AS YOU LIKE IT
by William Shakespeare
Contents
ACT I
Scene I. An Orchard near Oliver’s house
Scene II. A Lawn before the Duke’s Palace
Scene III. A Room in the Palace
ACT II
Scene I. The Forest of Arden
Scene II. A Room in the Palace
Scene III. Before Oliver’s House
Scene IV. The Forest of Arden
Scene V. Another part of the Forest
Scene VI. Another part of the Forest
Scene VII. Another part of the Forest
ACT III
Scene I. A Room in the Palace
Scene II. The Forest of Arden
Scene III. Another part of the Forest
Scene IV. Another part of the Forest. Before a Cottage
Scene V. Another part of the Forest
ACT IV
Scene I. The Forest of Arden
Scene II. Another part of the Forest
Scene III. Another part of the Forest
ACT V
Scene I. The Forest of Arden
Scene II. Another part of the Forest
Scene III. Another part of the Forest
Scene IV. Another part of the Forest
Epilogue
Dramatis Personæ
ORLANDO, youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys
OLIVER, eldest son of Sir Rowland de Boys
JAQUES DE BOYS, second son of Sir Rowland de Boys
ADAM, Servant to Oliver
DENNIS, Servant to Oliver
ROSALIND, Daughter of Duke Senior
CELIA, Daughter of Duke Frederick
TOUCHSTONE, a Clown
DUKE SENIOR (Ferdinand), living in exile
JAQUES, Lord attending on the Duke Senior
AMIENS, Lord attending on the Duke Senior
DUKE FREDERICK, Brother to the Duke, and Usurper of his Dominions
CHARLES, his Wrestler
LE BEAU, a Courtier attending upon Frederick
CORIN, Shepherd
SILVIUS, Shepherd
PHOEBE, a Shepherdess
AUDREY, a Country Wench
WILLIAM, a Country Fellow, in love with Audrey
SIR OLIVER MARTEXT, a Vicar
A person representing HYMEN
Lords belonging to the two Dukes; Pages, Foresters, and other
Attendants.
The scene lies first near Oliver’s house; afterwards partly in the
Usurper’s court and partly in the Forest of Arden.
ACT I
SCENE I. An Orchard near Oliver’s house
Enter Orlando and Adam.
ORLANDO.
As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed me by will but
poor a thousand crowns, and, as thou sayst, charged my brother, on his
blessing, to breed me well; and there begins my sadness. My brother
Jaques he keeps at school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit.
For my part, he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more
properly, stays me here at home unkept; for call you that keeping, for
a gentleman of my birth, that differs not from the stalling of an ox?
His horses are bred better, for, besides that they are fair with their
feeding, they are taught their manage and to that end riders dearly
hired; but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth, for the
which his animals on his dunghills are as much bound to him as I.
Besides this nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the something
that nature gave me his countenance seems to take from me. He lets me
feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a brother, and as much as in
him lies, mines my gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that
grieves me, and the spirit of my father, which I think is within me,
begins to mutiny against this servitude. I will no longer endure it,
though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it.
Enter Oliver.
ADAM.
Yonder comes my master, your brother.
ORLANDO.
Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up.
[_Adam retires._]
OLIVER.
Now, sir, what make you here?
ORLANDO.
Nothing. I am not taught to make anything.
OLIVER.
What mar you then, sir?
ORLANDO.
Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a poor
unworthy brother of yours, with idleness.
OLIVER.
Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile.
ORLANDO.
Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them? What prodigal portion
have I spent that I should come to such penury?
OLIVER.
Know you where you are, sir?
ORLANDO.
O, sir, very well: here in your orchard.
OLIVER.
Know you before whom, sir?
ORLANDO.
Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I know you are my eldest
brother, and in the gentle condition of blood you should so know me.
The courtesy of nations allows you my better in that you are the
first-born, but the same tradition takes not away my blood, were there
twenty brothers betwixt us. I have as much of my father in me as you,
albeit I confess your coming before me is nearer to his reverence.
OLIVER.
What, boy!
ORLANDO.
Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this.
OLIVER.
Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?
ORLANDO.
I am no villain. I am the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys; he was
my father, and he is thrice a villain that says such a father begot
villains. Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy
throat till this other had pulled out thy tongue for saying so. Thou
has railed on thyself.
ADAM.
[_Coming forward_.] Sweet masters, be patient. For your father’s
remembrance, be at accord.
OLIVER.
Let me go, I say.
ORLANDO.
I will not till I please. You shall hear me. My father charged you in
his will to give me good education. You have trained me like a peasant,
obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities. The spirit
of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer endure it.
Therefore allow me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me
the poor allottery my father left me by testament; with that I will go
buy my fortunes.
OLIVER.
And what wilt thou do? Beg when that is spent? Well, sir, get you in. I
will not long be troubled with you. You shall have some part of your
will. I pray you leave me.
ORLANDO.
I no further offend you than becomes me for my good.
OLIVER.
Get you with him, you old dog.
ADAM.
Is “old dog” my reward? Most true, I have lost my teeth in your
service. God be with my old master. He would not have spoke such a
word.
[_Exeunt Orlando and Adam._]
OLIVER.
Is it even so? Begin you to grow upon me? I will physic your rankness,
and yet give no thousand crowns neither. Holla, Dennis!
Enter Dennis.
DENNIS
Calls your worship?
OLIVER.
Was not Charles, the Duke’s wrestler, here to speak with me?
DENNIS
So please you, he is here at the door and importunes access to you.
OLIVER.
Call him in.
[_Exit Dennis._]
’Twill be a good way, and tomorrow the wrestling is.
Enter Charles.
CHARLES.
Good morrow to your worship.
OLIVER.
Good Monsieur Charles. What’s the new news at the new court?
CHARLES.
There’s no news at the court, sir, but the old news. That is, the old
Duke is banished by his younger brother the new Duke, and three or four
loving lords have put themselves into voluntary exile with him, whose
lands and revenues enrich the new Duke; therefore he gives them good
leave to wander.
OLIVER.
Can you tell if Rosalind, the Duke’s daughter, be banished with her
father?
CHARLES.
O, no; for the Duke’s daughter, her cousin, so loves her, being ever
from their cradles bred together, that she would have followed her
exile or have died to stay behind her. She is at the court and no less
beloved of her uncle than his own daughter, and never two ladies loved
as they do.
OLIVER.
Where will the old Duke live?
CHARLES.
They say he is already in the Forest of Arden, and a many merry men
with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England. They
say many young gentlemen flock to him every day and fleet the time
carelessly, as they did in the golden world.
OLIVER.
What, you wrestle tomorrow before the new Duke?
CHARLES.
Marry, do I, sir, and I came to acquaint you with a matter. I am given,
sir, secretly to understand that your younger brother Orlando hath a
disposition to come in disguised against me to try a fall. Tomorrow,
sir, I wrestle for my credit, and he that escapes me without some
broken limb shall acquit him well. Your brother is but young and
tender, and for your love I would be loath to foil him, as I must for
my own honour if he come in. Therefore, out of my love to you, I came
hither to acquaint you withal, that either you might stay him from his
intendment, or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into, in that
it is a thing of his own search and altogether against my will.
OLIVER.
Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt find I will
most kindly requite. I had myself notice of my brother’s purpose
herein, and have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him from it;
but he is resolute. I’ll tell thee, Charles, it is the stubbornest
young fellow of France, full of ambition, an envious emulator of every
man’s good parts, a secret and villainous contriver against me his
natural brother. Therefore use thy discretion. I had as lief thou didst
break his neck as his finger. And thou wert best look to’t; for if thou
dost him any slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace himself on
thee, he will practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by some
treacherous device, and never leave thee till he hath ta’en thy life by
some indirect means or other. For I assure thee (and almost with tears
I speak it) there is not one so young and so villainous this day
living. I speak but brotherly of him, but should I anatomize him to
thee as he is, I must blush and weep, and thou must look pale and
wonder.
CHARLES.
I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come tomorrow I’ll give
him his payment. If ever he go alone again I’ll never wrestle for prize
more. And so, God keep your worship.
[_Exit._]
OLIVER.
Farewell, good Charles. Now will I stir this gamester. I hope I shall
see an end of him; for my soul—yet I know not why—hates nothing more
than he. Yet he’s gentle, never schooled and yet learned, full of noble
device, of all sorts enchantingly beloved, and indeed so much in the
heart of the world, and especially of my own people, who best know him,
that I am altogether misprized. But it shall not be so long; this
wrestler shall clear all. Nothing remains but that I kindle the boy
thither, which now I’ll go about.
[_Exit._]
SCENE II. A Lawn before the Duke’s Palace
Enter Rosalind and Celia.
CELIA.
I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.
ROSALIND.
Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of, and would you yet
I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget a banished father,
you must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure.
CELIA.
Herein I see thou lov’st me not with the full weight that I love thee.
If my uncle, thy banished father, had banished thy uncle, the Duke my
father, so thou hadst been still with me, I could have taught my love
to take thy father for mine. So wouldst thou, if the truth of thy love
to me were so righteously tempered as mine is to thee.
ROSALIND.
Well, I will forget the condition of my estate to rejoice in yours.
CELIA.
You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to have; and
truly, when he dies thou shalt be his heir, for what he hath taken away
from thy father perforce, I will render thee again in affection. By
mine honour I will! And when I break that oath, let me turn monster.
Therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry.
ROSALIND.
From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. Let me see—what think
you of falling in love?
CELIA.
Marry, I prithee do, to make sport withal; but love no man in good
earnest, nor no further in sport neither than with safety of a pure
blush thou mayst in honour come off again.
ROSALIND.
What shall be our sport, then?
CELIA.
Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from her wheel, that her
gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally.
ROSALIND.
I would we could do so, for her benefits are mightily misplaced, and
the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her gifts to women.
CELIA.
’Tis true, for those that she makes fair she scarce makes honest, and
those that she makes honest she makes very ill-favouredly.
ROSALIND.
Nay, now thou goest from Fortune’s office to Nature’s. Fortune reigns
in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of Nature.
Enter Touchstone.
CELIA.
No? When Nature hath made a fair creature, may she not by Fortune fall
into the fire? Though Nature hath given us wit to flout at Fortune,
hath not Fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument?
ROSALIND.
Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when Fortune makes
Nature’s natural the cutter-off of Nature’s wit.
CELIA.
Peradventure this is not Fortune’s work neither, but Nature’s, who
perceiveth our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, and
hath sent this natural for our whetstone; for always the dullness of
the fool is the whetstone of the wits.—How now, wit, whither wander
you?
TOUCHSTONE.
Mistress, you must come away to your father.
CELIA.
Were you made the messenger?
TOUCHSTONE.
No, by mine honour, but I was bid to come for you.
ROSALIND.
Where learned you that oath, fool?
TOUCHSTONE.
Of a certain knight that swore by his honour they were good pancakes,
and swore by his honour the mustard was naught. Now, I’ll stand to it,
the pancakes were naught and the mustard was good, and yet was not the
knight forsworn.
CELIA.
How prove you that in the great heap of your knowledge?
ROSALIND.
Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom.
TOUCHSTONE.
Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and swear by your beards
that I am a knave.
CELIA.
By our beards, if we had them, thou art.
TOUCHSTONE.
By my knavery, if I had it, then I were. But if you swear by that that
is not, you are not forsworn. No more was this knight swearing by his
honour, for he never had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away before
ever he saw those pancackes or that mustard.
CELIA.
Prithee, who is’t that thou mean’st?
TOUCHSTONE.
One that old Frederick, your father, loves.
CELIA.
My father’s love is enough to honour him. Enough! Speak no more of him.
You’ll be whipped for taxation one of these days.
TOUCHSTONE.
The more pity that fools may not speak wisely what wise men do
foolishly.
CELIA.
By my troth, thou sayest true. For since the little wit that fools have
was silenced, the little foolery that wise men have makes a great show.
Here comes Monsieur Le Beau.
Enter Le Beau.
ROSALIND.
With his mouth full of news.
CELIA.
Which he will put on us as pigeons feed their young.
ROSALIND.
Then shall we be news-crammed.
CELIA.
All the better; we shall be the more marketable.
_Bonjour_, Monsieur Le Beau. What’s the news?
LE BEAU.
Fair princess, you have lost much good sport.
CELIA.
Sport! Of what colour?
LE BEAU.
What colour, madam? How shall I answer you?
ROSALIND.
As wit and fortune will.
TOUCHSTONE.
Or as the destinies decrees.
CELIA.
Well said. That was laid on with a trowel.
TOUCHSTONE.
Nay, if I keep not my rank—
ROSALIND.
Thou losest thy old smell.
LE BEAU.
You amaze me, ladies. I would have told you of good wrestling, which
you have lost the sight of.
ROSALIND.
Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling.
LE BEAU.
I will tell you the beginning and, if it please your ladyships, you may
see the end, for the best is yet to do; and here, where you are, they
are coming to perform it.
CELIA.
Well, the beginning that is dead and buried.
LE BEAU.
There comes an old man and his three sons—
CELIA.
I could match this beginning with an old tale.
LE BEAU.
Three proper young men of excellent growth and presence.
ROSALIND.
With bills on their necks: “Be it known unto all men by these
presents.”
LE BEAU.
The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the Duke’s wrestler,
which Charles in a moment threw him and broke three of his ribs, that
there is little hope of life in him. So he served the second, and so
the third. Yonder they lie, the poor old man their father making such
pitiful dole over them that all the beholders take his part with
weeping.
ROSALIND.
Alas!
TOUCHSTONE.
But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies have lost?
LE BEAU.
Why, this that I speak of.
TOUCHSTONE.
Thus men may grow wiser every day. It is the first time that ever I
heard breaking of ribs was sport for ladies.
CELIA.
Or I, I promise thee.
ROSALIND.
But is there any else longs to see this broken music in his sides? Is
there yet another dotes upon rib-breaking? Shall we see this wrestling,
cousin?
LE BEAU.
You must if you stay here, for here is the place appointed for the
wrestling, and they are ready to perform it.
CELIA.
Yonder, sure, they are coming. Let us now stay and see it.
Flourish. Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, Orlando, Charles and Attendants.
DUKE FREDERICK.
Come on. Since the youth will not be entreated, his own peril on his
forwardness.
ROSALIND.
Is yonder the man?
LE BEAU.
Even he, madam.
CELIA.
Alas, he is too young. Yet he looks successfully.
DUKE FREDERICK.
How now, daughter and cousin? Are you crept hither to see the
wrestling?
ROSALIND.
Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave.
DUKE FREDERICK.
You will take little delight in it, I can tell you, there is such odds
in the man. In pity of the challenger’s youth I would fain dissuade
him, but he will not be entreated. Speak to him, ladies; see if you can
move him.
CELIA.
Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau.
DUKE FREDERICK.
Do so; I’ll not be by.
[_Duke Frederick steps aside._]
LE BEAU.
Monsieur the challenger, the Princess calls for you.
ORLANDO.
I attend them with all respect and duty.
ROSALIND.
Young man, have you challenged Charles the wrestler?
ORLANDO.
No, fair princess. He is the general challenger. I come but in as
others do, to try with him the strength of my youth.
CELIA.
Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your years. You have
seen cruel proof of this man’s strength. If you saw yourself with your
eyes or knew yourself with your judgement, the fear of your adventure
would counsel you to a more equal enterprise. We pray you for your own
sake to embrace your own safety and give over this attempt.
ROSALIND.
Do, young sir. Your reputation shall not therefore be misprized. We
will make it our suit to the Duke that the wrestling might not go
forward.
ORLANDO.
I beseech you, punish me not with your hard thoughts, wherein I confess
me much guilty to deny so fair and excellent ladies anything. But let
your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my trial, wherein if I
be foiled there is but one shamed that was never gracious; if killed,
but one dead that is willing to be so. I shall do my friends no wrong,
for I have none to lament me; the world no injury, for in it I have
nothing. Only in the world I fill up a place, which may be better
supplied when I have made it empty.
ROSALIND.
The little strength that I have, I would it were with you.
CELIA.
And mine to eke out hers.
ROSALIND.
Fare you well. Pray heaven I be deceived in you.
CELIA.
Your heart’s desires be with you.
CHARLES.
Come, where is this young gallant that is so desirous to lie with his
mother earth?
ORLANDO.
Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working.
DUKE FREDERICK.
You shall try but one fall.
CHARLES.
No, I warrant your grace you shall not entreat him to a second, that
have so mightily persuaded him from a first.
ORLANDO.
You mean to mock me after; you should not have mocked me before. But
come your ways.
ROSALIND.
Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man!
CELIA.
I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the leg.
[_Orlando and Charles wrestle._]
ROSALIND.
O excellent young man!
CELIA.
If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should down.
[_Charles is thrown. Shout._]
DUKE FREDERICK.
No more, no more.
ORLANDO.
Yes, I beseech your grace. I am not yet well breathed.
DUKE FREDERICK.
How dost thou, Charles?
LE BEAU.
He cannot speak, my lord.
DUKE FREDERICK.
Bear him away.
[_Charles is carried off by Attendants._]
What is thy name, young man?
ORLANDO.
Orlando, my liege, the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys.
DUKE FREDERICK.
I would thou hadst been son to some man else.
The world esteemed thy father honourable,
But I did find him still mine enemy.
Thou shouldst have better pleased me with this deed
Hadst thou descended from another house.
But fare thee well, thou art a gallant youth.
I would thou hadst told me of another father.
[_Exeunt Duke Frederick, Le Beau and Lords._]
CELIA.
Were I my father, coz, would I do this?
ORLANDO.
I am more proud to be Sir Rowland’s son,
His youngest son, and would not change that calling
To be adopted heir to Frederick.
ROSALIND.
My father loved Sir Rowland as his soul,
And all the world was of my father’s mind.
Had I before known this young man his son,
I should have given him tears unto entreaties
Ere he should thus have ventured.
CELIA.
Gentle cousin,
Let us go thank him and encourage him.
My father’s rough and envious disposition
Sticks me at heart.—Sir, you have well deserved.
If you do keep your promises in love
But justly, as you have exceeded promise,
Your mistress shall be happy.
ROSALIND.
Gentleman,
[_Giving him a chain from her neck_.]
Wear this for me—one out of suits with Fortune,
That could give more but that her hand lacks means.—
Shall we go, coz?
CELIA.
Ay.—Fare you well, fair gentleman.
ORLANDO.
Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts
Are all thrown down, and that which here stands up
Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block.
ROSALIND.
He calls us back. My pride fell with my fortunes.
I’ll ask him what he would.—Did you call, sir?—
Sir, you have wrestled well and overthrown
More than your enemies.
CELIA.
Will you go, coz?
ROSALIND.
Have with you.—Fare you well.
[_Exeunt Rosalind and Celia._]
ORLANDO.
What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue?
I cannot speak to her, yet she urged conference.
O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown.
Or Charles or something weaker masters thee.
Enter Le Beau.
LE BEAU.
Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you
To leave this place. Albeit you have deserved
High commendation, true applause, and love,
Yet such is now the Duke’s condition
That he misconsters all that you have done.
The Duke is humorous; what he is indeed
More suits you to conceive than I to speak of.
ORLANDO.
I thank you, sir; and pray you tell me this:
Which of the two was daughter of the Duke
That here was at the wrestling?
LE BEAU.
Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners,
But yet indeed the smaller is his daughter.
The other is daughter to the banished Duke,
And here detained by her usurping uncle
To keep his daughter company, whose loves
Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters.
But I can tell you that of late this Duke
Hath ta’en displeasure ’gainst his gentle niece,
Grounded upon no other argument
But that the people praise her for her virtues
And pity her for her good father’s sake;
And, on my life, his malice ’gainst the lady
Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well.
Hereafter, in a better world than this,
I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.
ORLANDO.
I rest much bounden to you; fare you well!
[_Exit Le Beau._]
Thus must I from the smoke into the smother,
From tyrant Duke unto a tyrant brother.
But heavenly Rosalind!
[_Exit._]
SCENE III. A Room in the Palace
Enter Celia and Rosalind.
CELIA.
Why, cousin, why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy! Not a word?
ROSALIND.
Not one to throw at a dog.
CELIA.
No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs. Throw some of
them at me. Come, lame me with reasons.
ROSALIND.
Then there were two cousins laid up, when the one should be lamed with
reasons and the other mad without any.
CELIA.
But is all this for your father?
ROSALIND.
No, some of it is for my child’s father. O, how full of briers is this
working-day world!
CELIA.
They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery. If we
walk not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats will catch them.
ROSALIND.
I could shake them off my coat; these burs are in my heart.
CELIA.
Hem them away.
ROSALIND.
I would try, if I could cry “hem” and have him.
CELIA.
Come, come, wrestle with thy affections.
ROSALIND.
O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself.
CELIA.
O, a good wish upon you! You will try in time, in despite of a fall.
But turning these jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest. Is
it possible on such a sudden you should fall into so strong a liking
with old Sir Rowland’s youngest son?
ROSALIND.
The Duke my father loved his father dearly.
CELIA.
Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his son dearly? By this
kind of chase I should hate him, for my father hated his father dearly;
yet I hate not Orlando.
ROSALIND.
No, faith, hate him not, for my sake.
CELIA.
Why should I not? Doth he not deserve well?
Enter Duke Frederick with Lords.
ROSALIND.
Let me love him for that, and do you love him because I do.—Look, here
comes the Duke.
CELIA.
With his eyes full of anger.
DUKE FREDERICK.
Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste,
And get you from our court.
ROSALIND.
Me, uncle?
DUKE FREDERICK.
You, cousin.
Within these ten days if that thou be’st found
So near our public court as twenty miles,
Thou diest for it.
ROSALIND.
I do beseech your Grace,
Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me.
If with myself I hold intelligence,
Or have acquaintance with mine own desires,
If that I do not dream, or be not frantic—
As I do trust I am not—then, dear uncle,
Never so much as in a thought unborn
Did I offend your Highness.
DUKE FREDERICK.
Thus do all traitors.
If their purgation did consist in words,
They are as innocent as grace itself.
Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not.
ROSALIND.
Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor.
Tell me whereon the likelihood depends.
DUKE FREDERICK.
Thou art thy father’s daughter, there’s enough.
ROSALIND.
So was I when your highness took his dukedom;
So was I when your highness banished him.
Treason is not inherited, my lord,
Or, if we did derive it from our friends,
What’s that to me? My father was no traitor.
Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much
To think my poverty is treacherous.
CELIA.
Dear sovereign, hear me speak.
DUKE FREDERICK.
Ay, Celia, we stayed her for your sake,
Else had she with her father ranged along.
CELIA.
I did not then entreat to have her stay;
It was your pleasure and your own remorse.
I was too young that time to value her,
But now I know her. If she be a traitor,
Why, so am I. We still have slept together,
Rose at an instant, learned, played, ate together,
And wheresoe’er we went, like Juno’s swans,
Still we went coupled and inseparable.
DUKE FREDERICK.
She is too subtle for thee, and her smoothness,
Her very silence, and her patience
Speak to the people, and they pity her.
Thou art a fool. She robs thee of thy name,
And thou wilt show more bright and seem more virtuous
When she is gone. Then open not thy lips.
Firm and irrevocable is my doom
Which I have passed upon her. She is banished.
CELIA.
Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege.
I cannot live out of her company.
DUKE FREDERICK.
You are a fool. You, niece, provide yourself.
If you outstay the time, upon mine honour
And in the greatness of my word, you die.
[_Exeunt Duke Frederick and Lords._]
CELIA.
O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt thou go?
Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine.
I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than I am.
ROSALIND.
I have more cause.
CELIA.
Thou hast not, cousin.
Prithee be cheerful. Know’st thou not the Duke
Hath banished me, his daughter?
ROSALIND.
That he hath not.
CELIA.
No, hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love
Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one.
Shall we be sundered? Shall we part, sweet girl?
No, let my father seek another heir.
Therefore devise with me how we may fly,
Whither to go, and what to bear with us,
And do not seek to take your change upon you,
To bear your griefs yourself and leave me out.
For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale,
Say what thou canst, I’ll go along with thee.
ROSALIND.
Why, whither shall we go?
CELIA.
To seek my uncle in the Forest of Arden.
ROSALIND.
Alas, what danger will it be to us,
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far?
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.
CELIA.
I’ll put myself in poor and mean attire,
And with a kind of umber smirch my face.
The like do you; so shall we pass along
And never stir assailants.
ROSALIND.
Were it not better,
Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did suit me all points like a man?
A gallant curtal-axe upon my thigh,
A boar-spear in my hand, and in my heart
Lie there what hidden woman’s fear there will,
We’ll have a swashing and a martial outside,
As many other mannish cowards have
That do outface it with their semblances.
CELIA.
What shall I call thee when thou art a man?
ROSALIND.
I’ll have no worse a name than Jove’s own page,
And therefore look you call me Ganymede.
But what will you be called?
CELIA.
Something that hath a reference to my state:
No longer Celia, but Aliena.
ROSALIND.
But, cousin, what if we assayed to steal
The clownish fool out of your father’s court?
Would he not be a comfort to our travel?
CELIA.
He’ll go along o’er the wide world with me.
Leave me alone to woo him. Let’s away,
And get our jewels and our wealth together,
Devise the fittest time and safest way
To hide us from pursuit that will be made
After my flight. Now go we in content
To liberty, and not to banishment.
[_Exeunt._]
ACT II
SCENE I. The Forest of Arden
Enter Duke Senior, Amiens and two or three Lords, dressed as foresters.
DUKE SENIOR.
Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods
More free from peril than the envious court?
Here feel we not the penalty of Adam,
The seasons’ difference, as the icy fang
And churlish chiding of the winter’s wind,
Which when it bites and blows upon my body
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say:
“This is no flattery. These are counsellors
That feelingly persuade me what I am.”
Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything.
AMIENS.
I would not change it. Happy is your grace,
That can translate the stubbornness of fortune
Into so quiet and so sweet a style.
DUKE SENIOR.
Come, shall we go and kill us venison?
And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools,
Being native burghers of this desert city,
Should in their own confines with forked heads
Have their round haunches gored.
FIRST LORD.
Indeed, my lord,
The melancholy Jaques grieves at that,
And in that kind swears you do more usurp
Than doth your brother that hath banished you.
Today my lord of Amiens and myself
Did steal behind him as he lay along
Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood;
To the which place a poor sequestered stag,
That from the hunter’s aim had ta’en a hurt,
Did come to languish; and indeed, my lord,
The wretched animal heaved forth such groans
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat
Almost to bursting, and the big round tears
Coursed one another down his innocent nose
In piteous chase. And thus the hairy fool,
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
Stood on th’ extremest verge of the swift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.
DUKE SENIOR.
But what said Jaques?
Did he not moralize this spectacle?
FIRST LORD.
O yes, into a thousand similes.
First, for his weeping into the needless stream:
“Poor deer,” quoth he “thou mak’st a testament
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
To that which had too much.” Then, being there alone,
Left and abandoned of his velvet friends:
“’Tis right”; quoth he, “thus misery doth part
The flux of company.” Anon a careless herd,
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him
And never stays to greet him. “Ay,” quoth Jaques,
“Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens!
’Tis just the fashion. Wherefore do you look
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?”
Thus most invectively he pierceth through
The body of the country, city, court,
Yea, and of this our life, swearing that we
Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what’s worse,
To fright the animals and to kill them up
In their assigned and native dwelling-place.
DUKE SENIOR.
And did you leave him in this contemplation?
SECOND LORD.
We did, my lord, weeping and commenting
Upon the sobbing deer.
DUKE SENIOR.
Show me the place.
I love to cope him in these sullen fits,
For then he’s full of matter.
FIRST LORD.
I’ll bring you to him straight.
[_Exeunt._]