Complete Plays, The

by William Shakespeare

  Celia

  And I’ll sleep.

  Exeunt

  SCENE II. THE FOREST.

  Enter Jaques, Lords, and Foresters

  Jaques

  Which is he that killed the deer?

  A Lord

  Sir, it was I.

  Jaques

  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, forester, for this purpose?

  Forester

  Yes, sir.

  Jaques

  Sing it: ’tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough.

  Forester

  [sings] What shall he have that kill’d the deer?

  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,

  And thy father bore it:

  The horn, the horn, the lusty horn

  Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.

  Exeunt

  SCENE III. THE FOREST.

  Enter Rosalind and Celia

  Rosalind

  How say you now? Is it not past two o’clock? and here much Orlando!

  Celia

  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.

  Enter Silvius

  Silvius

  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,

  It bears an angry tenor: pardon me:

  I am but as a guiltless messenger.

  Rosalind

  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;

  She calls me proud, and that she could not love me,

  Were man as rare as phoenix. ‘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.

  Silvius

  No, I protest, I know not the contents:

  Phebe did write it.

  Rosalind

  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

  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.

  Silvius

  Sure, it is hers.

  Rosalind

  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

  Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter?

  Silvius

  So please you, for I never heard it yet;

  Yet heard too much of Phebe’s cruelty.

  Rosalind

  She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes.

  Reads

  Art thou god to shepherd turn’d,

  That a maiden’s heart hath burn’d?

  Can a woman rail thus?

  Silvius

  Call you this railing?

  Rosalind

  [Reads]

  Why, thy godhead laid apart,

  Warr’st thou with a woman’s heart?

  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

  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!

  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

  Of me and all that I can make;

  Or else by him my love deny,

  And then I’ll study how to die.

  Silvius

  Call you this chiding?

  Celia

  Alas, poor shepherd!

  Rosalind

  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 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

  Oliver

  Good morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you know,

  Where in the purlieus of this forest stands

  A sheep-cote fenced about with olive trees?

  Celia

  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;

  There’s none within.

  Oliver

  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

  Like a ripe sister: the woman low

  And browner than her brother.’ Are not you

  The owner of the house I did inquire for?

  Celia

  It is no boast, being ask’d, to say we are.

  Oliver

  Orlando doth commend him to you both,

  And to that youth he calls his Rosalind

  He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he?

  Rosalind

  I am: what must we understand by this?

  Oliver

  Some of my shame; if you will know of me

  What man I am, and how, and why, and where

  This handkercher was stain’d.

  Celia

  I pray you, tell it.

  Oliver

  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,

  Lo, what befell! 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,

  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,

  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

  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.

  Celia

  O, I have heard him speak of that same brother;

  And he did render him the most unnatural

  That lived amongst men.

  Oliver

  And well he might so do,

  For well I know he was unnatural.

  Rosalind

  But, to Orlando: did he leave him there,

  Food to the suck’d and hungry lioness?

  Oliver

  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

  From miserable slumber I awaked.

  Celia

  Are you his brother?

  Rosalind

  Wast you he rescued?

  Celia

  Was’t you that did so oft contrive to kill him?

  Oliver

  ’Twas I; but ’tis not I I do not shame

  To tell you what I was, since my conversion

  So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am.

  Rosalind

  But, for the bloody napkin?

  Oliver

  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:—

  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

  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,

  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

  Celia

  Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede!

  Oliver

  Many will swoon when they do look on blood.

  Celia

  There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede!

  Oliver

  Look, he recovers.

  Rosalind

  I would I were at home.

  Celia

  We’ll lead you thither.

  I pray you, will you take him by the arm?

  Oliver

  Be of good cheer, youth: you a man! you lack a man’s heart.

  Rosalind

  I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would think this was well counterfeited! I pray you, tell your brother how well I counterfeited. Heigh-ho!

  Oliver

  This was not counterfeit: there is too great testimony in your complexion that it was a passion of earnest.

  Rosalind

  Counterfeit, I assure you.

  Oliver

  Well then, take a good heart and counterfeit to be a man.

  Rosalind

  So I do: but, i’ faith, I should have been a woman by right.

  Celia

  Come, you look paler and paler: pray you, draw homewards. Good sir, go with us.

  Oliver

  That will I, for I must bear answer back

  How you excuse my brother, Rosalind.

  Rosalind

  I shall devise something: but, I pray you, commend my counterfeiting to him. Will you go?

  Exeunt

  ACT V

  SCENE I. THE FOREST.

  Enter Touchstone and Audrey

  Touchstone

  We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey.

  Audrey

  Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old gentleman’s saying.

  Touchstone

  A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile Martext. But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to you.

  Audrey

  Ay, I know who ’tis; he hath no interest in me in the world: here comes the man you mean.

  Touchstone

  It is meat and drink to me to see a clown: by my troth, we that have good wits have much to answer for; we shall be flouting; we cannot hold.

  Enter William

  William

  Good even, Audrey.

  Audrey

  God ye good even, William.

  William

  And good even to you, sir.

  Touchstone

  Good even, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover thy head; nay, prithee, be covered. How old are you, friend?

  William

  Five and twenty, sir.

  Touchstone

  A ripe age. Is thy name William?

  William

  William, sir.

  Touchstone

  A fair name. Wast born i’ the forest here?

  William

  Ay, sir, I thank God.

  Touchstone

  ‘Thank God;’ a good answer. Art rich?

  William

  Faith, sir, so so.

  Touchstone

  ‘So so’ is good, very good, very excellent good; and yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thou wise?

  William

  Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit.

  Touchstone

  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 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?

  William

  I do, sir.

  Touchstone

  Give me your hand. Art thou learned?

  William

  No, sir.

  Touchstone

  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 not ipse, for I am he.

  William

  Which he, sir?

  Touchstone

  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 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, or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy with thee in faction; I will o’errun thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways: therefore tremble and depart.

  Audrey

  Do, good William.

  William

  God rest you merry, sir.

  Exit

  Enter Corin

  Corin

  Our master and mistress seeks you; come, away, away!

  Touchstone

  Trip, Audrey! trip, Audrey! I attend, I attend.

  Exeunt

  SCENE II. THE FOREST.

  Enter Orlando and Oliver

  Orlando

  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?

  Oliver

  Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the 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 tha
t 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 will I estate upon you, and here live and die a shepherd.

  Orlando

  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.

  Enter Rosalind

  Rosalind

  God save you, brother.

  Oliver

  And you, fair sister.

  Exit

  Rosalind

  O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee wear thy heart in a scarf!

  Orlando

  It is my arm.

  Rosalind

  I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion.

  Orlando

  Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady.

  Rosalind

  Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to swoon when he showed me your handkerchief?

  Orlando

  Ay, and greater wonders than that.

  Rosalind

  O, I know where you are: nay, ’tis true: there was never any thing so sudden but the fight of two rams and Caesar’s thrasonical brag of ‘I came, saw, and overcame:’ for your brother and my sister no sooner met but 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 incontinent, or else be incontinent before marriage: they are in the very wrath of love and they will together; clubs cannot part them.

  Orlando

  They shall be married to-morrow, and I will bid the duke to the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a thing it is 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.

  Rosalind

  Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind?

  Orlando

  I can live no longer by thinking.

  Rosalind

  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 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 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 not impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, to set her before your eyes tomorrow human as she is and without any danger.