the way, you shal tell me, where in the Forrest you liue:
Wil you go?
Orl. With all my heart, good youth
Ros. Nay, you must call mee Rosalind: Come sister,
will you go?
Exeunt.
Scoena Tertia.
Enter Clowne, Audrey, & Iaques.
Clo. Come apace good Audrey, I wil fetch vp your
Goates, Audrey: and how Audrey am I the man yet?
Doth my simple feature content you?
Aud. Your features, Lord warrant vs: what features?
Clo. I am heere with thee, and thy Goats, as the most
capricious Poet honest Ouid was among the Gothes
Iaq. O knowledge ill inhabited, worse then Ioue in
a thatch'd house
Clo. When a mans verses cannot be vnderstood, nor
a mans good wit seconded with the forward childe, vnderstanding:
it strikes a man more dead then a great reckoning
in a little roome: truly, I would the Gods hadde
made thee poeticall
Aud. I do not know what Poetical is: is it honest in
deed and word: is it a true thing?
Clo. No trulie: for the truest poetrie is the most faining,
and Louers are giuen to Poetrie: and what they
sweare in Poetrie, may be said as Louers, they do feigne
Aud. Do you wish then that the Gods had made me
Poeticall?
Clow. I do truly: for thou swear'st to me thou art honest:
Now if thou wert a Poet, I might haue some hope
thou didst feigne
Aud. Would you not haue me honest?
Clo. No truly, vnlesse thou wert hard fauour'd: for
honestie coupled to beautie, is to haue Honie a sawce to
Sugar
Iaq. A materiall foole
Aud. Well, I am not faire, and therefore I pray the
Gods make me honest
Clo. Truly, and to cast away honestie vppon a foule
slut, were to put good meate into an vncleane dish
Aud. I am not a slut, though I thanke the Goddes I
am foule
Clo. Well, praised be the Gods, for thy foulnesse; sluttishnesse
may come heereafter. But be it, as it may bee,
I wil marrie thee: and to that end, I haue bin with Sir
Oliuer Mar-text, the Vicar of the next village, who hath
promis'd to meete me in this place of the Forrest, and to
couple vs
Iaq. I would faine see this meeting
Aud. Wel, the Gods giue vs ioy
Clo. Amen. A man may if he were of a fearful heart,
stagger in this attempt: for heere wee haue no Temple
but the wood, no assembly but horne-beasts. But what
though? Courage. As hornes are odious, they are necessarie.
It is said, many a man knowes no end of his goods;
right: Many a man has good Hornes, and knows no end
of them. Well, that is the dowrie of his wife, 'tis none
of his owne getting; hornes, euen so poore men alone:
No, no, the noblest Deere hath them as huge as the Rascall:
Is the single man therefore blessed? No, as a wall'd
Towne is more worthier then a village, so is the forehead
of a married man, more honourable then the bare
brow of a Batcheller: and by how much defence is better
then no skill, by so much is a horne more precious
then to want.
Enter Sir Oliuer Mar-text.
Heere comes Sir Oliuer: Sir Oliuer Mar-text you are
wel met. Will you dispatch vs heere vnder this tree, or
shal we go with you to your Chappell?
Ol. Is there none heere to giue the woman?
Clo. I wil not take her on guift of any man
Ol. Truly she must be giuen, or the marriage is not
lawfull
Iaq. Proceed, proceede: Ile giue her
Clo. Good euen good Mr what ye cal't: how do you
Sir, you are verie well met: goddild you for your last
companie, I am verie glad to see you, euen a toy in hand
heere Sir: Nay, pray be couer'd
Iaq. Wil you be married, Motley?
Clo. As the Oxe hath his bow sir, the horse his curb,
and the Falcon her bels, so man hath his desires, and as
Pigeons bill, so wedlocke would be nibling
Iaq. And wil you (being a man of your breeding) be
married vnder a bush like a begger? Get you to church,
and haue a good Priest that can tel you what marriage is,
this fellow wil but ioyne you together, as they ioyne
Wainscot, then one of you wil proue a shrunke pannell,
and like greene timber, warpe, warpe
Clo. I am not in the minde, but I were better to bee
married of him then of another, for he is not like to marrie
me wel: and not being wel married, it wil be a good
excuse for me heereafter, to leaue my wife
Iaq. Goe thou with mee,
And let me counsel thee
Ol. Come sweete Audrey,
We must be married, or we must liue in baudrey:
Farewel good Mr Oliuer: Not O sweet Oliuer, O braue
Oliuer leaue me not behind thee: But winde away, bee
gone I say, I wil not to wedding with thee
Ol. 'Tis no matter; Ne're a fantastical knaue of them
all shal flout me out of my calling.
Exeunt.
Scoena Quarta.
Enter Rosalind & Celia.
Ros. Neuer talke to me, I wil weepe
Cel. Do I prethee, but yet haue the grace to consider,
that teares do not become a man
Ros. But haue I not cause to weepe?
Cel. As good cause as one would desire,
Therefore weepe
Ros. His very haire
Is of the dissembling colour
Cel. Something browner then Iudasses:
Marrie his kisses are Iudasses owne children
Ros. I'faith his haire is of a good colour
Cel. An excellent colour:
Your Chessenut was euer the onely colour:
Ros. And his kissing is as ful of sanctitie,
As the touch of holy bread
Cel. Hee hath bought a paire of cast lips of Diana: a
Nun of winters sisterhood kisses not more religiouslie,
the very yce of chastity is in them
Rosa. But why did hee sweare hee would come this
morning, and comes not?
Cel. Nay certainly there is no truth in him
Ros. Doe you thinke so?
Cel. Yes, I thinke he is not a picke purse, nor a horse-stealer,
but for his verity in loue, I doe thinke him as
concaue as a couered goblet, or a Worme-eaten nut
Ros. Not true in loue?
Cel. Yes, when he is in, but I thinke he is not in
Ros. You haue heard him sweare downright he was
Cel. Was, is not is: besides, the oath of Louer is no
stronger then the word of a Tapster, they are both the
confirmer of false reckonings, he attends here in the forrest
on the Duke your father
Ros. I met the Duke yesterday, and had much question
with him: he askt me of what parentage I was; I
told him of as good as he, so he laugh'd and let mee goe.
But what talke wee of Fathers, when there is such a man
as Orlando?
Cel. O that's a braue man, hee writes braue verses,
speakes braue words, sweares braue oathes, and breakes
them brauely, quite trauers athwart the heart of his louer,
as a puisny Tilter, y spurs his horse but on one side,
breakes his staffe like a noble goose; but all's braue that
youth mounts, and folly guides: who comes heere?
Enter Corin.
Corin. Mistresse and Master, you haue oft enquired
After the Shepheard that complain'd of loue,
Who you saw sitting by me on the Turph,
Praising the proud disdainfull Shepherdesse
That was his Mistresse
Cel. Well: and what of him?
Cor. If you will see a pageant truely plaid
Betweene the pale complexion of true Loue,
And the red glowe of scorne and prowd disdaine,
Goe hence a little, and I shall conduct you
If you will marke it
Ros. O come, let vs remoue,
The sight of Louers feedeth those in loue:
Bring vs to this sight, and you shall say
Ile proue a busie actor in their play.
Exeunt.
Scena Quinta.
Enter Siluius and Phebe.
Sil. Sweet Phebe doe not scorne me, do not Phebe
Say that you loue me not, but say not so
In bitternesse; the common executioner
Whose heart th' accustom'd sight of death makes hard
Falls not the axe vpon the humbled neck,
But first begs pardon: will you sterner be
Then he that dies and liues by bloody drops?
Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Corin.
Phe. I would not be thy executioner,
I flye thee, for I would not iniure thee:
Thou tellst me there is murder in mine eye,
'Tis pretty sure, and very probable,
That eyes that are the frailst, and softest things,
Who shut their coward gates on atomyes,
Should be called tyrants, butchers, murtherers.
Now I doe frowne on thee with all my heart,
And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee:
Now counterfeit to swound, why now fall downe,
Or if thou canst not, oh for shame, for shame,
Lye not, to say mine eyes are murtherers:
Now shew the wound mine eye hath made in thee,
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remaines
Some scarre of it: Leane vpon a rush
The Cicatrice and capable impressure
Thy palme some moment keepes: but now mine eyes
Which I haue darted at thee, hurt thee not,
Nor I am sure there is no force in eyes
That can doe hurt
Sil. O deere Phebe,
If euer (as that euer may be neere)
You meet in some fresh cheeke the power of fancie,
Then shall you know the wounds inuisible
That Loues keene arrows make
Phe. But till that time
Come not thou neere me: and when that time comes,
Afflict me with thy mockes, pitty me not,
As till that time I shall not pitty thee
Ros. And why I pray you? who might be your mother
That you insult, exult, and all at once
Ouer the wretched? what though you haue no beauty
As by my faith, I see no more in you
Then without Candle may goe darke to bed:
Must you be therefore prowd and pittilesse?
Why what meanes this? why do you looke on me?
I see no more in you then in the ordinary
Of Natures sale-worke? 'ods my little life,
I thinke she meanes to tangle my eies too:
No faith proud Mistresse, hope not after it,
'Tis not your inkie browes, your blacke silke haire,
Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheeke of creame
That can entame my spirits to your worship:
You foolish Shepheard, wherefore do you follow her
Like foggy South, puffing with winde and raine,
You are a thousand times a properer man
Then she a woman. 'Tis such fooles as you
That makes the world full of ill-fauourd children:
'Tis not her glasse, but you that flatters her,
And out of you she sees her selfe more proper
Then any of her lineaments can show her:
But Mistris, know your selfe, downe on your knees
And thanke heauen, fasting, for a good mans loue;
For I must tell you friendly in your eare,
Sell when you can, you are not for all markets:
Cry the man mercy, loue him, take his offer,
Foule is most foule, being foule to be a scoffer.
So take her to thee Shepheard, fareyouwell
Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a yere together,
I had rather here you chide, then this man wooe
Ros. Hees falne in loue with your foulnesse, & shee'll
Fall in loue with my anger. If it be so, as fast
As she answeres thee with frowning lookes, ile sauce
Her with bitter words: why looke you so vpon me?
Phe. For no ill will I beare you
Ros. I pray you do not fall in loue with mee,
For I am falser then vowes made in wine:
Besides, I like you not: if you will know my house,
'Tis at the tufft of Oliues, here hard by:
Will you goe Sister? Shepheard ply her hard:
Come Sister: Shepheardesse, looke on him better
And be not proud, though all the world could see,
None could be so abus'd in sight as hee.
Come, to our flocke,
Enter.
Phe. Dead Shepheard, now I find thy saw of might,
Who euer lov'd, that lou'd not at first sight?
Sil. Sweet Phebe
Phe. Hah: what saist thou Siluius?
Sil. Sweet Phebe pitty me
Phe. Why I am sorry for thee gentle Siluius
Sil. Where euer sorrow is, reliefe would be:
If you doe sorrow at my griefe in loue,
By giuing loue your sorrow, and my griefe
Were both extermin'd
Phe. Thou hast my loue, is not that neighbourly?
Sil. I would haue you
Phe. Why that were couetousnesse:
Siluius; the time was, that I hated thee;
And yet it is not, that I beare thee loue,
But since that thou canst talke of loue so well,
Thy company, which erst was irkesome to me
I will endure; and Ile employ thee too:
But doe not looke for further recompence
Then thine owne gladnesse, that thou art employd
Sil. So holy, and so perfect is my loue,
And I in such a pouerty of grace,
That I shall thinke it a most plenteous crop
To gleane the broken eares after the man
That the maine haruest reapes: loose now and then
A scattred smile, and that Ile liue vpon
Phe. Knowst thou the youth that spoke to mee yerewhile?
Sil. Not very well, but I haue met him oft,
And he hath bought the Cottage and the bounds
That the old Carlot once was Master of
Phe. Thinke not I loue him, though I ask for him,
'Tis but a peeuish boy, yet he talkes well,
But what care I for words? yet words do well
When he that speakes them pleases those that heare:
It is a pretty youth, not very prettie,
But sure hee's proud, and yet his pride becomes him;
Hee'll make a proper man: the best thing in him
Is his complexion: and faster then his tongue
Did make offence, his eye did heale it vp:
He is not very tall, yet for his yeeres hee's tall:
His leg is but so so, and yet 'tis well:
There was a pretty rednesse in his lip,
A little riper, and more lustie red
Then that mixt in his cheeke: 'twas iust the difference
Betwixt the constant red, and mingled Damaske.
There be some women Siluius, had they markt him
In parcells as I did, would haue gone neere
To fall in loue with him: but for my part
I loue him not, nor hate him not: and yet
Haue more cause to hate him then to loue him,
For what had he to doe to chide at me?
He said mine eyes were black, and my haire blacke,
And now I am remembred, scorn'd at me:
I maruell why I answer'd not againe,
But that's all one: omittance is no quittance:
Ile write to him a very tanting Letter,
And thou shalt beare it, wilt thou Siluius?
Sil. Phebe, with all my heart
Phe. Ile write it strait:
The matter's in my head, and in my heart,
I will be bitter with him, and passing short;
Goe with me Siluius.
Exeunt.
Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.
Enter Rosalind, and Celia, and Iaques.
Iaq. I prethee, pretty youth, let me better acquainted
with thee
Ros They say you are a melancholly fellow
Iaq. I am so: I doe loue it better then laughing
Ros. Those that are in extremity of either, are abhominable
fellowes, and betray themselues to euery moderne
censure, worse then drunkards
Iaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing
Ros. Why then 'tis good to be a poste
Iaq. I haue neither the Schollers melancholy, which
is emulation: nor the Musitians, which is fantasticall;
nor the Courtiers, which is proud: nor the Souldiers,
which is ambitious: nor the Lawiers, which is politick:
nor the Ladies, which is nice: nor the Louers, which
is all these: but it is a melancholy of mine owne, compounded
of many simples, extracted from many obiects,
and indeed the sundrie contemplation of my trauells, in
which by often rumination, wraps me in a most humorous
sadnesse
Ros. A Traueller: by my faith you haue great reason
to be sad: I feare you haue sold your owne Lands,
to see other mens; then to haue seene much, and to haue
nothing, is to haue rich eyes and poore hands
Iaq. Yes, I haue gain'd my experience.
Enter Orlando.
Ros. And your experience makes you sad: I had rather
haue a foole to make me merrie, then experience to
make me sad, and to trauaile for it too
Orl. Good day, and happinesse, deere Rosalind
Iaq. Nay then God buy you, and you talke in blanke
verse
Ros. Farewell Mounsieur Trauellor: looke you
lispe, and weare strange suites; disable all the benefits
of your owne Countrie: be out of loue with your
natiuitie, and almost chide God for making you that
countenance you are; or I will scarce thinke you haue
swam in a Gundello. Why how now Orlando, where
haue you bin all this while? you a louer? and you
serue me such another tricke, neuer come in my sight
more
Orl. My faire Rosalind, I come within an houre of my
promise
Ros. Breake an houres promise in loue? hee that
will diuide a minute into a thousand parts, and breake
but a part of the thousand part of a minute in the affairs
of loue, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapt
him oth' shoulder, but Ile warrant him heart hole
Orl. Pardon me deere Rosalind
Ros. Nay, and you be so tardie, come no more in my
sight, I had as liefe be woo'd of a Snaile
Orl. Of a Snaile?
Ros. I, of a Snaile: for though he comes slowly, hee
carries his house on his head; a better ioyncture I thinke
then you make a woman: besides, he brings his destinie
with him
Orl. What's that?
Ros. Why hornes: w such as you are faine to be beholding
to your wiues for: but he comes armed in his
fortune, and preuents the slander of his wife
Orl. Vertue is no horne-maker: and my Rosalind is
vertuous
Ros. And I am your Rosalind
Cel. It pleases him to call you so: but he hath a Rosalind
of a better leere then you
Ros. Come, wooe me, wooe mee: for now I am in a
holy-day humor, and like enough to consent: What
would you say to me now, and I were your verie, verie
Rosalind?
Orl. I would kisse before I spoke
Ros. Nay, you were better speake first, and when you
were grauel'd, for lacke of matter, you might take occasion
to kisse: verie good Orators when they are out,
they will spit, and for louers, lacking (God warne vs)
matter, the cleanliest shift is to kisse
Orl. How if the kisse be denide?
Ros. Then she puts you to entreatie, and there begins
new matter
Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloued
Mistris?
Ros. Marrie that should you if I were your Mistris,
or I should thinke my honestie ranker then my wit
Orl. What, of my suite?
Ros. Not out of your apparrell, and yet out of your
suite:
Am not I your Rosalind?
Orl. I take some ioy to say you are, because I would
be talking of her
Ros. Well, in her person, I say I will not haue you
Orl. Then in mine owne person, I die
Ros. No faith, die by Attorney: the poore world is
almost six thousand yeeres old, and in all this time there
was not anie man died in his owne person (videlicet) in
a loue cause: Troilous had his braines dash'd out with a
Grecian club, yet he did what hee could to die before,
and he is one of the patternes of loue. Leander, he would
haue liu'd manie a faire yeere though Hero had turn'd
Nun; if it had not bin for a hot Midsomer-night, for
(good youth) he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont,
and being taken with the crampe, was droun'd,
and the foolish Chronoclers of that age, found it was
Hero of Cestos. But these are all lies, men haue died
from time to time, and wormes haue eaten them, but not
for loue
Orl. I would not haue my right Rosalind of this mind,
for I protest her frowne might kill me
Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a flie: but come,
now I will be your Rosalind in a more comming-on disposition:
and aske me what you will, I will grant it
Orl. Then loue me Rosalind
Ros. Yes faith will I, fridaies and saterdaies, and all
Orl. And wilt thou haue me?
Ros. I, and twentie such
Orl. What saiest thou?
Ros. Are you not good?
Orl. I hope so
Rosalind. Why then, can one desire too much of a
good thing: Come sister, you shall be the Priest, and
marrie vs: giue me your hand Orlando: What doe you
say sister?
Orl. Pray thee marrie vs
Cel. I cannot say the words
Ros. You must begin, will you Orlando
Cel. Goe too: wil you Orlando, haue to wife this Rosalind?
Orl. I will
Ros. I, but when?
Orl. Why now, as fast as she can marrie vs
Ros. Then you must say, I take thee Rosalind for
wife
Orl. I take thee Rosalind for wife
Ros. I might aske you for your Commission,
But I doe take thee Orlando for my husband: there's a
girle goes before the Priest, and certainely a Womans
thought runs before her actions
Orl. So do all thoughts, they are wing'd
Ros. Now tell me how long you would haue her, after
you haue possest her?
Orl. For euer, and a day
Ros. Say a day, without the euer: no, no Orlando, men
are Aprill when they woe, December when they wed:
Maides are May when they are maides, but the sky changes
when they are wiues: I will bee more iealous of
thee, then a Barbary cocke-pidgeon ouer his hen, more
clamorous then a Parrat against raine, more new-fangled
then an ape, more giddy in my desires, then a monkey:
I will weepe for nothing, like Diana in the Fountaine,
& I wil do that when you are dispos'd to be merry:
I will laugh like a Hyen, and that when thou art inclin'd
to sleepe
Orl. But will my Rosalind doe so?
Ros. By my life, she will doe as I doe
Orl. O but she is wise
Ros. Or else shee could not haue the wit to doe this:
the wiser, the waywarder: make the doores vpon a womans
wit, and it will out at the casement: shut that, and
'twill out at the key-hole: stop that, 'twill flie with the
smoake out at the chimney
Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might
say, wit whether wil't?
Ros. Nay, you might keepe that checke for it, till you
met your wiues wit going to your neighbours bed
Orl. And what wit could wit haue, to excuse that?
Rosa. Marry to say, she came to seeke you there: you
shall neuer take her without her answer, vnlesse you take
her without her tongue: o that woman that cannot
make her fault her husbands occasion, let her neuer nurse
her childe her selfe, for she will breed it like a foole
Orl. For these two houres Rosalinde, I wil leaue thee
Ros. Alas, deere loue, I cannot lacke thee two houres
Orl. I must attend the Duke at dinner, by two a clock
I will be with thee againe
Ros. I, goe your waies, goe your waies: I knew what
you would proue, my friends told mee as much, and I
thought no lesse: that flattering tongue of yours wonne
me: 'tis but one cast away, and so come death: two o'
clocke is your howre
Orl. I, sweet Rosalind
Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God
mend mee, and by all pretty oathes that are not dangerous,
if you breake one iot of your promise, or come one
minute behinde your houre, I will thinke you the most
patheticall breake-promise, and the most hollow louer,
and the most vnworthy of her you call Rosalinde, that
may bee chosen out of the grosse band of the vnfaithfull:
therefore beware my censure, and keep your promise
Orl. With no lesse religion, then if thou wert indeed
my Rosalind: so adieu
Ros. Well, Time is the olde Iustice that examines all
such offenders, and let time try: adieu.
Enter.
Cel. You haue simply misus'd our sexe in your loue-prate:
we must haue your doublet and hose pluckt ouer
your head, and shew the world what the bird hath done
to her owne neast
Ros. O coz, coz, coz: my pretty little coz, that thou
didst know how many fathome deepe I am in loue: but
it cannot bee sounded: my affection hath an vnknowne
bottome, like the Bay of Portugall
Cel. Or rather bottomlesse, that as fast as you poure
affection in, it runs out
Ros. No, that same wicked Bastard of Venus, that was
begot of thought, conceiu'd of spleene, and borne of
madnesse, that blinde rascally boy, that abuses euery
ones eyes, because his owne are out, let him bee iudge,
how deepe I am in loue: ile tell thee Aliena, I cannot be
out of the sight of Orlando: Ile goe finde a shadow, and
sigh till he come
Cel. And Ile sleepe.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Enter Iaques and Lords, Forresters.
Iaq. Which is he that killed the Deare?
Lord. Sir, it was I
Iaq. Let's present him to the Duke like a Romane
Conquerour, and it would doe well to set the Deares
horns vpon his head, for a branch of victory; haue you
no song Forrester for this purpose?
Lord. Yes Sir
Iaq. Sing it: 'tis no matter how it bee in tune, so it
make noyse enough.
Musicke, Song.
What shall he haue that kild the Deare?
His Leather skin, and hornes to weare:
Then sing him home, the rest shall beare this burthen;
Take thou no scorne to weare the horne,
It was a crest ere thou wast borne,
Thy fathers father wore it,
And thy father bore it,
The horne, the horne, the lusty horne,
Is not a thing to laugh to scorne.
Exeunt.
Scoena Tertia.
Enter Rosalind and Celia.
Ros. How say you now, is it not past two a clock?
And heere much Orlando
Cel. I warrant you, with pure loue, & troubled brain,
Enter Siluius.
He hath t'ane his bow and arrowes, and is gone forth
To sleepe: looke who comes heere
Sil. My errand is to you, faire youth,
My gentle Phebe, did bid me giue you this:
I know not the contents, but as I guesse
By the sterne brow, and waspish action
Which she did vse, as she was writing of it,
It beares an angry tenure; pardon me,
I am but as a guiltlesse messenger
Ros. Patience her selfe would startle at this letter,
And play the swaggerer, beare this, beare all:
Shee saies I am not faire, that I lacke manners,
She calls me proud, and that she could not loue me
Were man as rare as Phenix: 'od's my will,
Her loue is not the Hare that I doe hunt,
Why writes she so to me? well Shepheard, well,
This is a Letter of your owne deuice
Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents,
Phebe did write it
Ros. Come, come, you are a foole,
And turn'd into the extremity of loue.
I saw her hand, she has a leatherne hand,
A freestone coloured hand: I verily did thinke
That her old gloues were on, but twas her hands:
She has a huswiues hand, but that's no matter:
I say she neuer did inuent this letter,
This is a mans inuention, and his hand
Sil. Sure it is hers
Ros. Why, tis a boysterous and a cruell stile,
A stile for challengers: why, she defies me,
Like Turke to Christian: womens gentle braine
Could not drop forth such giant rude inuention,
Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect
Then in their countenance: will you heare the letter?
Sil. So please you, for I neuer heard it yet:
Yet heard too much of Phebes crueltie
Ros. She Phebes me: marke how the tyrant writes.
Read.