Give the man mercy, love him, and take his offer.
The ugliest combination is to be ugly and scornful,
so take her, shepherd, and be well.
PHEBE
Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together:
I had rather hear you chide than this man woo.
Sweet young man, please, rebuke me for a year:
I would rather you chide me than this man woo me.
ROSALIND
He's fallen in love with your foulness and she'll
fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as
she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce her
with bitter words. Why look you so upon me?
He has fallen in love with you for your meanness [to Silvius] and she
is falling in love with my anger. If that is so, then
every time she answers you with a mean look, I will be rude
with bitter words. Why are you looking at me like that?
PHEBE
For no ill will I bear you.
I have no ill-will towards you.
ROSALIND
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.
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.
I’m telling you, do not fall in love with me
because I am more unfaithful than promises made while drunk.
Besides, I don’t like you. If you want to know where I live,
it is at the olive trees close by.
Come, sister. Shepherd, keep trying on her.
Come, sister. Shepherdess, look at him more fondly,
and do not be proud. Even if everyone in the world could see,
no one has as faulty sight as he does for thinking you beautiful.
Come, let’s go to the flock.
Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA and CORIN
PHEBE
Dead Shepherd, now I find thy saw of might,
'Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?'
Dead Shepherd, the poet Marlowe, now I understand your words:
“Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?”
SILVIUS
Sweet Phebe,--
Sweet Phebe–
PHEBE
Ha, what say'st thou, Silvius?
What are you saying to me, Silvius?
SILVIUS
Sweet Phebe, pity me.
Sweet Phebe, take pity on me.
PHEBE
Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.
I am sorry for you, gentle Silvius.
SILVIUS
Wherever sorrow is, relief would be:
If you do sorrow at my grief in love,
By giving love your sorrow and my grief
Were both extermined.
Wherever there is sorrow, there is relief:
if you are sad that I am sad in my love for you,
you can love me back, and then my sadness and yours
will both be extinguished.
PHEBE
Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly?
I do love you, as a friend and neighbor.
SILVIUS
I would have you.
I want to have you.
PHEBE
Why, that were covetousness.
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:
But do not look for further recompense
Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd.
That is just being greedy.
Silvius, there was a time when I hated you,
and I still do not love you,
but since you speak well about love,
your formerly annoying company
I will endure and keep around me in order to help me.
But do not look for anything more
than my own happiness that I can use you.
SILVIUS
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
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.
My love is so holy and perfect,
and I am so poorly returned for it,
that I will think of it as an overabundance
just to pick the leftover ears of corn after someone else
reaps the man harvest. Give now and then
a single smile thrown away, and I will live on that.
PHEBE
Know'st now the youth that spoke to me erewhile?
Do you know the young man who spoke to me before?
SILVIUS
Not very well, but I have met him oft;
And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds
That the old carlot once was master of.
Not well, but I have met him often.
He bought the cottage and land
that the old peasant watched over.
PHEBE
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
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
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
Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference
Between 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,
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:
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?
Do not think that I love him, though I am talking about him.
He is an obnoxious boy, but he speaks well –
but why do I care about that? Yet, words are working well
when the speaker pleases his audience by them.
He is a pretty young man – not that pretty –
but he is proud, and his pride is somehow attractive.
He will become a proper, noble man, and his best feature
is his skin. Just when his tongue
offended me, his eyes healed the offense.
He is not very tall, but for his age his is.
His legs are only so-so, but that’s fine.
There was a pretty redness to his lips,
they were a deeper red color
than that which was in his cheek. It was the difference
between a pure red and a more pink color.
> There are some women, Silvius, who, if they saw
everything I did, would have gotten close
to falling in love with him. But as for me,
I do not love him or hate him, though
I have more reason to hate him than to love him
since he did nothing but rebuke me.
He said my eyes and hair were black,
and I remember that he scorned me.
I’m surprised I didn’t fight back,
but that doesn’t matter, to say nothing is not just to quit.
I will write him a letter to taunt him
and you will take it to him – will you Silvius?
SILVIUS
Phebe, with all my heart.
With all of my heart, Phebe.
PHEBE
I'll write it straight;
The matter's in my head and in my heart:
I will be bitter with him and passing short.
Go with me, Silvius.
I will write it now,
since the matter is fresh in my head and heart.
I will be mean and short with him.
Come with me, Silvius.
Exeunt
Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES
JAQUES
I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted
with thee.
Please, good youth, let me know you better.
ROSALIND
They say you are a melancholy fellow.
They say you are a sad fellow.
JAQUES
I am so; I do love it better than laughing.
I am – I love being sad more than laughing.
ROSALIND
Those that are in extremity of either are abominable
fellows and betray themselves to every modern
censure worse than drunkards.
Those who are at the extremes of either are awful
men who open themselves up to every
ridicule more than drunkards do.
JAQUES
Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.
But it is good to be sad and not say anything about it.
ROSALIND
Why then, 'tis good to be a post.
Then it is just as good to be a post.
JAQUES
I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is
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 from many objects, and indeed the sundry's
contemplation of my travels, in which my often
rumination wraps me in a most humorous sadness.
I do not have the seriousness a scholar does, which is
meant to impress, or the musician’s, which comes from fantasy,
nor the court member’s, which is a proud seriousness, nor the
soldier’s, which comes from ambition, nor the lawyer’s,
which is political, nor the lady’s, which is polite, nor
the lover’s, which is all of these things.
My sadness is my own, made from many little things,
taken from many objects, and all of the many
things I have traveled to see. When
I think of these things, it wraps me up in a moody sadness.
ROSALIND
A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to
be sad: I fear you have sold your own lands to see
other men's; then, to have seen much and to have
nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands.
A traveller! Then you have great reason to
be sad. I fear that you have sold your own land in order
to see other men’s, and then, when you have seen a lot and have
nothing, you have rich eyes and poor hands.
JAQUES
Yes, I have gained my experience.
I have gained a lot from my experience.
ROSALIND
And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have
a fool to make me merry than experience to make me
sad; and to travel for it too!
And your experience has made you sad. I would rather have
a clown make me happy than experience make me
sad – and to have to travel for it!
Enter ORLANDO
ORLANDO
Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind!
Good day and happiness to you, dear Rosalind!
JAQUES
Nay, then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse.
No, then, Goodbye if you are going to talk in metered poems.
Exit
ROSALIND
Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: look you lisp and
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 a lover! An you serve me such
another trick, never come in my sight more.
Goodbye Monsieur Traveller. Keep your accents and
wear foreign clothing, and get rid of all of the rights of your
own country. Fall out of love with your native land and
almost rebuke God for giving you the skin color and character that you
have, or I will not really think that you rode in a
Venetian gondola. Hello, Orlando! Where have you been
all this time? You call yourself a lover! If you treat me
with another trick like this, then do not come here again.
ORLANDO
My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise.
My beautiful Rosalind, I have come within an hour of when I promised.
ROSALIND
Break an hour's promise in love! He that will
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.
You would break a promise with your love by an hour! Whoever
divides a minute into different parts and then is late
by one single part of a minute to meet
his love, then I think that Cupid
has made him like the woman, but I doubt
he loves her with his whole heart.
ORLANDO
Pardon me, dear Rosalind.
Excuse me, dear Rosalind.
ROSALIND
Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight: I
had as lief be wooed of a snail.
No, if you are this late again, then do not come in my sight again. I
would rather be wood by a snail.
ORLANDO
Of a snail?
A snail?
ROSALIND
Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he
carries his house on his head; a better jointure,
I think, than you make a woman: besides he brings
his destiny with him.
Yes, a snail, because even though he is slow, he
carries his house with him: a better gift,
I think, than you can give a woman. Besides, he brings
his fate with him.
ORLANDO
What's that?
How so?
ROSALIND
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.
He brings a cuckold’s horns with him, which you men are likely to be
blaming your wife for. But he comes armed with
his destiny of cheating, and therefore prevents rumors being sad about his wife.
ORLANDO
Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous.
Virtue does not make a husband become unfaithful, and my Rosalind is virtuous.
ROSALIND
And I am your Rosalind.
And I am your Rosalind.
CELIA
It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a
Rosalind of a better leer than you.
He likes to call you that, but he has a
Rosalind with a better face than you waiting for him.
ROSALIND
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?
Come now, woo me, for now I am in a happy
mood and will consent to what you want. What would you
sat to me now, if I were your true Rosalind.
ORLANDO
I would kiss before I spoke.
I would kiss you before I said anything.
ROSALIND
Nay, you were better speak first, and when you 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.
The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) Page 228
