Текст книги "William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition"

Автор книги: William Shakespeare

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13. 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 (to Rosalind) 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 beest 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, eat 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 foot.—You, niece, provide yourself.

If you outstay the time, upon mine honour

And in the greatness of my word, you die.

Exit Duke Frederick, with 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, lack’st thou 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 Ardenne.

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 essayed 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

2.1 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 antic 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 friend,

“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 should 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

2.2 Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords

DUKE FREDERICK

Can it be possible that no man saw them?

It cannot be. Some villains of my court

Are of consent and sufferance in this.

FIRST LORD

I cannot hear of any that did see her.

The ladies her attendants of her chamber

Saw her abed, and in the morning early

They found the bed untreasured of their mistress.

SECOND LORD

My lord, the roynish clown at whom so oft

Your grace was wont to laugh is also missing.

Hisperia, the Princess’ gentlewoman,

Confesses that she secretly o’erheard

Your daughter and her cousin much commend

The parts and graces of the wrestler

That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles,

And she believes wherever they are gone

That youth is surely in their company.

DUKE FREDERICK

Send to his brother; fetch that gallant hither.

If he be absent, bring his brother to me,

I’ll make him find him. Do this suddenly,

And let not search and inquisition quail

To bring again these foolish runaways.

Exeunt severally

2.3 Enter Orlando and Adam, meeting

ORLANDO Who’s there?

ADAM

What, my young master, O my gentle master,

O my sweet master, O you memory

Of old Sir Rowland, why, what make you here!

Why are you virtuous? Why do people love you?

And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant?

Why would you be so fond to overcome

The bonny prizer of the humorous Duke?

Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.

Know you not, master, to some kind of men

Their graces serve them but as enemies?

No more do yours. Your virtues, gentle master,

Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.

O, what a world is this, when what is comely

Envenoms him that bears it!

ORLANDO Why, what’s the matter?

ADAM O, unhappy youth,

Come not within these doors. Within this roof

The enemy of all your graces lives,

Your brother—no, no brother—yet the son—

Yet not the son, I will not call him son—

Of him I was about to call his father,

Hath heard your praises, and this night he means

To burn the lodging where you use to lie,

And you within it. If he fail of that,

He will have other means to cut you off.

I overheard him and his practices.

This is no place, this house is but a butchery.

Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.

ORLANDO

Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go?

ADAM

No matter whither, so you come not here.

ORLANDO

What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food,

Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce

A thievish living on the common road?

This I must do, or know not what to do.

Yet this I will not do, do how I can.

I rather will subject me to the malice

Of a diverted blood and bloody brother.

ADAM

But do not so. I have five hundred crowns,

The thrifty hire I saved under your father,

Which I did store to be my foster-nurse

When service should in my old limbs lie lame,

And unregarded age in corners thrown.

Take that, and he that doth the ravens feed,

Yea providently caters for the sparrow,

Be comfort to my age. Here is the gold.

All this I give you. Let me be your servant.

Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty,

For in my youth I never did apply

Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood,

Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo

The means of weakness and debility.

Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,

Frosty but kindly. Let me go with you,

I’ll do the service of a younger man

In all your business and necessities.

ORLANDO

O good old man, how well in thee appears

The constant service of the antique world,

When service sweat for duty, not for meed!

Thou art not for the fashion of these times,

Where none will sweat but for promotion,

And having that do choke their service up

Even with the having. It is not so with thee.

But, poor old man, thou prun’st a rotten tree,

That cannot so much as a blossom yield

In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry.

But come thy ways. We’ll go along together,

And ere we have thy youthful wages spent,

We’ll light upon some settled low content.

ADAM

Master, go on, and I will follow thee

To the last gasp with truth and loyalty.

From seventeen years till now almost fourscore

Here livèd I, but now live here no more.

At seventeen years, many their fortunes seek,

But at fourscore, it is too late a week.

Yet fortune cannot recompense me better

Than to die well, and not my master’s debtor. Exeunt

2.4 Enter Rosalind in man’s clothes as Ganymede; Celia as Aliena, a shepherdess; and Touchstone the clown

ROSALIND O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits!

TOUCHSTONE I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary.

ROSALIND I could find in my heart to disgrace my man’s apparel and to cry like a woman. But I must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat; therefore, courage, good Aliena!

CELIA I pray you, bear with me. I cannot go no further.

TOUCHSTONE For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear you. Yet I should bear no cross if I did bear you, for I think you have no money in your purse.

ROSALIND Well, this is the forest of Ardenne.

TOUCHSTONE Ay, now am I in Ardenne; the more fool I. When I was at home I was in a better place; but travellers must be content.

Enter Corin and Silvius

ROSALIND Ay, be so, good Touchstone. Look you, who

comes here—a young man and an old in solemn talk.

CORIN (to Silvius)

That is the way to make her scorn you still.

SILVIUS

O Corin, that thou knew’st how I do love her!

CORIN

I partly guess; for I have loved ere now.

SILVIUS

No, Corin, being old thou canst not guess,

Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover

As ever sighed upon a midnight pillow.

But if thy love were ever like to mine—

As sure I think did never man love so—

How many actions most ridiculous

Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?

CORIN

Into a thousand that I have forgotten.

SILVIUS

O, thou didst then never love so heartily.

If thou rememberest not the slightest folly

That ever love did make thee run into,

Thou hast not loved.

Or if thou hast not sat as I do now,

Wearing thy hearer in thy mistress’ praise,

Thou hast not loved.

Or if thou hast not broke from company

Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,

Thou hast not loved.

O, Phoebe, Phoebe, Phoebe! Exit

ROSALIND

Alas, poor shepherd, searching of thy wound,

I have by hard adventure found mine own.

TOUCHSTONE And I mine. I remember when I was in love I broke my sword upon a stone and bid him take that for coming a-night to Jane Smile, and I remember the kissing of her batlet, and the cow’s dugs that her pretty chapped hands had milked; and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her, from whom I took two cods, and giving her them again, said with weeping tears, ‘Wear these for my sake.’ We that are true lovers run into strange capers. But as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.

ROSALIND Thou speak’st wiser than thou art ware of.

TOUCHSTONE Nay, I shall ne’er be ware of mine own wit till I break my shins against it.

ROSALIND

Jove, Jove, this shepherd’s passion

Is much upon my fashion.

TOUCHSTONE And mine, but it grows something stale with me.

CELIA

I pray you, one of you question yon man

If he for gold will give us any food.

I faint almost to death.

TOUCHSTONE (to Corin) Holla, you clown!

ROSALIND Peace, fool, he’s not thy kinsman.

CORIN Who calls?

TOUCHSTONE Your betters, sir.

CORIN Else are they very wretched.

ROSALIND (to Touchstone)

Peace, I say. (To Corin) Good even to you, friend.

CORIN

And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.

ROSALIND

I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold

Can in this desert place buy entertainment,

Bring us where we may rest ourselves, and feed.

Here’s a young maid with travel much oppressed,

And faints for succour.

CORIN Fair sir, I pity her,

And wish, for her sake more than for mine own,

My fortunes were more able to relieve her.

But I am shepherd to another man,

And do not shear the fleeces that I graze.

My master is of churlish disposition,

And little recks to find the way to heaven

By doing deeds of hospitality.

Besides, his cot, his flocks, and bounds of feed

Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now

By reason of his absence there is nothing

That you will feed on. But what is, come see,

And in my voice most welcome shall you be.

ROSALIND

What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture?

CORIN

That young swain that you saw here but erewhile,

That little cares for buying anything.

ROSALIND

I pray thee, if it stand with honesty,

Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock,

And thou shalt have to pay for it of us.

CELIA

And we will mend thy wages. I like this place,

And willingly could waste my time in it.

CORIN

Assuredly the thing is to be sold.

Go with me. If you like upon report

The soil, the profit, and this kind of life,

I will your very faithful feeder be,

And buy it with your gold right suddenly. Exeunt

2.5 Enter Amiens, Jaques, and other Lords dressed as foresters

[AMIENS] (sings)

Under the greenwood tree

Who loves to lie with me,

And turn his merry note

Unto the sweet bird’s throat,

Come hither, come hither, come hither.

Here shall he see

No enemy

But winter and rough weather.

JAQUES More, more, I prithee, more.

AMIENS It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.

JAQUES I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more.

AMIENS My voice is ragged, I know I cannot please you.

JAQUES I do not desire you to please me, I do desire you to sing. Come, more; another stanza. Call you ’em stanzas?

AMIENS What you will, Monsieur Jaques.

JAQUES Nay, I care not for their names, they owe me nothing. Will you sing?

AMIENS More at your request than to please myself.

JAQUES Well then, if ever I thank any man, I’ll thank you. But that they call compliment is like th’encounter of two dog-apes, and when a man thanks me heartily methinks I have given him a penny and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues.

AMIENS Well, I’ll end the song.—Sirs, cover the while.

Lords prepare food and drink

The Duke will drink under this tree. (To Jaques) He hath been all this day to look you.

JAQUES And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is too disputable for my company. I think of as many matters as he, but I give heaven thanks, and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come.

ALL (sing)

Who doth ambition shun,

And loves to live i’th’ sun,

Seeking the food he eats

And pleased with what he gets,

Come hither, come hither, come hither.

Here shall he see

No enemy

But winter and rough weather.

JAQUES I’ll give you a verse to this note that I made yesterday in despite of my invention.

AMIENS And I’ll sing it.

JAQUES Thus it goes:

If it do come to pass

That any man turn ass,

Leaving his wealth and ease

A stubborn will to please,

Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame.

Here shall he see

Gross fools as he,

An if he will come to me.

AMIENS What’s that ‘ducdame’?

JAQUES ’Tis a Greek invocation to call fools into a circle. I’ll go sleep if I can. If I cannot, I’ll rail against all the firstborn of Egypt.

AMIENS And I’ll go seek the Duke; his banquet is prepared.

Exeunt