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

Автор книги: William Shakespeare

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2.6 Enter Orlando and Adam

ADAM Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food. Here lie I down and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master.

ORLANDO Why, how now, Adam? No greater heart in thee? Live a little, comfort a little, cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth forest yield anything savage I will either be food for it or bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. For my sake be comfortable. Hold death awhile at the arm’s end. I will here be with thee presently, and if I bring thee not something to eat, I will give thee leave to die. But if thou diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said. Thou lookest cheerly, and I’ll be with thee quickly. Yet thou liest in the bleak air. Come, I will bear thee to some shelter, and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner if there live anything in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam. Orlando carries Adam off

2.7 Enter Duke Senior and Lords dressed as outlaws

DUKE SENIOR

I think he be transformed into a beast,

For I can nowhere find him like a man.

FIRST LORD

My lord, he is but even now gone hence.

Here was he merry, hearing of a song.

DUKE SENIOR

If he, compact of jars, grow musical

We shall have shortly discord in the spheres.

Go seek him. Tell him I would speak with him.

Enter Jaques

FIRST LORD

He saves my labour by his own approach.

DUKE SENIOR

Why, how now, monsieur, what a life is this,

That your poor friends must woo your company!

What, you look merrily.

JAQUES

A fool, a fool, I met a fool i‘th’ forest,

A motley foot—a miserable world!—

As I do live by food, I met a fool,

Who laid him down and basked him in the sun,

And railed on Lady Fortune in good terms,

In good set terms, and yet a motley fool.

‘Good morrow, fool,’ quoth I. ‘No, sir,’ quoth he,

‘Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune.’

And then he drew a dial from his poke,

And looking on it with lack-lustre eye

Says very wisely ‘It is ten o‘clock.’

‘Thus we may see’, quoth he, ‘how the world wags.

‘Tis but an hour ago since it was nine,

And after one hour more ’twill be eleven.

And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe,

And then from hour to hour we rot and rot;

And thereby hangs a tale.’ When I did hear

The motley fool thus moral on the time

My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,

That fools should be so deep-contemplative,

And I did laugh sans intermission

An hour by his dial. O noble fool,

A worthy foot—motley’s the only wear.

DUKE SENIOR What fool is this? 35

JAQUES

O worthy fool!—One that hath been a courtier,

And says ‘If ladies be but young and fair

They have the gift to know it.’ And in his brain,

Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit

After a voyage, he hath strange places crammed

With observation, the which he vents

In mangled forms. O that I were a fool,

I am ambitious for a motley coat.

DUKE SENIOR

Thou shalt have one.

JAQUES It is my only suit,

Provided that you weed your better judgements

Of all opinion that grows rank in them

That I am wise. I must have liberty

Withal, as large a charter as the wind,

To blow on whom I please, for so fools have;

And they that are most galled with my folly,

They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so?

The why is plain as way to parish church:

He that a fool doth very wisely hit

Doth very foolishly, although he smart,

Seem aught but senseless of the bob. If not,

The wise man’s folly is anatomized

Even by the squandering glances of the fool.

Invest me in my motley. Give me leave

To speak my mind, and I will through and through

Cleanse the foul body of th’infected world,

If they will patiently receive my medicine.

DUKE SENIOR

Fie on thee, I can tell what thou wouldst do.

JAQUES

What, for a counter, would I do but good?

DUKE SENIOR

Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin;

For thou thyself hast been a libertine,

As sensual as the brutish sting itself,

And all th’embossèd sores and headed evils

That thou with licence of free foot hast caught

Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.

JAQUES Why, who cries out on pride

That can therein tax any private party?

Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,

Till that the weary very means do ebb?

What woman in the city do I name

When that I say the city-woman bears

The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders?

Who can come in and say that I mean her

When such a one as she, such is her neighbour?

Or what is he of basest function,

That says his bravery is not on my cost,

Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits

His folly to the mettle of my speech?

There then, how then, what then, let me see wherein

My tongue hath wronged him. If it do him right,

Then he hath wronged himself. If he be free,

Why then my taxing like a wild goose flies,

Unclaimed of any man. But who comes here?

Enter Orlando, with sword drawn

ORLANDO

Forbear, and eat no more!

JAQUES Why, I have eat none yet.

ORLANDO

Nor shalt not till necessity be served.

JAQUES Of what kind should this cock come of?

DUKE SENIOR

Art thou thus boldened, man, by thy distress?

Or else a rude despiser of good manners,

That in civility thou seem’st so empty?

ORLANDO

You touched my vein at first. The thorny point

Of bare distress hath ta’en from me the show

Of smooth civility. Yet am I inland bred,

And know some nurture. But forbear, I say.

He dies that touches any of this fruit

Till I and my affairs are answered.

JAQUES An you will not be answered with reason, I must die.

DUKE SENIOR

What would you have? Your gentleness shall force

More than your force move us to gentleness.

ORLANDO

I almost die for food; and let me have it.

DUKE SENIOR

Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.

ORLANDO

Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you.

I thought that all things had been savage here,

And therefore put I on the countenance

Of stern commandment. But whate‘er you are

That in this desert inaccessible,

Under the shade of melancholy boughs,

Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time,

If ever you have looked on better days,

If ever been where bells have knolled to church,

If ever sat at any good man’s feast,

If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear,

And know what ’tis to pity, and be pitied,

Let gentleness my strong enforcement be.

In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.

DUKE SENIOR

True is it that we have seen better days,

And have with holy bell been knolled to church,

And sat at good men’s feasts, and wiped our eyes

Of drops that sacred pity hath engendered.

And therefore sit you down in gentleness,

And take upon command what help we have

That to your wanting may be ministered.

ORLANDO

Then but forbear your food a little while

Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn

And give it food. There is an old poor man

Who after me hath many a weary step

Limped in pure love. Till he be first sufficed,

Oppressed with two weak evils, age and hunger,

I will not touch a bit.

DUKE SENIOR

Go find him out,

And we will nothing waste till you return.

ORLANDO

I thank ye; and be blessed for your good comfortl Exit

DUKE SENIOR

Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy.

This wide and universal theatre

Presents more woeful pageants than the scene

Wherein we play in.

JAQUES

All the world’s a stage,

And all the men and women merely players.

They have their exits and their entrances,

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.

Then the whining schoolboy with his satchel

And shining morning face, creeping like snail

Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,

Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad

Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then, a soldier,

Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,

Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel,

Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,

In fair round belly with good capon lined,

With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,

Full of wise saws and modern instances;

And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts

Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,

With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,

His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide

For his shrunk shank, and his big, manly voice,

Turning again toward childish treble, pipes

And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,

That ends this strange, eventful history,

Is second childishness and mere oblivion,

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

Enter Orlando bearing Adam

DUKE SENIOR

Welcome. Set down your venerable burden

And let him feed.

ORLANDO I thank you most for him.

ADAM So had you need;

I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.

DUKE SENIOR

Welcome. Fall to. I will not trouble you

As yet to question you about your fortunes.

Give us some music, and, good cousin, sing.

[amiens] (sings)

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,

Thou art not so unkind

As man’s ingratitude.

Thy tooth is not so keen,

Because thou art not seen,

Although thy breath be rude.

Hey-ho, sing hey-ho, unto the green holly.

Most friendship is feigning, most loving, mere folly.

Then hey-ho, the holly;

This life is most jolly.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,

That dost not bite so nigh

As benefits forgot.

Though thou the waters warp,

Thy sting is not so sharp

As friend remembered not.

Hey-ho, sing hey-ho, unto the green holly.

Most friendship is feigning, most loving, mere folly.

Then hey-ho, the holly;

This life is most jolly.

DUKE SENIOR (to Orlando)

If that you were the good Sir Rowland’s son,

As you have whispered faithfully you were,

And as mine eye doth his effigies witness

Most truly limned and living in your face,

Be truly welcome hither. I am the Duke

That loved your father. The residue of your fortune,

Go to my cave and tell me. (To Adam) Good old man,

Thou art right welcome, as thy master is.—

(To Lords) Support him by the arm. (To Orlando) Give

me your hand,

And let me all your fortunes understand. Exeunt

3.1 Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, and Oliver

DUKE FREDERICK

Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be.

But were I not the better part made mercy,

I should not seek an absent argument

Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it:

Find out thy brother wheresoe’er he is.

Seek him with candle. Bring him, dead or living,

Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more

To seek a living in our territory.

Thy lands, and all things that thou dost call thine

Worth seizure, do we seize into our hands

Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother’s mouth

Of what we think against thee.

OLIVER

O that your highness knew my heart in this.

I never loved my brother in my life.

DUKE FREDERICK

More villain thou. (To Lords) Well, push him out of

doors,

And let my officers of such a nature

Make an extent upon his house and lands.

Do this expediently, and turn him going.

Exeunt severally

3.2 Enter Orlando with a paper

ORLANDO

Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love;

And thou thrice-crowned queen of night, survey

With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above,

Thy huntress’ name that my full life doth sway.

O Rosalind, these trees shall be my books,

And in their barks my thoughts I’ll character

That every eye which in this forest looks

Shall see thy virtue witnessed everywhere.

Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree

The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she. Exit

Enter Corin and Touchstone the clown

CORIN And how like you this shepherd’s life, Master Touchstone?

TOUCHSTONE Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life; but in respect that it is a shepherd’s life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd?

CORIN No more but that I know the more one sickens, the worse at ease he is, and that he that wants money, means, and content is without three good friends; that the property of rain is to wet, and fire to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep; and that a great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art may complain of good breeding or comes of a very dull kindred.

TOUCHSTONE Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court, shepherd?

CORIN No, truly.

TOUCHSTONE Then thou art damned.

CORIN Nay, I hope.

TOUCHSTONE Truly thou art damned, like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side.

CORIN For not being at court? Your reason?

TOUCHSTONE Why, if thou never wast at court thou never sawest good manners. If thou never sawest good manners, then thy manners must be wicked, and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd.

CORIN Not a whit, Touchstone. Those that are good manners at the court are as ridiculous in the country as the behaviour of the country is most mockable at the court. You told me you salute not at the court but you kiss your hands. That courtesy would be uncleanly if courtiers were shepherds.

TOUCHSTONE Instance, briefly; come, instance.

CORIN Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their fells, you know, are greasy.

TOUCHSTONE Why, do not your courtier’s hands sweat? And is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say. Come.

CORIN Besides, our hands are hard.

TOUCHSTONE Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again. A more sounder instance. Come.

CORIN And they are often tarred over with the surgery of our sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier’s hands are perfumed with civet.

TOUCHSTONE Most shallow, man. Thou worms’ meat in respect of a good piece of flesh indeed, learn of the wise, and perpend: civet is of a baser birth than tar, the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd.

CORIN You have too courtly a wit for me. I’ll rest.

TOUCHSTONE Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee, shallow man. God make incision in thee, thou art raw.

CORIN Sir, I am a true labourer. I earn that I eat, get that I wear; owe no man hate, envy no man’s happiness; glad of other men’s good, content with my harm; and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck.

TOUCHSTONE That is another simple sin in you, to bring the ewes and the rams together, and to offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a bell-wether, and to betray a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to a crooked-pated old cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not damned for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds. I cannot see else how thou shouldst scape.

CORIN Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress’s brother.

Enter Rosalind as Ganymede

ROSALIND (reads)

‘From the east to western Ind

No jewel is like Rosalind.

Her worth being mounted on the wind

Through all the world bears Rosalind.

All the pictures fairest lined

Are but black to Rosalind.

Let no face be kept in mind

But the fair of Rosalind.’

TOUCHSTONE I’ll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners, and suppers, and sleeping-hours excepted. It is the right butter-women’s rank to market.

ROSALIND Out, fool.

TOUCHSTONE For a taste:

If a hart do lack a hind,

Let him seek out Rosalind.

If the cat will after kind,

So, be sure, will Rosalind.

Wintered garments must be lined,

So must slender Rosalind.

They that reap must sheaf and bind,

Then to cart with Rosalind.

‘Sweetest nut hath sourest rind’,

Such a nut is Rosalind.

He that sweetest rose will find

Must find love’s prick, and Rosalind.

This is the very false gallop of verses. Why do you infect yourself with them?

ROSALIND Peace, you dull fool, I found them on a tree.

TOUCHSTONE Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.

ROSALIND I’ll graft it with you, and then I shall graft it with a medlar; then it will be the earliest fruit i’th’ country, for you’ll be rotten ere you be half-ripe, and that’s the right virtue of the medlar.

TOUCHSTONE You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest judge.

Enter Celia, as Aliena, with a writing

ROSALIND

Peace, here comes my sister, reading. Stand aside.

CELIA (reads)

‘Why should this a desert be?

For it is unpeopled? No.

Tongues I’ll hang on every tree,

That shall civil sayings show.

Some, how brief the life of man

Runs his erring pilgrimage,

That the stretching of a span

Buckles in his sum of age.

Some of violated vows

’Twixt the souls of friend and friend.

But upon the fairest boughs,

Or at every sentence end,

Will I ‘Rosalinda’ write,

Teaching all that read to know

The quintessence of every sprite

Heaven would in little show.

Therefore heaven nature charged

That one body should be filled

With all graces wide-enlarged.

Nature presently distilled

Helen’s cheek, but not her heart,

Cleopatra’s majesty,

Atalanta’s better part,

Sad Lucretia’s modesty.

Thus Rosalind of many parts

By heavenly synod was devised

Of many faces, eyes, and hearts

To have the touches dearest prized.

Heaven would that she these gifts should have

And I to live and die her slave.’

ROSALIND O most gentle Jupiter! What tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried ‘Have patience, good people.’

CELIA How now, back, friends. Shepherd, go off a little. Go with him, sirrah.

TOUCHSTONE Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat, though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage. Exit with Corin

CELIA Didst thou hear these verses?

ROSALIND O yes, I heard them all, and more, too, for some of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear.

CELIA That’s no matter; the feet might bear the verses.

ROSALIND Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse.

CELIA But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name should be hanged and carved upon these trees?

ROSALIND I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree; (showing Celia the verses) I was never so berhymed since Pythagoras’ time that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember.

CELIA Trow you who hath done this?

ROSALIND Is it a man?

CELIA And a chain that you once wore about his neck. Change you colour?

ROSALIND I prithee, who?

CELIA O Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for friends to meet. But mountains may be removed with earthquakes, and so encounter.

ROSALIND Nay, but who is it?

CELIA Is it possible?

ROSALIND Nay, I prithee now with most petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is.

CELIA O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful-wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all whooping!

ROSALIND Good my complexion! Dost thou think, though I am caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more is a South Sea of discovery. I prithee tell me who is it quickly, and speak apace. I would thou couldst stammer, that thou mightst pour this concealed man out of thy mouth as wine comes out of a narrow-mouthed bottle—either too much at once, or none at all. I prithee, take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may drink thy tidings.

CELIA So you may put a man in your belly.

ROSALIND Is he of God’s making? What manner of man? Is his head worth a hat? Or his chin worth a beard?

CELIA Nay, he hath but a little beard.

ROSALIND Why, God will send more, if the man will be thankful. Let me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin.

CELIA It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler’s heels and your heart both in an instant.

ROSALIND Nay, but the devil take mocking. Speak sad brow and true maid.

CELIA I‘faith, coz, ’tis he.

ROSALIND Orlando?

CELIA Orlando.

ROSALIND Alas the day, what shall I do with my doublet and hose! What did he when thou sawest him? What said he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How parted he with thee? And when shalt thou see him again? Answer me in one word.

CELIA You must borrow me Gargantua’s mouth first, ’tis a word too great for any mouth of this age’s size. To say ay and no to these particulars is more than to answer in a catechism.

ROSALIND But doth he know that I am in this forest, and in man’s apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled?

CELIA It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with good observance. I found him under a tree, like a dropped acorn—

ROSALIND It may well be called Jove’s tree when it drops forth such fruit.

CELIA Give me audience, good madam. ROSALIND Proceed.

CELIA There lay he, stretched along like a wounded knight—

ROSALIND Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground.

CELIA Cry ‘holla’ to thy tongue, I prithee: it curvets unseasonably.—He was furnished like a hunter—

ROSALIND O ominous—he comes to kill my heart.

CELIA I would sing my song without a burden; thou bringest me out of tune.

ROSALIND Do you not know I am a woman? When I think, I must speak.—Sweet, say on.

Enter Orlando and Jaques

CELIA You bring me out. Soft, comes he not here?

ROSALIND ’Tis he. Slink by, and note him. Rosalind and Celia stand aside

JAQUES (to Orlando) I thank you for your company, but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone.

ORLANDO And so had I. But yet for fashion’ sake, I thank you too for your society.

JAQUES God b’wi’you; let’s meet as little as we can.

ORLANDO I do desire we may be better strangers.

JAQUES I pray you mar no more trees with writing love-songs in their barks.

ORLANDO I pray you mar no more of my verses with reading them ill-favouredly.

JAQUES Rosalind is your love’s name?

ORLANDO Yes, just.

JAQUES I do not like her name.

ORLANDO There was no thought of pleasing you when she was christened.

JAQUES What stature is she of?

ORLANDO Just as high as my heart.

JAQUES You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths’ wives, and conned them out of rings?

ORLANDO Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence you have studied your questions.

JAQUES You have a nimble wit; I think ’twas made of Atalanta’s heels. Will you sit down with me, and we two will rail against our mistress the world, and all our misery?

ORLANDO I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom I know most faults.

JAQUES The worst fault you have is to be in love.

ORLANDO ’Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am weary of you.

JAQUES By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found you.

ORLANDO He is drowned in the brook. Look but in, and you shall see him.

JAQUES There I shall see mine own figure. ORLANDO Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.

JAQUES I’ll tarry no longer with you. Farewell, good Signor Love.

ORLANDO I am glad of your departure. Adieu, good Monsieur Melancholy. Exit Jaques

ROSALIND (to Celia) I will speak to him like a saucy lackey, and under that habit play the knave with him. (To Orlando) Do you hear, forester?

ORLANDO Very well. What would you?

ROSALIND I pray you, what is’t o’clock?

ORLANDO You should ask me what time o’ day. There’s no clock in the forest.

ROSALIND Then there is no true lover in the forest, else sighing every minute and groaning every hour would detect the lazy foot of time as well as a clock.

ORLANDO And why not the swift foot of time? Had not that been as proper?

ROSALIND By no means, sir. Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I’ll tell you who time ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal.

ORLANDO I prithee, who doth he trot withal?

ROSALIND Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the contract of her marriage and the day it is solemnized. If the interim be but a se’nnight, time’s pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven year.

ORLANDO Who ambles time withal?

ROSALIND With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich man that hath not the gout; for the one sleeps easily because he cannot study, and the other lives merrily because he feels no pain, the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning, the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury. These time ambles withal.

ORLANDO Who doth he gallop withal? 317

ROSALIND With a thief to the gallows; for though he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there.

ORLANDO Who stays it still withal?

ROSALIND With lawyers in the vacation; for they sleep between term and term, and then they perceive not how time moves.

ORLANDO Where dwell you, pretty youth?

ROSALIND With this shepherdess, my sister, here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.

ORLANDO Are you native of this place?

ROSALIND As the coney that you see dwell where she is kindled.

ORLANDO Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling.

ROSALIND I have been told so of many; but indeed an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inland man; one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures against it, and I thank God I am not a woman, to be touched with so many giddy offences as he hath generally taxed their whole sex withal.

ORLANDO Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid to the charge of women?

ROSALIND There were none principal; they were all like one another as halfpence are, every one fault seeming monstrous till his fellow-fault came to match it.

ORLANDO I prithee, recount some of them.

ROSALIND No. I will not cast away my physic but on those that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest that abuses our young plants with carving Rosalind on their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind. If I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him.

ORLANDO I am he that is so love-shaked. I pray you, tell me your remedy.

ROSALIND There is none of my uncle’s marks upon you. He taught me how to know a man in love, in which cage of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner.

ORLANDO What were his marks?

ROSALIND A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye and sunken, which you have not; an unquestionable spirit, which you have not; a beard neglected, which you have not—but I pardon you for that, for simply your having in beard is a younger brother’s revenue. Then your hose should be ungartered, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and everything about you demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such man. You are rather point-device in your accoutrements, as loving yourself than seeming the lover of any other.

ORLANDO Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.

ROSALIND Me believe it? You may as soon make her that you love believe it, which I warrant she is apter to do than to confess she does. That is one of the points in the which women still give the lie to their consciences. But in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees wherein Rosalind is so admired?

ORLANDO I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he.

ROSALIND But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak?

ORLANDO Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.

ROSALIND Love is merely a madness, and I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why they are not so punished and cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too. Yet I profess curing it by counsel.

ORLANDO Did you ever cure any so?

ROSALIND Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress; and I set him every day to woo me. At which time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing and liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles; for every passion something, and for no passion truly anything, as boys and women are for the most part cattle of this colour—would now like him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now weep for him, then spit at him, that I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love to a living humour of madness, which was to forswear the full stream of the world and to live in a nook merely monastic. And thus I cured him, and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep’s heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in’t.

ORLANDO I would not be cured, youth.

ROSALIND I would cure you if you would but call me Rosalind and come every day to my cot, and woo me.

ORLANDO Now by the faith of my love, I will. Tell me where it is.

ROSALIND Go with me to it, and I’ll show it you. And by the way you shall tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go?

ORLANDO With all my heart, good youth.

ROSALIND Nay, you must call me Rosalind.—Come, sister. Will you go?

Exeunt