker conj.
335: _barks_] _borkes_ F2.
337: _deifying_] F2 F3 F4. _defying_ F1.
344: _are_] _art_ F1.
346: _blue_] _flu_ Becket conj.
349, 350: _in beard_] F1. _no beard_ F2 F3 F4.
354. _accoutrements_] Rowe. _accoustrements_ Ff.
384: _his mad...living_] Ff. _a dying...living_ Johnson conj. _a
mad...loving_ Id. conj.
_living humour of madness_] _humour of loving madness_ Farmer
conj.
388: _clean_] F1. _cleare_ F2. _cleer_ F3. _clear_ F4.
~~~~~
SCENE III. _The forest._
_Enter_ TOUCHSTONE _and_ AUDREY; JAQUES _behind_.
_Touch._ Come apace, good Audrey: I will fetch up your
goats, Audrey. And how, Audrey? am I the man yet?
doth my simple feature content you?
_Aud._ Your features! Lord warrant us! what features?
_Touch._ I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most 5
capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.
_Jaq._ [_Aside_] O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than
Jove in a thatched house!
_Touch._ When a man’s verses cannot be understood, nor
a man’s good wit seconded with the forward child, understanding, 10
it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning
in a little room. Truly, I would the gods had made
thee poetical.
_Aud._ I do not know what ‘poetical’ is: is it honest in
deed and word? is it a true thing? 15
_Touch._ No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most
feigning; and lovers are given to poetry, and what they
swear in poetry may be said as lovers they do feign.
_Aud._ Do you wish then that the gods had made me
poetical? 20
_Touch._ I do, truly; for thou swearest to me thou art
honest: now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope
thou didst feign.
_Aud._ Would you not have me honest?
_Touch._ No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favoured; for 25
honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar.
_Jaq._ [_Aside_] A material fool!
_Aud._ Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the
gods make me honest.
_Touch._ Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul 30
slut were to put good meat into an unclean dish.
_Aud._ I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am
foul.
_Touch._ Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness! sluttishness
may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will 35
marry thee, and to that end I have been with Sir Oliver
Martext the vicar of the next village, who hath promised
to meet me in this place of the forest and to couple us.
_Jaq._ [_Aside_] I would fain see this meeting.
_Aud._ Well, the gods give us joy! 40
_Touch._ Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart,
stagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple but
the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But what though?
Courage! As horns are odious, they are necessary. It is
said, ‘many a man knows no end of his goods:’ right; 45
many a man has good horns, and knows no end of them.
Well, that is the dowry of his wife; ’tis none of his own
getting. Horns?—even so:—poor men alone? No, no; the
noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single
man therefore blessed? No: as a walled town is more worthier 50
than a village, so is the forehead of a married man
more honourable than the bare brow of a bachelor; and by
how much defence is better than no skill, by so much is a
horn more precious than to want. Here comes Sir Oliver.
_Enter_ SIR OLIVER MARTEXT.
Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met: will you dispatch us 55
here under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel?
_Sir Oli._ Is there none here to give the woman?
_Touch._ I will not take her on gift of any man.
_Sir Oli._ Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is
not lawful. 60
_Jaq._ Proceed, proceed: I’ll give her.
_Touch._ Good even, good Master What-ye-call’t: how
do you, sir? You are very well met: God ’ild you for your
last company: I am very glad to see you: even a toy in
hand here, sir: nay, pray be covered. 65
_Jaq._ Will you be married, motley?
_Touch._ As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb
and the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and as
pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling.
_Jaq._ And will you, being a man of your breeding, be 70
married under a bush like a beggar? Get you to church,
and have a good priest that can tell you what marriage is:
this fellow will but join you together as they join wainscot;
then one of you will prove a shrunk panel, and like green
timber warp, warp. 75
_Touch._ [_Aside_] I am not in the mind but I were better
to be married of him than of another: for he is not like to
marry me well; and not being well married, it will be a
good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife.
_Jaq._ Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. 80
_Touch._ Come, sweet Audrey:
We must be married, or we must live in bawdry.
Farewell, good Master Oliver: not,—
O sweet Oliver,
O brave Oliver, 85
Leave me not behind thee:
but,—
Wind away,
Begone, I say,
I will not to wedding with thee.
[_Exeunt Jaques, Touchstone and Audrey._ 90
_Sir Oli._ ’Tis no matter: ne’er a fantastical knave of
them all shall flout me out of my calling. [_Exit._
~~~~~
Linenotes: _As You Like It_, III, 3.
SCENE III.] SCENE IX. Pope.
...behind.] om. Ff.
2: _how_] F1 F2. _now_ F3 F4.
4: _jeatures!...what features_] _feature!...what’s feature_ Farmer
conj.
11: _reckoning_] _reeking_ Hanmer.
17, 18: _what they...feign_] _what they swear as lovers, they may be
said to feign as poets_ Johnson conj.
18: _may_] _it may_ Collier (Mason conj.).
30: _foul_] _faule_ F2.
32, 33: _I am foul_] _I am full_ Tyrwhitt conj. _for my foulness_
Ritson conj.
41: _may_] _might_ Collier MS.
43: _horn-beasts_] _horne-beasts_ F1 F2. _horn’d beasts_ S. Walker
conj.
48: _Horns?......alone?_] Theobald. _horns, even so poor men alone:_
Ff. _Horns!, never for poor men alone?_ Singer. _Are horns given to
poor men alone?_ Collier (Collier MS.). _Horns? ever to poor men
alone?_ Dyce. _Horns are not for poor men alone._ Spedding conj.
50: _more_] om. Pope.
62: _What-ye-call’t_] _What ye call_ Rowe (ed. 2).
63: _God ’ild_] Theobald. _goddild_ F1. _godild_ F2 F3 F4.
67: _bow_] _bough_ Capell.
68: _her_] F1 F2. _his_ F3 F4.
80: Johnson proposes to place this line after line 82. See note
(VIII).
83: _Master_] _Sir_ Warburton.
83, 84: _not,—O sweet_] _Not, o sweet_ Capell.
84–86, 88–90: Printed as prose in Ff, as verse by Johnson
(Warburton conj.).
86: _behind thee_] _behi’ thee_ Steevens (Farmer conj.)
87, 88: _but,—Wind_] _But wind_ Capell.
88: _Wind_] _Wend_ Collier (Johnson conj.).
90: _with thee_] _wi’ thee_ Steevens (Farmer conj.). _bind thee_
Collier (Collier MS.). _with thee to-day_ Johnson conj.
[Exeunt J. T. and A.] Exeunt. Ff (after line 92).
~~~~~
SCENE IV. _The forest._
_Enter_ ROSALIND _and_ CELIA.
_Ros._ Never talk to me; I will weep.
_Cel._ Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider
that tears do not become a man.
_Ros._ But have I not cause to weep?
_Cel._ As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep. 5
_Ros._ His very hair is of the dissembling colour.
_Cel._ Something browner than Judas’s: marry, his kisses
are Judas’s own children.
_Ros._ I’ faith, his hair is of a good colour.
_Cel._ An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the 10
only colour.
_Ros._ And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch
of holy bread.
_Cel._ He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a
nun of winter’s sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the 15
very ice of chastity is in them.
_Ros._ But why did he swear he would come this morning,
and comes not?
_Cel._ Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.
_Ros._ Do you think so? 20
_Cel._ Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a horse-stealer,
but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave
as a covered goblet or a worm-eaten nut.
_Ros._ Not true in love?
_Cel._ Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in. 25
_Ros._ You have heard him swear downright he was.
_Cel._ ‘Was’ is not ‘is:’ besides, the oath of a lover is
no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the
confirmer of false reckonings. He attends here in the forest
on the Duke your father. 30
_Ros._ I met the Duke yesterday and had much question
with him: he asked me of what parentage I was; I told him,
of as good as he; so he laughed and let me go. But what
talk we of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando?
_Cel._ O, that’s a brave man! he writes brave verses, 35
speaks brave words, swears brave oaths and breaks them
bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover; as a
puisny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks
his staff like a noble goose: but all’s brave that youth
mounts and folly guides. Who comes here? 40
_Enter_ CORIN.
_Cor._ Mistress and master, you have oft inquired
After the shepherd that complain’d of love,
Who you saw sitting by me on the turf,
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
That was his mistress.
_Cel._ Well, and what of him? 45
_Cor._ If you will see a pageant truly play’d,
Between the pale complexion of true love
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain.
Go hence a little and I shall conduct you.
If you will mark it.
_Ros._ O, come, let us remove: 50
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._
~~~~~
Linenotes: _As You Like It_, III, 4.
SCENE IV.] SCENE X. Pope.
12–16: Ros. _And...bread._ Cel. _He...them_] Ros. _And his
kissing—_ Cel. _Is as...them._ S. Walker conj.
13: _bread_] _beard_ Theobald (Warburton).
14: _cast_] F1. _chast_ F2 F3 F4.
15: _winter’s_] _Winifred’s_ Theobald conj.
27: _a lover_] F2 F3 F4. _lover_ F1.
29: _confirmer_] Ff. _confirmers_ Pope.
38: _puisny_] Ff. _puny_ Capell. See note (IX).
_spurs_] _spurnes_ F2.
39: _noble goose_] _nose-quill’d goose_ Hanmer. _noble joust_ Becket
conj.
40: _guides_] _guider_ F2.
43: _Who_] F1. _Whom_ F2 F3 F4.
52: _Bring us to_] Ff. _Bring us but to_ Pope. _Come, bring us to_
Capell. _Bring us unto_ Malone.
~~~~~
SCENE V. _Another part of the forest._
_Enter_ SILVIUS _and_ PHEBE.
_Sil._ Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe;
Say that you love me not, but say not so
In bitterness. The common executioner,
Whose heart the accustom’d sight of death makes hard,
Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck 5
But first begs pardon: will you sterner be
Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?
_Enter_ ROSALIND, CELIA, _and_ CORIN, _behind_.
_Phe._ 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: 10
’Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,
That eyes, that are the frail’st and softest things,
Who shut their coward gates on atomies,
Should be call’d tyrants, butchers, murderers!
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart; 15
And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee:
Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down;
Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame,
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers!
Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee: 20
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush,
The cicatrice and capable impressure
Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes,
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not, 25
Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes
That can do hurt.
_Sil._ O dear Phebe,
If ever,—as that ever may be near,—
You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy.
Then shall you know the wounds invisible 30
That love’s keen arrows make.
_Phe._ 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.
_Ros._ And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother, 35
That you insult, exult, and all at once,
Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty,—
As, by my faith, I see no more in you
Than without candle may go dark to bed,—
Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? 40
Why, what means this? Why do you look on me?
I see no more in you than in the ordinary
Of nature’s sale-work. ’Od’s my little life,
I think she means to tangle my eyes too!
No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it: 45
’Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair,
Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my spirits to your worship.
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her,
Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain? 50
You are a thousand times a properer man
Than she a woman: ’tis such fools as you
That makes the world full of ill-favoured children:
’Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her;
And out of you she sees herself more proper 55
Than any of her lineaments can show her.
But, mistress, know yourself: down on your knees,
And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man’s love:
For I must tell you friendly in your ear,
Sell when you can: you are not for all markets: 60
Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer:
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.
So take her to thee, shepherd: fare you well.
_Phe._ Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together:
I had rather hear you chide than this man woo. 65
_Ros._ He’s fallen in love with your foulness and she’ll
fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she
answers thee with frowning looks, I’ll sauce her with bitter
words. Why look you so upon me?
_Phe._ For no ill will I bear you. 70
_Ros._ I pray you, do not fall in love with me,
For I am falser than vows made in wine:
Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house,
’Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by.
Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard. 75
Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better,
And be not proud: though all the world could see,
None could be so abused in sight as he.
Come, to our flock. [_Exeunt Rosalind, Celia and Corin._
_Phe._ Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might, 80
‘Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?’
_Sil._ Sweet Phebe,—
_Phe._ Ha, what say’st thou, Silvius?
_Sil._ Sweet Phebe, pity me.
_Phe._ Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.
_Sil._ Wherever sorrow is, relief would be: 85
If you do sorrow at my grief in love,
By giving love your sorrow and my grief
Were both extermined.
_Phe._ Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly?
_Sil._ I would have you.
_Phe._ Why, that were covetousness. 90
Silvius, the time was that I hated thee,
And yet it is not that I bear thee love;
But since that thou canst talk of love so well,
Thy company, which erst was irksome to me,
I will endure, and I ’ll employ thee too: 95
But do not look for further recompense
Than thine own gladness that thou art employ’d.
_Sil._ So holy and so perfect is my love,
And I in such a poverty of grace,
That I shall think it a most plenteous crop 100
To glean the broken ears after the man
That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then
A scatter’d smile, and that I’ll live upon.
_Phe._ Know’st thou the youth that spoke to me erewhile?
_Sil._ Not very well, but I have met him oft; 105
And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds
That the old carlot once was master of.
_Phe._ Think not I love him, though I ask for him;
’Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well;
But what care I for words? yet words do well 110
When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.
It is a pretty youth: not very pretty:
But, sure, he’s proud, and yet his pride becomes him:
He’ll make a proper man: the best thing in him
Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue 115
Did make offence his eye did heal it up.
He is not very tall; yet for his years he’s tall:
His leg is but so so; and yet ’tis well:
There was a pretty redness in his lip,
A little riper and more lusty red 120
Than that mix’d in his cheek; ’twas just the difference
Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask.
There be some women, Silvius, had they mark’d him
In parcels as I did, would have gone near
To fall in love with him: but, for my part, 125
I love him not nor hate him not; and yet
I have more cause to hate him than to love him:
For what had he to do to chide at me?
He said mine eyes were black and my hair black;
And, now I am remember’d, scorn’d at me: 130
I marvel why I answer’d not again:
But that’s all one; omittance is no quittance.
I’ll write to him a very taunting letter,
And thou shalt bear it: wilt thou, Silvius?
_Sil._ Phebe, with all my heart.
_Phe._ I’ll write it straight; 135
The matter’s in my head and in my heart:
I will be bitter with him and passing short.
Go with me, Silvius. [_Exeunt._
~~~~~
Linenotes: _As You Like It_, III, 5.
SCENE V.] SCENE XI. Pope.
1: _Phebe;_] Rowe. _Phebe_ F1 F2. _Phebe,_ F3 F4.
7: _dies and lives_] Ff. _deals and lives_ Theobald (Warburton).
_lives and thrives_ Hanmer. _dies his lips_ Johnson conj. _daily
lives_ Heath conj. _eyes, and lives_ Capell. _dyes, and lives_
Steevens. _lives and dies_ Tollet conj. _dines and lives_ Collier.
_kills and lives_ Collier MS.
_drops_] _props_ F2.
...behind] om. Ff.
11: _pretty, sure_] Theobald. _pretty sure_ Ff.
17: _swoon_] _swound_ Ff.
22: _but_] om. F1.
23: _capable_] Ff. _palpable_ Singer.
26: _Nor_] _Now_ De Quincey MS.
27: _O dear_] _O my dear_ Hanmer.
29: _meet_] F1 _met_ F2 F3 F4.
35: [Advancing. Capell.
36: _and all at once_] _and rail at once_ Theobald (Warburton). _and
domineer_ Hanmer. _à l’outrecuidance_ Forbes conj.
37: _have no_] _have_ Theobald (L. H. conj.). _have some_ Hanmer.
_had more_ Mason conj. _have mo_ Malone.
37, 38: _no...As_] _more... Yet_ De Quincey MS.
44: _my_] F1. _mine_ F2 F3 F4.
46: _black silk_] _black-silk_ Capell.
48: _entame_] _entraine_ Warburton conj.
53: _makes_] _make_ Pope.
54: _flatters_] _flatter_ Pope.
62: _being foul_] _being found_ Warburton.
66–69: Printed in Ff as four lines, ending
_she’ll...fast...sauce...me?_ as prose by Pope.
66: _your_] _her_ Hanmer.
79: _Come, to_] F1 F2. _Come to_ F3 F4.
[Exeunt...] Exit. Ff.
80: _Dead_] F1. _Deed_ F2 F3 F4. _’Deed,_ Hanmer.
99: _I in_] F1. _in_ F2. om. F3 F4.
_And...grace_] _And such a poverty of grace attends it_ Rowe.
102: _loose_] F1 F2 F3. _lose_ F4.
104: _erewhile_] F4. _yerewhile_ F1 F2 F3.
107: _carlot_] _Carlot_ Ff (in italics).
117: _very_] om. Capell.
127: _I have_] F2 F3 F4. _Have_ F1. _Have much_ Staunton conj.
137: _and_] om. Capell.
~~~~~
ACT IV.
SCENE I. _The forest._
_Enter_ ROSALIND, CELIA, _and_ JAQUES.
_Jaq._ I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted
with thee.
_Ros._ They say you are a melancholy fellow.
_Jaq._ I am so; I do love it better than laughing.
_Ros._ Those that are in extremity of either are abominable 5
fellows, and betray themselves to every modern censure
worse than drunkards.
_Jaq._ Why, ’tis good to be sad and say nothing.
_Ros._ Why then, ’tis good to be a post.
_Jaq._ I have neither the scholar’s melancholy, which is 10
emulation; nor the musician’s, which is fantastical; nor the
courtier’s, which is proud; nor the soldier’s, which is ambitious;
nor the lawyer’s, which is politic; nor the lady’s,
which is nice; nor the lover’s, which is all these: but it is a
melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted 15
from many objects; and indeed the sundry contemplation
of my travels, in which my often rumination
wraps me in a most humorous sadness.
_Ros._ A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason
to be sad: I fear you have sold your own lands to see 20
other men’s; then, to have seen much, and to have nothing,
is to have rich eyes and poor hands.
_Jaq._ Yes, I have gained my experience.
_Ros._ And your experience makes you sad: I had rather
have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me 25
sad; and to travel for it too!
_Enter_ ORLANDO.
_Orl._ Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind!
_Jaq._ Nay, then, God buy you, an you talk in blank
verse. [_Exit._
_Ros._ Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: look you lisp and 30
wear strange suits; disable all the benefits of your own
country; be out of love with your nativity and almost
chide God for making you that countenance you are; or I
will scarce think you have swam in a gondola. Why, how
now, Orlando! where have you been all this while? You 35
a lover! An you serve me such another trick, never come
in my sight more.
_Orl._ My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my
promise.
_Ros._ Break an hour’s promise in love! He that will 40
divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part
of the thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it
may be said of him that Cupid hath clapped him o’ the
shoulder, but I ’ll warrant him heart-whole.
_Orl._ Pardon me, dear Rosalind. 45
_Ros._ Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my
sight: I had as lief be wooed of a snail.
_Orl._ Of a snail?
_Ros._ Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries
his house on his head; a better jointure, I think, than 50
you make a woman: besides, he brings his destiny with him.
_Orl._ What’s that?
_Ros._ Why, horns, which such as you are fain to be
beholding to your wives for: but he comes armed in his
fortune and prevents the slander of his wife. 55
_Orl._ Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous.
_Ros._ And I am your Rosalind.
_Cel._ It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind
of a better leer than you. 60
_Ros._ Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday
humour and like enough to consent. What would you say
to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind?
_Orl._ I would kiss before I spoke.
_Ros._ Nay, you were better speak first; and when you 65
were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion
to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will
spit; and for lovers lacking,—God warn us!—matter, the
cleanliest shift is to kiss.
_Orl._ How if the kiss be denied? 70
_Ros._ Then she puts you to entreaty and there begins
new matter.
_Orl_ Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress?
_Ros._ Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress,
or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit. 75
_Orl._ What, of my suit?
_Ros._ Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit.
Am not I your Rosalind?
_Orl._ I take some joy to say you are, because I would
be talking of her. 80
_Ros._ Well in her person I say I will not have you.
_Orl._ Then in mine own person I die.
_Ros._ No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is
almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there
was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a 85
love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed out with a
Grecian club; yet he did what he could to die before, and
he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have
lived many a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it
had not been for a hot midsummer night; for, good youth, 90
he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont and
being taken with the cramp was drowned: and the foolish
chroniclers of that age found it was ‘Hero of Sestos.’ But
these are all lies: men have died from time to time and
worms have eaten them, but not for love. 95
_Orl._ I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind;
for, I protest, her frown might kill me.
_Ros._ By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come,
now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition,
and ask me what you will, I will grant it. 100
_Orl._ Then love me, Rosalind.
_Ros._ Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all.
_Orl._ And wilt thou have me?
_Ros._ Ay, and twenty such.
_Orl._ What sayest thou? 105
_Ros._ Are you not good?
_Orl._ I hope so.
_Ros._ Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?
Come, sister, you shall be the priest and marry us. Give
me your hand, Orlando. What do you say, sister? 110
_Orl._ Pray thee, marry us.
_Cel._ I cannot say the words.
_Ros._ You must begin, ‘Will you, Orlando—’
_Cel._ Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this
Rosalind? 115
_Orl._ I will.
_Ros._ Ay, but when?
_Orl._ Why now; as fast as she can marry us.
_Ros._ Then you must say ‘I take thee, Rosalind, for
wife.’ 120
_Orl._ I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.
_Ros._ I might ask you for your commission; but I do
take thee, Orlando, for my husband: there’s a girl goes
before the priest; and certainly a woman’s thought runs
before her actions. 125
_Orl._ So do all thoughts; they are winged.
_Ros._ Now tell me how long you would have her after
you have possessed her.
_Orl._ For ever and a day.
_Ros._ Say ‘a day,’ without the ‘ever’. No, no, Orlando; 130
men are April when they woo, December when they wed:
maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes
when they are wives. I will be more jealous of thee than
a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen, more clamorous than
a parrot against rain, more new-fangled than an ape, more 135
giddy in my desires than a monkey: I will weep for nothing,
like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when
you are disposed to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and
that when thou art inclined to sleep.
_Orl._ But will my Rosalind do so? 140
_Ros._ By my life, she will do as I do.
_Orl._ O, but she is wise.
_Ros._ Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the
wiser, the waywarder: make the doors upon a woman’s wit
and it will out at the casement; shut that and ’twill out at 145
the key-hole; stop that, ’twill fly with the smoke out at the
chimney.
_Orl._ A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might
say ‘Wit, whither wilt?’
_Ros._ Nay, you might keep that check for it till you 150
met your wife’s wit going to your neighbour’s bed.
_Orl._ And what wit could wit have to excuse that?
_Ros._ Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You
shall never take her without her answer, unless you take
her without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot make 155
her fault her husband’s occasion, let her never nurse her
child herself, for she will breed it like a fool!
_Orl._ For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee.
_Ros._ Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours!
_Orl._ I must attend the Duke at dinner: by two o’clock 160
I will be with thee again.
_Ros._ Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew what
you would prove: my friends told me as much, and I
thought no less: that flattering tongue of yours won me:
’tis but one cast away, and so, come, death! Two o’clock 165
is your hour?
_Orl._ Ay, sweet Rosalind.
_Ros._ By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God
mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous,
if you break one jot of your promise or come one minute 170
behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical
break-promise and the most hollow lover and the most
unworthy of her you call Rosalind that may be chosen out
of the gross band of the unfaithful: therefore beware my
censure and keep your promise. 175
_Orl._ With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my
Rosalind: so adieu.
_Ros._ Well, Time is the old justice that examines all
such offenders, and let Time try: adieu. [_Exit Orlando._
_Cel._ You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate: 180
we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head,
and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest.
_Ros._ O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou
didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But it
cannot be sounded: my affection hath an unknown bottom, 185
like the bay of Portugal.
_Cel._ Or rather, bottomless; that as fast as you pour
affection in, it runs out.
_Ros._ No, that same wicked bastard of Venus that was
begot of thought, conceived of spleen and born of madness, 190
that blind rascally boy that abuses every one’s eyes
because his own are out, let him be judge how deep I am
in love. I’ll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight
of Orlando: I’ll go find a shadow and sigh till he come.
_Cel._ And I’ll sleep. [_Exeunt._ 195
~~~~~
Linenotes: _As You Like It_, IV, 1.
1: _be_] om. F1.
17: _in which my_] _and which by_ Malone.
_my_] _by_ F1.
18: _in_] _is_ Steevens.
23: _my_] om. Rowe. _me_ Warburton.
26: Enter...] Ff (after line 23).
28: Jaq.] Orl. F2.
_buy_] Ff. _b’w’y_ Rowe.
29: [Exit.] F2 F3 F4. om. F1. [Exit Jaques. Dyce, after
_gondola_, line 34.
34: _gondola_] Pope. _gundello_ Ff. _gondallo_ Rowe.
42: _thousandth_] Rowe. _thousand_ Ff.
51: _make_] _can make_ Hanmer.
54: _beholding_] _beholden_ Pope.
_comes_] F1 F4. _come_ F2 F3.
_in his_] _against_ Anon. conj.
55: _fortune_] _forehead_ Anon. conj.
60: _leer_] _lure_ Becket conj.
65: Ros.] Orl. F2.
68: _warn_] _ward_ Steevens conj. _warr’nt_ Anon. conj.
75: _think...ranker_] _thank...rather_ Collier (Collier MS.).
76: _of_] _out of_ Collier MS.
82: _die_] F1 F4. _doe_ F2 F3.
86: _brains_] F1. _brain_ F2 F3 F4.
91: _him_] F1. om. F2 F3 F4.
93: _chroniclers_] F2 F3 F4. _chronoclers_ F1. _coroners_ Hanmer
(Anon. conj.).
_Sestos_] _Cestos_ F1.
117: _Ay_] om. F3 F4.
119: Ros.] Cel. Anon. conj.
122: _I...commission_] Printed as a verse in Ff.
123: _there’s_] _there_ Steevens (Farmer conj.). _thus_ Lloyd conj.
139: _thou art_] _you are_ Rowe (ed. 2).
_sleep_] _weep_ Warburton.
144: _doors_] _doors fast_ Rowe (ed. 2).
146: _’twill_] _it will_ F4.
149: _wilt_] F3 F4. _wil’t_ F1 F2.
156: _occasion_] _accusation_ Hanmer. _accusing_ Collier (Collier
MS.). _confusion_ Staunton conj.
157: _she will...like a fool_] _she’ll...a fool_ Capell.
171: _pathetical_] _atheistical_ Warburton. _jesuitical_ Grey conj.
179: _try_] _try you_ Collier MS.
180: SCENE III. Pope.
188: _it_] _in_ F1.
193: _I’ll tell_] _I tell_ Edd. conj.
194: _Orlando_] _Orland_ F2.
~~~~~
SCENE II. _The forest._
_Enter_ JAQUES, Lords, _and_ Foresters.
_Jaq._ Which is he that killed the deer?
_A Lord._ Sir, it was I.
_Jaq._ Let’s present him to the Duke, like a Roman conqueror;
and it would do well to set the deer’s horns upon
his head, for a branch of victory. Have you no song, 5
forester, for this purpose?
_For._ Yes, sir.
SCENE II.] SCENE IV. Pope.
Enter...] Rowe. Enter Jaques and
Lords, Forresters. Ff. Enter J. and
Lords, in the habit of foresters. Steevens.
_Jaq._ Sing it: ’tis no matter how it be in tune, so it
make noise enough.
SONG.
_For._ What shall he have that kill’d the deer? 10
His leather skin and horns to wear.
Then sing him home:
[_The rest shall bear this burden._
Take thou no scorn to wear the horn;
It was a crest ere thou wast born:
Thy father’s father wore it, 15
And thy father bore it:
The horn, the horn, the lusty horn
Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. [_Exeunt._
~~~~~
Linenotes: _As You Like It_, IV, 2.
2: A Lord] Lord. Ff. 1 F. Capell. 1 Lord. Malone.
7: For.] Rowe. Lord. Ff. 2 F. Capell. 2 Lord. Malone.
10: SONG.] Musicke, Song. Ff.
12: _Then sing him home_] See note (X).
13: _the horn_] _the horn, the horn, the horn_ Theobald. _the horn,
the lusty horn_ Capell.
16: _And thy father_] _And thy own father_ Hanmer. _Ay, and thy_ or
_Ay, and his_ Capell conj.
~~~~~
SCENE III. _The forest._
_Enter_ ROSALIND _and_ CELIA.
_Ros._ How say you now? Is it not past two o’clock?
and here much Orlando!
_Cel._ I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain,
he hath ta’en his bow and arrows and is gone forth to
sleep. Look, who comes here. 5
_Enter_ SILVIUS.
_Sil._ My errand is to you, fair youth;
My gentle Phebe bid me give you this:
I know not the contents; but, as I guess
By the stern brow and waspish action
Which she did use as she was writing of it, 10
It bears an angry tenour: pardon me;
I am but as a guiltless messenger.
_Ros._ Patience herself would startle at this letter
And play the swaggerer; bear this, bear all:
She says I am not fair, that I lack manners; 15
She calls me proud, and that she could not love me,
Were man as rare as phœnix. ’Od’s my will!
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt:
Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well,
This is a letter of your own device. 20
_Sil._ No, I protest, I know not the contents:
Phebe did write it.
_Ros._ Come, come, you are a fool,
And turn’d into the extremity of love.
I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand,
A freestone-colour’d hand; I verily did think 25
That her old gloves were on, but ’twas her hands:
She has a huswife’s hand; but that’s no matter:
I say she never did invent this letter;
This is a man’s invention and his hand.
_Sil._ Sure, it is hers. 30
_Ros._ Why, ’tis a boisterous and a cruel style,
A style for challengers; why, she defies me,
Like Turk to Christian: women’s gentle brain
Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention,
Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect 35
Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter?
_Sil._ So please you, for I never heard it yet;
Yet heard too much of Phebe’s cruelty.
_Ros._ She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes.
[_Reads._
Art thou god to shepherd turn’d, 40
That a maiden’s heart hath burn’d?
Can a woman rail thus?
_Sil._ Call you this railing?
_Ros._ [_reads_
Why, thy godhead laid apart,
Warr’st thou with a woman’s heart? 45
Did you ever hear such railing?
Whiles the eye of man did woo me,
That could do no vengeance to me.
Meaning me a beast.
If the scorn of your bright eyne 50
Have power to raise such love in mine,
Alack, in me what strange effect
Would they work in mild aspect!
Whiles you chid me, I did love;
How then might your prayers move! 55
He that brings this love to thee
Little knows this love in me:
And by him seal up thy mind;
Whether that thy youth and kind
Will the faithful offer take 60
Of me and all that I can make;
Or else by him my love deny,
And then I’ll study how to die.
_Sil._ Call you this chiding?
_Cel._ Alas, poor shepherd! 65
_Ros._ Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity. Wilt
thou love such a woman? What, to make thee an instrument
and play false strains upon thee! not to be endured!
Well, go your way to her, for I see love hath made thee a
tame snake, and say this to her: that if she love me, I 70
charge her to love thee; if she will not, I will never have
her unless thou entreat for her. If you be a true lover,
hence, and not a word; for here comes more company.
[_Exit Silvius._
_Enter_ OLIVER.
_Oli._ Good morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you know,
Where in the purlieus of this forest stands 75
A sheep-cote fenced about with olive-trees?
_Cel._ West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom:
The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream
Left on your right hand brings you to the place.
But at this hour the house doth keep itself; 80
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 years: ‘The boy is fair,
Of female favour, and bestows himself 85
Like a ripe sister: the woman low,
And browner than her brother.’ Are not you
The owner of the house I did inquire for?
_Cel._ It is no boast, being ask’d, to say we are.
_Oli._ Orlando doth commend him to you both, 90
And to that youth he calls his Rosalind
He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he?
_Ros._ I am: what must we understand by this?
_Oli._ Some of my shame; if you will know of me
What man I am, and how, and why, and where 95
This handkercher was stain’d.
_Cel._ I pray you, tell it.
_Oli._ When last the young Orlando parted from you
He left a promise to return again
Within an hour, and pacing through the forest,
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, 100
Lo, what befel! he threw his eye aside,
And mark what object did present itself:
Under an oak, whose boughs were moss’d with age
And high top bald with dry antiquity,
A wretched ragged man, o’ergrown with hair, 105
Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck
A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself,
Who with her head nimble in threats approach’d
The opening of his mouth; but suddenly,
Seeing Orlando, it unlink’d itself, 110
And with indented glides did slip away
Into a bush: under which bush’s shade
A lioness, with udders all drawn dry,
Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch,
When that the sleeping man should stir; for ’tis 115
The royal disposition of that beast
To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead:
This seen, Orlando did approach the man
And found it was his brother, his elder brother.
_Cel._ O, I have heard him speak of that same brother; 120
And he did render him the most unnatural
That lived amongst men.
_Oli._ And well he might so do,
For well I know he was unnatural.
_Ros._ But, to Orlando: did he leave him there,
Food to the suck’d and hungry lioness? 125
_Oil._ Twice did he turn his back and purposed so;
But kindness, nobler ever than revenge,
And nature, stronger than his just occasion,
Made him give battle to the lioness,
Who quickly fell before him: in which hurtling 130
From miserable slumber I awaked.
_Cel._ Are you his brother?
_Ros._ Was’t you he rescued?
_Cel._ Was’t you that did so oft contrive to kill him?
_Oli._ ’Twas I; but ’tis not I: I do not shame
To tell you what I was, since my conversion 135
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 us two
Tears our recountments had most kindly bathed,
As how I came into that desert place; 140
In brief, he led me to the gentle Duke,
Who gave me fresh array and entertainment,
Committing me unto my brother’s love;
Who led me instantly unto his cave,
There stripp’d himself, and here upon his arm 145
The lioness had torn some flesh away,
Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted
And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind.
Brief, I recover’d him, bound up his wound;
And, after some small space, being strong at heart, 150
He sent me hither, stranger as I am,
To tell this story, that you might excuse
His broken promise, and to give this napkin,
Dyed in his blood, unto the shepherd youth
That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. [_Rosalind swoons._ 155
_Cel._ Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede!
_Oli._ Many will swoon when they do look on blood.
_Cel._ There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede!
_Oli._ Look, he recovers.
_Ros._ I would I were at home.
_Cel._ We’ll lead you thither. 160
I pray you, will you take him by the arm?
_Oli._ Be of good cheer, youth: you a man! you lack
a man’s heart.
_Ros._ I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would
think this was well counterfeited! I pray you, tell your 165
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 170
be a man.
_Ros._ So I do: but, i’faith, I should have been a woman
by right.
_Cel._ Come, you look paler and paler: pray you, draw
homewards. Good sir, go with us. 175
_Oli._ That will I, for I must bear answer back
How you excuse my brother, Rosalind.
_Ros._ I shall devise something: but, I pray you, commend
my counterfeiting to him. Will you go? [_Exeunt._
~~~~~
Linenotes: _As You Like It_, IV, 3.
SCENE III.] SCENE V. Pope.
1–5: _How...here_] Printed in Ff as five lines, ending
_clock...Orlando...brain...forth...here._
2: _and here much Orlando_] Ff. _I wonder much Orlando is not
here_ Pope. _and how much Orlando comes?_ Capell. _and here’s much
Orlando_ Steevens. _and here’s no Orlando_ Ritson conj. _and here
mute is Orlando_ Jackson conj.
5: Enter...] Ff (after line 3).
7: _bid_] F2 F3 F4. _did bid_ F1.
8: _know_] F1. _knew_ F2 F3 F4.
11: _tenour_] Theobald. _tenure_ Ff.
18: _do_] F1. _did_ F2 F3 F4.
22: _Phebe did write it_] _Phebe did write it, with her own fair
hand_ Mason conj.
23: _turn’d into_] _turned in_ Capell conj. _turn’d so in the_ Id.
conj.
26: _on_] F1 F4. _one_ F2 F3.
33: _women’s_] Ff. _woman’s_ Rowe.
54: _chid_] _chide_ Rowe.
57: _this_] _that_ Rowe (ed. 2).
68: _strains_] F1. _strings_ F2 F3 F4.
70: _snake_] _sneak_ Becket conj.
79: _brings_] F1. _bring_ F2 F3 F4.
85: _and_] _but_ Lettsom conj.
86: _ripe sister_] _right forester_ Lettsom conj.
_the_] F1 _but the_ F2 F3 F4.
88: _owner_] _owners_ Capell conj.
92: _this_] _kis_ Warbuton.
96: _handkercher_] _handkerchief_ Rowe.
99: _an hour_] _two hours_ Hanmer.
100: _food_] _cud_ Staunton.
103: _oak_] Pope. _old oake_ Ff.
112: _which_] F1. _whose_ F2 F3 F4.
122: _amongst_] _’mongst_ Rowe (ed. 2).
132: _Was’t you he rescued_] _Was’t...rescu’d_ Ff. _Was
it...rescu’d_ Warburton.
140: _As how_] _As, how_ Reed. After this line Capell supposes two
lines to be lost, e.g. _How, in that habit; what my state, what his;
And whose the service he was now engag’d in._
141: _In_] F2 F3 F4. _I_ F1.
154: _his_] F2 F3 F4. _this_ F1.
155: [R. swoons.] om. Ff.
158: _There is more in it_] F1 F2. _There is no more in it_ F3
F4. _There is no more in ’t_ Pope.
_Cousin Ganymede!_] _Cosen Ganimed._ Ff. (_cosin_ F4).
_Cousin—Ganymed!_ Johnson.
160: _I would_] _Would_ Pope.
164: _sirrah_] _sirra_ Ff. _sir_ Pope. See note (XI).
168: _a passion_] F1. _passion_ F2 F3 F4.
~~~~~
ACT V.
SCENE I. _The forest._
_Enter_ TOUCHSTONE _and_ AUDREY.
_Touch._ We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle
Audrey.
_Aud._ Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old
gentleman’s saying.
_Touch._ A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile 5
Martext. But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest
lays claim to you.
_Aud._ Ay, I know who ’tis: he hath no interest in me
in the world: here comes the man you mean.
_Touch._ It is meat and drink to me to see a clown: by 10
my troth, we that have good wits have much to answer for;
we shall be flouting; we cannot hold.
_Enter_ WILLIAM.
_Will._ Good even, Audrey.
_Aud._ God ye good even, William.
_Will._ And good even to you, sir. 15
_Touch._ Good even, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover
thy head; nay, prithee, be covered. How old are you, friend?
_Will._ Five and twenty, sir.
_Touch._ A ripe age. Is thy name William?
_Will._ William, sir. 20
_Touch._ A fair name. Wast born i’ the forest here?
_Will._ Ay, sir, I thank God.
_Touch._ ‘Thank God;’ a good answer. Art rich?
_Will._ Faith, sir, so so.
_Touch._ ‘So so’ is good, very good, very excellent good; 25
and yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thou wise?
_Will._ Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit.
_Touch._ Why, thou sayest well. I do now remember a
saying, ‘The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man
knows himself to be a fool.’ The heathen philosopher, when 30
he had a desire to eat a grape, would open his lips when he
put it into his mouth; meaning thereby that grapes were
made to eat and lips to open. You do love this maid?
_Will._ I do, sir.
_Touch._ Give me your hand. Art thou learned? 35
_Will._ No, sir.
_Touch._ Then learn this of me: to have, is to have; for
it is a figure in rhetoric that drink, being poured out of a
cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty the other;
for all your writers do consent that ipse is he: now, you are 40
not ipse, for I am he.
_Will._ Which he, sir?
_Touch._ He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore,
you clown, abandon,—which is in the vulgar leave,—
the society,—which in the boorish is company,—of this 45
female,—which in the common is woman; which together
is, abandon the society of this female, or, clown, thou
perishest; or, to thy better understanding, diest; or, to wit,
I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into death,
thy liberty into bondage: I will deal in poison with thee, 50
or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy with thee in faction;
I will o’er-run thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred
and fifty ways: therefore tremble, and depart.
_Aud._ Do, good William.
_Will._ God rest you merry, sir. [_Exit._ 55
_Enter_ CORIN.
_Cor._ Our master and mistress seeks you; come, away,
away!
_Touch._ Trip, Audrey! trip, Audrey! I attend, I attend.
[_Exeunt._
~~~~~
Linenotes: _As You Like It_, V, 1.
29: _wise man_] _wiseman_ Ff. See note (III).
34: _sir_] _sit_ F1.
48: _or, to wit_] _to wit_ Steevens (Farmer conj.).
52: _policy_] F2 F3 F4. _police_ F1.
56: _seeks_] F3 F4. _seekes_ F1 F2. _seek_ Rowe.
~~~~~
SCENE II. _The forest._
_Enter_ ORLANDO _and_ OLIVER.
_Orl._ Is’t possible that on so little acquaintance you
should like her? that but seeing you should love her?
and loving woo? and, wooing, she should grant? and will
you persever to enjoy her?
_Oli._ Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the 5
poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing,
nor her sudden consenting; but say with me, I love Aliena;
say with her that she loves me; consent with both that we
may enjoy each other: it shall be to your good; for my
father’s house and all the revenue that was old Sir Rowland’s 10
will I estate upon you, and here live and die a shepherd.
_Orl._ You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow:
thither will I invite the Duke and all’s contented
followers. Go you and prepare Aliena; for look you, here
comes my Rosalind. 15
_Enter_ ROSALIND.
_Ros._ God save you, brother.
_Oli._ And you, fair sister. [_Exit._
_Ros._ O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see
thee wear thy heart in a scarf!
_Orl._ It is my arm. 20
_Ros._ I thought thy heart had been wounded with the
claws of a lion.
_Orl._ Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady.
_Ros._ Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to
swoon when he showed me your handkercher? 25
_Orl._ Ay, and greater wonders than that.
_Ros._ O, I know where you are: nay, ’tis true: there
was never any thing so sudden but the fight of two rams,
and Cæsar’s thrasonical brag of ‘I came, saw, and overcame:’
for your brother and my sister no sooner met but 30
they looked; no sooner looked but they loved; no sooner
loved but they sighed; no sooner sighed but they asked
one another the reason; no sooner knew the reason but
they sought the remedy: and in these degrees have they
made a pair of stairs to marriage which they will climb 35
incontinent, or else be incontinent before marriage: they are
in the very wrath of love and they will together; clubs
cannot part them.
_Orl._ They shall be married to-morrow, and I will bid
the Duke to the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a thing it is 40
to look into happiness through another man’s eyes! By so
much the more shall I to-morrow be at the height of
heart-heaviness, by how much I shall think my brother happy in
having what he wishes for.
_Ros._ Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn 45
for Rosalind?
_Orl._ I can live no longer by thinking.
_Ros._ I will weary you then no longer with idle talking.
Know of me then, for now I speak to some purpose, that
I know you are a gentleman of good conceit: I speak not 50
this that you should bear a good opinion of my knowledge,
insomuch I say I know you are; neither do I labour for a
greater esteem than may in some little measure draw a belief
from you, to do yourself good and not to grace me.
Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange things: I 55
have, since I was three year old, conversed with a magician,
most profound in his art and yet not damnable. If you do
love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture cries it out,
when your brother marries Aliena, shall you marry her: I
know into what straits of fortune she is driven; and it is 60
not impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you,
to set her before your eyes to-morrow human as she is and
without any danger.
_Orl._ Speakest thou in sober meanings?
_Ros._ By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, though 65
I say I am a magician. Therefore, put you in your best
array; bid your friends; for if you will be married to-morrow,
you shall; and to Rosalind, if you will.
_Enter_ SILVIUS _and_ PHEBE.
Look, here comes a lover of mine and a lover of hers.
_Phe._ Youth, you have done me much ungentleness, 70
To show the letter that I writ to you.
_Ros._ I care not if I have: it is my study
To seem despiteful and ungentle to you:
You are there followed by a faithful shepherd;
Look upon him, love him; he worships you. 75
_Phe._ Good shepherd, tell this youth what ’tis to love.
_Sil._ It is to be all made of sighs and tears;
And so am I for Phebe.
_Phe._ And I for Ganymede.
_Orl._ And I for Rosalind. 80
_Ros._ And I for no woman.
_Sil._ It is to be all made of faith and service;
And so am I for Phebe.
_Phe._ And I for Ganymede.
_Orl._ And I for Rosalind. 85
_Ros._ And I for no woman.
_Sil._ It is to be all made of fantasy,
All made of passion, and all made of wishes;
All adoration, duty, and observance,
All humbleness, all patience, and impatience, 90
All purity, all trial, all observance;
And so am I for Phebe.
_Phe._ And so am I for Ganymede.
_Orl._ And so am I for Rosalind.
_Ros._ And so am I for no woman. 95
_Phe._ If this be so, why blame you me to love you?
_Sil._ If this be so, why blame you me to love you?
_Orl._ If this be so, why blame you me to love you?
_Ros._ Who do you speak to, ‘Why blame you me to
love you?’ 100
_Orl._ To her that is not here, nor doth not hear.
_Ros._ Pray you, no more of this; ’tis like the howling
of Irish wolves against the moon. [_To Sil._] I will help you,
if I can: [_To Phe._] I would love you, if I could. To-morrow
meet me all together. [_To Phe._] I will marry you, if 105
ever I marry woman, and I’ll be married to-morrow: [_To
Orl._] I will satisfy you, if ever I satisfied man, and you
shall be married to-morrow: [_To Sil._] I will content you,
if what pleases you contents you, and you shall be married
to-morrow. [_To Orl._] As you love Rosalind, meet: [_To 110
Sil._] as you love Phebe, meet: and as I love no woman,
I ’ll meet. So, fare you well: I have left you commands.
_Sil._ I’ll not fail, if I live.
_Phe._ Nor I.
_Orl._ Nor I. [_Exeunt._ 115
~~~~~
Linenotes: _As You Like It_, V, 2.
4: _persever_] F1 F2. _persevere_ F3 F4.
7: _nor her_] Rowe. _nor_ Ff.
12–15: Printed as five lines ending
_consent...I...followers:...you,...Rosalinda_ in Ff.
13: _all’s_] Ff. _all his_ Pope.
15: Enter R.] Ff (after line 11).
17: _And you_] _And you, and your_ Johnson conj.
[Exit.] Capell. om. Ff.
25: _swoon_] _sound_ F1 F2 F3. _swound_ F4.
_handkercher_] _handkerchief_ F4.
28: _fight_] _sight_ F4.
29: _overcame_] _overcome_ F1.
52: _I say_] (_I say_) Ff.
56: _year_] F3. _yeare_ F1 F2. _years_ F4.
58: _cries it_] _crieth_ Capell conj.
59: _shall you_] F1 F2. _you shall_ F3 F4.
64: _meanings_] _meaning_ S. Walker conj.
69: SCENE III. Pope.
75: _Look...you_] _Look on him, love him, for he worships you_ Anon.
conj.
77: _all made_] F1 F2. _made all_ F3 F4.
82: _all made_] Ff. _made all_ Rowe.
89: _observance_] F1 F3 F4. _obserbance_ F2. _obedience_ Dyce
(Collier MS.).
91: _observance_] Ff. _obeisance_ Ritson conj. _obedience_ Malone
conj. _perseverence_ Heath conj. _endurance_ Harness conj.
_deservance_ Nicholson conj.
99: _ Who...to_] Rowe. _Why...too_ Ff. _Whom...to_ Singer.
103, 108, 110: To Sil.] Pope. om. Ff.
104, 105: To Phe.] Pope. om. Ff.
105: _all together_] F4. _altogether_ F1 F2 F3.
106, 110: To Orl.] Pope. om. Ff.
107: _satisfied_] _satisfy_ Douce conj.
113–115: Printed as a verse by Reed.
~~~~~
SCENE III. _The forest._
_Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY._
_Touch._ To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey; to-morrow
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 the world.
Here come two of the banished Duke’s pages. 5
_Enter two Pages._
_First Page._ Well met, honest gentleman.
_Touch._ By my troth, well met. Come, sit, sit, and a song.
_Sec. Page._ We are for you: sit i’ the middle.
_First Page._ Shall we clap into’t roundly, without
hawking or spitting or saying we are hoarse, which are 10
the only prologues to a bad voice?
_Sec. Page._ I’faith, i’faith; and both in a tune, like two
gipsies on a horse.
SONG.
It was a lover and his lass,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 15
That o’er the green corn-field did pass
In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding:
Sweet lovers love the spring.
Between the acres of the rye, 20
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
These pretty country folks would lie,
In spring time, &c.
This carol they began that hour,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 25
How that a life was but a flower
In spring time, &c.
And therefore take the present time,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino;
For love is crowned with the prime 30
In spring time, &c.
_Touch._ Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no
great matter in the ditty, yet the note was very untuneable.
_First Page._ You are deceived, sir: we kept time, we
lost not our time. 35
_Touch._ By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to
hear such a foolish song. God buy you; and God mend
your voices! Come, Audrey. [_Exeunt._
~~~~~
Linenotes: _As You Like It_, V, 3.
SCENE III.] SCENE IV. Pope.
11: _the only_] _only the_ Capell conj. _your only_ Grant White.
17: _In the_] Ff. _In_ Knight (Edinburgh MS.). See note (XII).
_the only...ring_] Edinburgh MS. and Steevens conj. _the
onely...rang_ Ff. _the pretty spring_ Rowe (ed. 2). _the
only...rank_ Johnson (ed. 2). _the pretty ring_ Steevens conj.
_the only...range_ Whiter conj. _the only...spring_ Harness conj.
22: _folks_] _fools_ Edin. MS.
_would_] _did_ Edin. MS.
23: _In_] F1 F2 and Edin. MS. _In the_ F3 F4.
24: _This_] F1 F2 and Edin. MS. _The_ F3 F4.
26: _a life_] Ff and Edin. MS. _life_ Hanmer.
27: _In_] F1 F2 and Edin. MS. _In the_ F3 F4.
28–31: Placed after line 19 in Ff. Transferred by Johnson (Thirlby
conj.); so in Edin. MS.
28: _And...time_] _Then prettie lovers take the tym._ Edin. MS.
33: _untuneable_] _untunable_ Ff. _untimeable_ Theobald.
34, 35: _time...time_] _tune...tune_ S. Walker conj.
37: _buy you_] Ff. _b’ w’ you_ Rowe.
~~~~~
SCENE IV. _The forest._
_Enter_ DUKE senior, AMIENS, JAQUES, ORLANDO, OLIVER,
_and_ CELIA.
_Duke S._ Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy
Can do all this that he hath promised?
_Orl._ I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not;
As those that fear they hope, and know they fear.
_Enter_ ROSALIND, SILVIUS, _and_ PHEBE.
_Ros._ Patience once more, whiles our compact is urged: 5
You say, if I bring in your Rosalind,
You will bestow her on Orlando here?
_Duke S._ That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her.
_Ros._ And you say, you will have her, when I bring her?
_Orl._ That would I, were I of all kingdoms king. 10
_Ros._ You say, you’ll marry me, if I be willing?
_Phe._ That will I, should I die the hour after.
_Ros._ But if you do refuse to marry me,
You’ll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd?
_Phe._ So is the bargain. 15
_Ros._ You say, that you’ll have Phebe, if she will?
_Sil._ Though to have her and death were both one thing.
_Ros._ I have promised to make all this matter even.
Keep you your word, O Duke, to give your daughter;
You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter: 20
Keep your word, Phebe, that you’ll marry me,
Or else refusing me, to wed this shepherd:
Keep your word, Silvius, that you’ll marry her,
If she refuse me: and from hence I go,
To make these doubts all even. 25
[_Exeunt Rosalind and Celia._
_Duke S._ I do remember in this shepherd boy
Some lively touches of my daughter’s favour.
_Orl._ My lord, the first time that I ever saw him
Methought he was a brother to your daughter:
But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born, 30
And hath been tutor’d in the rudiments
Of many desperate studies by his uncle,
Whom he reports to be a great magician,
Obscured in the circle of this forest.
_Enter_ TOUCHSTONE _and_ AUDREY.
_Jaq._ There is, sure, another flood toward, and these 35
couples are coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of very
strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools.
_Touch._ Salutation and greeting to you all!
_Jaq._ Good my lord, bid him welcome: this is the motley-minded
gentleman that I have so often met in the 40
forest: he hath been a courtier, he swears.
_Touch._ If any man doubt that, let him put me to my
purgation. I have trod a measure; I have flattered a lady;
I have been politic with my friend, smooth with mine
enemy; I have undone three tailors; I have had four quarrels, 45
and like to have fought one.
_Jaq._ And how was that ta’en up?
_Touch._ Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon
the seventh cause.
_Jaq._ How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this 50
fellow.
_Duke S._ I like him very well.
_Touch._ God ’ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I
press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country copulatives,
to swear and to forswear; according as marriage binds and 55
blood breaks: a poor virgin, sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir,
but mine own; a poor humour of mine, sir, to take that that
no man else will: rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a
poor house; as your pearl in your foul oyster.
_Duke S._ By my faith, he is very swift and sententious. 60
_Touch._ According to the fool’s bolt, sir, and such dulcet
diseases.
_Jaq._ But, for the seventh cause; how did you find the
quarrel on the seventh cause?
_Touch._ Upon a lie seven times removed:—bear your 65
body more seeming, Audrey:—as thus, sir. I did dislike
the cut of a certain courtier’s beard: he sent me word, if I
said his beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it was:
this is called the Retort Courteous. If I sent him word
again ‘it was not well cut,’ he would send me word, he cut 70
it to please himself: this is called the Quip Modest. If
again ‘it was not well cut,’ he disabled my judgement: this
is called the Reply Churlish. If again ‘it was not well cut,’
he would answer, I spake not true: this is called the Reproof
Valiant. If again ‘it was not well cut,’ he would say, 75
I lie: this is called the Countercheck Quarrelsome: and so
to the Lie Circumstantial and the Lie Direct.
_Jaq._ And how oft did you say his beard was not well
cut?
_Touch._ I durst go no further than the Lie Circumstantial, 80
nor he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we
measured swords and parted.
_Jaq._ Can you nominate in order now the degrees of
the lie?
_Touch._ O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book; as you 85
have books for good manners: I will name you the degrees.
The first, the Retort Courteous; the second, the Quip Modest;
the third, the Reply Churlish; the fourth, the Reproof
Valiant; the fifth, the Countercheck Quarrelsome;
the sixth, the Lie with Circumstance; the seventh, the Lie 90
Direct. All these you may avoid but the Lie Direct; and
you may avoid that too, with an If. I knew when seven
justices could not take up a quarrel, but when the parties
were met themselves, one of them thought but of an If, as,
‘If you said so, then I said so;’ and they shook hands and 95
swore brothers. Your If is the only peace-maker; much
virtue in If.
_Jaq._ Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he’s as good at
any thing and yet a fool.
DUKE S. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse and 100
under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.
_Enter_ HYMEN, ROSALIND, _and_ CELIA.
_Still Music._
_Hym._ Then is there mirth in heaven,
When earthly things made even
Atone together.
Good Duke, receive thy daughter: 105
Hymen from heaven brought her,
Yea, brought her hither,
That thou mightst join her hand with his
Whose heart within his bosom is.
_Ros._ To you I give myself, for I am yours. 110
To you I give myself, for I am yours.
_Duke S._ If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter.
_Orl._ If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind.
_Phe._ If sight and shape be true,
Why then, my love adieu! 115
_Ros._ I’ll have no father, if you be not he:
I’ll have no husband, if you be not he:
Nor ne’er wed woman, if you be not she.
_Hym._ Peace, ho! I bar confusion:
’Tis I must make conclusion 120
Of these most strange events:
Here’s eight that must take hands
To join in Hymen’s bands,
If truth holds true contents.
You and you no cross shall part: 125
You and you are heart in heart:
You to his love must accord,
Or have a woman to your lord:
You and you are sure together,
As the winter to foul weather. 130
Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing,
Feed yourselves with questioning;
That reason wonder may diminish,
How thus we met, and these things finish.
SONG.
Wedding is great Juno’s crown: 135
O blessed bond of board and bed!
’Tis Hymen peoples every town;
High wedlock then be honoured:
Honour, high honour and renown,
To Hymen, god of every town! 140
_Duke S._ O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me!
Even daughter, welcome, in no less degree.
_Phe._ I will not eat my word, now thou art mine;
Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine.
_Enter_ JAQUES DE BOYS.
_Jaq. de B._ Let me have audience for a word or two: 145
I am the second son of old Sir Rowland,
That bring these tidings to this fair assembly.
Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day
Men of great worth resorted to this forest,
Address’d a mighty power; which were on foot, 150
In his own conduct, purposely to take
His brother here and put him to the sword:
And to the skirts of this wild wood he came;
Where meeting with an old religious man,
After some question with him, was converted 155
Both from his enterprise and from the world;
His crown bequeathing to his banish’d brother,
And all their lands restored to them again
That were with him exiled. This to be true,
I do engage my life.
_Duke S._ Welcome, young man; 160
Thou offer’st fairly to thy brothers’ wedding:
To one his lands withheld; and to the other
A land itself at large, a potent dukedom.
First, in this forest let us do those ends
That here were well begun and well begot: 165
And after, every of this happy number,
That have endured shrewd days and nights with us,
Shall share the good of our returned fortune,
According to the measure of their states.
Meantime, forget this new-fallen dignity, 170
And fall into our rustic revelry.
Play, music! And you, brides and bridegrooms all,
With measure heap’d in joy, to the measures fall.
_Jaq._ Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly,
The Duke hath put on a religious life 175
And thrown into neglect the pompous court?
_Jaq. de B._ He hath.
_Jaq._ To him will I: out of these convertites
There is much matter to be heard and learn’d.
[_To Duke S._] You to your former honour I bequeath; 180
Your patience and your virtue well deserves it:
[_To Orl._] You to a love, that your true faith doth merit:
[_To Oli._] You to your land, and love, and great allies:
[_To Sil._] You to a long and well-deserved bed:
[_To Touch._] And you to wrangling; for thy loving voyage 185
Is but for two months victuall’d. So, to your pleasures:
I am for other than for dancing measures.
_Duke S._ Stay, Jaques, stay.
_Jaq._ To see no pastime I: what you would have
I’ll stay to know at your abandon’d cave. [_Exit._ 190
_Duke S._ Proceed, proceed: we will begin these rites,
As we do trust they’ll end, in true delights. [_A dance._
EPILOGUE.
_Ros._ It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue;
but it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord the prologue.
If it be true that good wine needs no bush, ’tis true
that a good play needs no epilogue: yet to good wine they
do use good bushes; and good plays prove the better by 5
the help of good epilogues. What a case am I in then,
that am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot insinuate with
you in the behalf of a good play! I am not furnished like
a beggar, therefore to beg will not become me: my way is
to conjure you; and I’ll begin with the women. I charge 10
you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as
much of this play as please you: and I charge you, O men,
for the love you bear to women,—as I perceive by your
simpering, none of you hates them,—that between you and
the women the play may please. If I were a woman I 15
would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me,
complexions that liked me and breaths that I defied not:
and, I am sure, as many as have good beards or good
faces or sweet breaths will, for my kind offer, when I make
curtsy, bid me farewell. [_Exeunt._ 20
~~~~~
Linenotes: _As You Like It_, V, 4.
SCENE IV.] SCENE V. Pope.
Celia.] Colia. F2.
4: _that fear_] _that think_ Hanmer.
_fear they hope...they fear_] _fear their hap...their fear_
Warburton. _fear with hope and hope with fear_ Johnson conj.
_fear, they hope, and now they fear_ Id. conj. _fear their hope,
and know their fear._ Capell (Heath conj.). _feign they hope,
and know they fear._ Blackstone conj. _fear, then hope; and
know, then fear_ Musgrave conj. _fearing hope, and hoping fear_
Mason conj. _hope they fear, then know they fear_ Becket conj.
_fear the hope, and know the fear_ Jackson conj. _fear may hope,
and know they fear_ Harness conj. _fear; they hope, and know
they fear_ Delius (Henley conj.). _fear to hope and know they
fear_ Collier MS.
5: _urged_] _heard_ Collier MS.
21: _your_] Pope. _you your_ Ff.
25: _even._] _even—even so_ Collier (Collier MS.)
[Exeunt R. and C.] Exit Ros. and Celia. Ff.
33: _Whom_] F1 F2. _Who_ F3 F4.
Enter T. and A.] Enter Clowne and Audrey. Ff (after line 33).
35: SCENE VI. Pope.
36, 37: _very strange_] _unclean_ Hanmer (Warburton).
48: _was_] _was not_ Johnson conj.
50: _seventh_] F1 F2. _the seventh_ F3 F4.
53: _you of_] _of you_ Warburton.
55, 56: _binds...breaks_] _bids...bids break_ Warburton.
61: _fool’s_] F4. _fooles_ F1 F3. _foles_ F2.
_and such_] _in such_ Farmer conj.
61, 62: Touch. _According...diseases._] Jaq. _According......sir._
Touch. _And...diseases—_ S. Walker conj.
62: _diseases_] _discourses_ Johnson conj. _phrases_ Mason conj.
_discords_ Anon. conj.
76: _I lie_] _I ly’d_ Capell.
76, 77: _so to the_] F2 F3 F4. _so ro_ F1. _so the_ Rowe.
93: _take up_] _make up_ De Quincey MS.
98: _as_] om. Rowe.
104: _Atone_] _Attone_ Ff.
108: _her hand_] F3 F4. _his hand_ F1 F2.
109: _his bosom_] _her bosom_ Malone.
113: _sight_] _shape_ Johnson conj.
114, 115: Printed as one line in Ff.
134: _these things_] _thus we_ Collier MS.
140: _of_] _in_ Collier MS.
142: _daughter, welcome,_] F4. _daughter welcome_, F1 F2 F3.
_daughter-welcome_ Theobald.
144: Enter Jaques de Boys.] Rowe. Enter Second Brother. Ff.
158: _them_] Rowe. _him_ Ff.
161: _brothers’_] Capell. _brothers_ F1 F2 F3. _brother’s_ F4.
_brothers_, Reed.
169: _states_] _’states_ Collier.
180, 182, 183, 184, 185: Stage directions not in Ff.
181: _deserves_] _deserve_ Pope.
191: _we will_] F2 F3 F4. _wee’l_ F1.
192: _As_] _And_ Reed.
_trust they’ll end, in_] Pope. _trust, they’l end in_ Ff.
[A dance.] Capell. Exit. F1. om. F2 F3 F4.
EPILOGUE.] Warburton. Seymour supposes what follows to be spurious.
6: _then_] _tho’_ Kenrick conj.
7: _cannot_] _can_ Pope.
12: _please you_] F1 F2. _pleases you_ F3 F4. _pleases them_
Hanmer (Warburton). _please them_ Steevens.
_and I_] _and so I_ Steevens (Farmer conj.).
14: _hates_] _hate_ Pope.
_them_] _them) to like as much as pleases them_ Hanmer
(Warburton).
20: [Exeunt.] F2 F3 F4. [Exit. F1.
~~~~~
NOTES.
NOTE I.
Le Beau is so called in F1 on his first entrance, afterwards always
‘Le Beu.’
The banished Duke is called Duke Senior in the stage directions.
Rosalind is spelt indifferently thus and ‘Rosaline.’
Rowe, in his second edition, besides ‘Touchstone’ and ‘William,’
introduced among the Dramatis Personæ ‘A clown in love with Audrey.’
He was followed by Pope, Theobald, Hanmer, and Warburton. Johnson
struck it out.
NOTE II.
I. 1. 46. The correction _revenues_ for _reverence_ has been made in
MS. by some unknown hand in Capell’s copy of the third Folio. The
writing somewhat resembles Warburton’s.
NOTE III.
_I._ 2. 79. There can be no doubt that the words ‘wise men’ here
printed as two, in obedience to modern usage, were frequently in
Shakespeare’s time written and pronounced as one word, with the
accent on the first syllable, as ‘madman’ is still. See Sidney
Walker’s _Criticisms,_ Vol. II. p. 139.
NOTE IV.
I. 2. 147, 149. It does not seem necessary to make any change in the
text here. Perhaps Shakespeare wrote the prose parts of the play
hastily, or it may be that Orlando, who is summoned by Celia, but
whose thoughts are fixed upon Rosalind, is made to say ‘them,’ not
‘her,’ designedly.
NOTE V.
I. 2. 187. Before we were aware of Mason’s conjecture, it occurred to
us that the sentence would run better thus: ‘An you mean to mock me
after, you should not have mocked me before.’ ‘And,’ for ‘an,’ is a
more probable reading than ‘if,’ as it may have been omitted by the
printer, who mistook it for part of the stage direction—‘Orl. and’
for ‘Orland.’ We have since discovered that Theobald proposed ‘An.’
NOTE VI.
I. 3. 92. See a discussion as to the proper punctuation and meaning
of the words ‘No, hath not?’ in _Notes and Queries_, 1st Ser. Vol.
VII. p. 520, and in Mr Singer’s note on this passage. It may be
doubted whether the passages quoted by Mr Grant White are apposite to
this, where there is a double negative.
NOTE VII.
III. 2. 317. In the fourth Folio, and in Rowe’s two editions, the
word ‘kindled’ happens to be in two lines, and therefore divided by
a hyphen. Pope, misled by this, printed it in his first edition as a
compound, ‘kind-led,’ interpreting it probably with reference to the
gregarious habits of the animal in question.
NOTE VIII.
III. 3. 80–83. Johnson proposes to arrange these lines as follows:
_Clo...._ Come, sweet Audrey; we must be married, or we must live in
bawdry.
_Jaq._ Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. [_They whisper._
_Clo._ Farewell, &c.
NOTE IX.
III. 4. 38. As the word ‘puisny’ is here used not in the modern
sense of ‘diminutive,’ but in the now obsolete sense of ‘inferior,
unskilled,’ we think it better to retain the spelling of the Folios.
NOTE X.
IV. 2. 12. The words ‘Then sing him home, the rest shall beare this
burthen’ are printed in the Folios as part of the song. Rowe and
Pope made no change. Theobald first gave ‘the rest shall bear this
burthen’ as a stage direction. Mr Knight, Mr Collier, Mr Grant White
and Mr Dyce take the whole to be a stage direction, Mr Grant White
reading ‘_They_ sing him home,’ for ‘_Then_.......’ Mr Halliwell
prints ‘Then sing him home, the rest shall bear—This burthen.’ Mr
Knight gives in a note the music written for this song by Hilton,
and published in 1652. In Hilton’s setting, the words ‘Then sing
him home, &c.’ are left out, but that, as Mr Knight implies, is not
conclusive as to the original song.
Capell’s arrangement is as follows:
1 v. _What......deer?_
2 v. _His.........wear._
1 v. _Then ......home._
BOTH.
_Take ......born._
1 v. _Thy ........wore it._
2 v. _And ........bore it._
CHO.
_The horn......scorn._
NOTE XI.
IV. 3. 164. Malone wrongly attributes the reading ‘Sir’ for ‘Sirra’
to the second Folio.
NOTE XII.
V. 3. 17. The Edinburgh MS. mentioned in our footnotes is one in the
Advocates’ Library (fol. 18), and the song has been reprinted from it
in Chappell’s _Collection of National English Airs_, ed. 1840, p. 130.
ADDENDA.
Love’s Labour’s Lost, IV. 1. 92. _Monarcho_] _mammuccio_ Hanmer.
A Midsummer-Night’s Dream, IV. 1. 205. _a patched_] Ff. _patcht a_ Qq.
CAMBRIDGE: PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS.
TRANSCRIBER'S ENDNOTES.
Linenotes are moved from the end of each page to the end of
each Scene. Line breaks in dialogue—including prose and poetry
passages—are unchanged. The exception to this is that words
originally broken by a hyphen over two lines are rejoined on one
line. Line numbers are from the original text. Ellipses look like
the original, unless the original was at a line-break that has been
eliminated in this version—for example, in a linenote, footnote, or
general note.
Preface
Section 4., _The Merchant of Venice_.: the phrase "July 22, 1598.
James Roberts) A booke" was changed to "July 22, 1598. (James
Roberts) A booke".
_Much Ado About Nothing_
II. 3. 100: the printed line number was misplaced, one down; moved
it up.
_Love's Labour's Lost_
V. 2. 917: the linenotes printed for lines 912 and 913 actually
refer to lines 917 and 918; the text herein has been altered to this
effect.
V. 1. 37: the word "honorificabilitudinitatibus" was retained in
original form, broken over two lines, with a hyphen between "bi" and
"li" In the mobile versions, available from Project Gutenberg, this
word has been rejoined.
_Midsummer-Night's Dream_
III. 2. 204: the original linenote here erroneously said "See note
III", but is herein corrected to Note V.
IV. 1. 1: the linenote here erroneously said "See note (V)", herein
altered to VI.
IV. 1. 7-8: the linenote is changed from "See note VI" to "See note
VII".
V. 1. 0: the linenote "Enter...] see note (VIII)." was originally
indented under linenote 40 of IV. 2 (the last linenote of the
scene), but clearly refers to the beginning of V. 1, where it has
been placed.
V. 1. 105: the line number was misplaced, up one line. It has been
moved to the line "In least speak...".
V. 1. 139: the linenote said "conjectures th a line"; herein changed
"th " to "that".
Play Note II: "andhe" changed to "and he".
Play Note XIII: the reference is to lines V. 1. 408, 409, changed
from "406, 407".
_Merchant of Venice_
IV, 1. 74: in the printed linenote there is a smudge and something
missing between "bleat" and "the" in Hanmer's rendering.
Furthermore, the presumed "t" in "bleat" is not clearly printed and
may be something else, perhaps a "c". The transcriber renders this
phrase "_When you behold the ewe bleat for the lamb;_ Hanmer.", but
there is significant doubt about it.
Play Note XIV: the reference is changed from IV. 1. 210 to IV. 1.
209.
_As You Like It_
Play Note V: "I. 2. 181" changed to "I. 2. 187".
Addenda
These two linenotes have been copied to their appropriate locations
amongst the linenotes.