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

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4.2 Enter Jaques and Lords dressed as foresters JAQUES Which is he that killed the deer? FIRST LORD Sir, it was I.

JAQUES (to the others) 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?

SECOND LORD Yes, sir.

JAQUES Sing it. ’Tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough.

LORDS (sing)

What shall he have that killed 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

4.3 Enter Rosalind as Ganymede and Celia as Aliena

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.

⌈Enter Silvius⌉

Look who comes here.

SILVIUS (to Rosalind)

My errand is to you, fair youth.

My gentle Phoebe did bid me give you this.

He offers Rosalind a letter, which she takes and reads

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.

Phoebe did write it.

ROSALIND Come, come, you are a fool,

And turned into the extremity of love.

I saw her hand. She has a leathern hand,

A free-stone coloured hand. I verily did think

That her old gloves were on; but ’twas her hands.

She has a housewife’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 Ethiop 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 Phoebe’s cruelty.

ROSALIND

She Phoebes me. Mark how the tyrant writes:

(reads) ‘Art thou god to shepherd turned,

That a maiden’s heart hath burned?’

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. (To Silvius) 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 sheepcote 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 enquire for?

CELIA

It is no boast, being asked, 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 handkerchief was stained.

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 old oak, whose boughs were mossed 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, approached

The opening of his mouth. But suddenly

Seeing Orlando, it unlinked 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 sucked 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

Was’t 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—

I’ 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 stripped 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 recovered 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 faints

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.

(To Oliver) 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

5.1 Enter Touchstone the clown 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.

Enter William

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.

WILLIAM Good ev’n, Audrey.

AUDREY God ye good ev’n, William.

WILLIAM (to Touchstone) And good ev’n to you, sir.

TOUCHSTONE Good ev’n, 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’th’ 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 sayst 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 femate—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. (To Corin) I attend, I attend.

Exeunt

5.2 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 persevere 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 that 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.

Enter Rosalind as Ganymede

ORLANDO You have my consent. Let your wedding be tomorrow. Thither will I invite the Duke and all’s contented followers. Go you, and prepare Aliena; for look you, here comes my 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 anything 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 tomorrow, 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 tomorrow 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, tomorrow 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.

ORLANDO Speakest thou in sober meanings?

ROSALIND By my life, I do, which I tender dearly, though I say I am a magician. Therefore put you in your best array, bid your friends: for if you will be married tomorrow, you shall; and to Rosalind if you will.

Enter Silvius and Phoebe

Look, here comes a lover of mine and a lover of hers.

PHOEBE (to Rosalind)

Youth, you have done me much ungentleness,

To show the letter that I writ to you.

ROSALIND

I care not if I have. It is my study

To seem despiteful and ungentle to you.

You are there followed by a faithful shepherd.

Look upon him; love him. He worships you.

PHOEBE (to Silvius)

Good shepherd, tell this youth what ’tis to love.

SILVIUS

It is to be all made of sighs and tears,

And so am I for Phoebe.

PHOEBE And I for Ganymede.

ORLANDO And I for Rosalind.

ROSALIND And I for no woman.

SILVIUS

It is to be all made of faith and service,

And so am I for Phoebe.

PHOEBE And I for Ganymede.

ORLANDO And I for Rosalind.

ROSALIND And I for no woman.

SILVIUS

It is to be all made of fantasy,

All made of passion, and all made of wishes,

All adoration, duty, and observance,

All humbleness, all patience and impatience,

All purity, all trial, all obedience,

And so am I for Phoebe.

PHOEBE And so am I for Ganymede.

ORLANDO And so am I for Rosalind.

ROSALIND And so am I for no woman.

PHOEBE (to Rosalind)

If this be so, why blame you me to love you?

SILVIUS (to Phoebe)

If this be so, why blame you me to love you?

ORLANDO

If this be so, why blame you me to love you?

ROSALIND Why do you speak too, ‘Why blame you me to love you?’

ORLANDO

To her that is not here nor doth not hear.

ROSALIND Pray you, no more of this, ’tis like the howling of Irish wolves against the moon. (To Silvius) I will help you if I can. (To Phoebe) I would love you if I could.—Tomorrow meet me all together. (To Phoebe) I will marry you if ever I marry woman, and I’ll be married tomorrow. (To Orlando) I will satisfy you if ever I satisfy man, and you shall be married tomorrow. (To Silvius) I will content you if what pleases you contents you, and you shall be married tomorrow. (To Orlando) As you love Rosalind, meet. (To Silvius) As you love Phoebe, meet. And as I love no woman, I’ll meet. So fare you well. I have left you commands.

SILVIUS I’ll not fail, if I live.

PHOEBE Nor I.

ORLANDO Nor I.

Exeunt severally

5.3 Enter Touchstone the clown and Audrey

TOUCHSTONE Tomorrow is the joyful day, Audrey, tomorrow will we be married.

AUDREY I do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is no dishonest desire to desire to be a woman of the world. Here come two of the banished Duke’s pages.

Enter two Pages

FIRST PAGE Well met, honest gentleman.

TOUCHSTONE By my troth, well met. Come, sit, sit, and a song.

SECOND PAGE We are for you. Sit i’th’ middle.

FIRST PAGE Shall we clap into’t roundly, without hawking, or spitting, or saying we are hoarse, which are the only prologues to a bad voice?

SECOND PAGE I‘faith, i’faith, and both in a tune, like two gipsies on a horse.

BOTH PAGES (sing)

It was a lover and his lass,

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey-nonny-no,

That o’er the green cornfield did pass

In spring-time, the only pretty ring-time,

When birds do sing, hey ding-a-ding ding,

Sweet lovers love the spring.

Between the acres of the rye,

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey-nonny-no,

These pretty country folks would lie,

In spring-time, the only pretty ring-time,

When birds do sing, hey ding-a-ding ding,

Sweet lovers love the spring.

This carol they began that hour,

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey-nonny-no,

How that a life was but a flower,

In spring-time, the only pretty ring-time,

When birds do sing, hey ding-a-ding ding,

Sweet lovers love the spring.

And therefore take the present time,

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey-nonny-no,

For love is crowned with the prime,

In spring time, the only pretty ring-time,

When birds do sing, hey ding-a-ding ding,

Sweet lovers love the spring.

TOUCHSTONE Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no great matter in the ditty, yet the note was very untunable.

FIRST PAGE You are deceived, sir, we kept time, we lost not our time.

TOUCHSTONE By my troth, yes, I count it but time lost to hear such a foolish song. God b’wi’you, and God mend your voices. Come, Audrey.

Exeunt severally

5.4 Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, Jaques, Orlando, Oliver, and Celia as Aliena

DUKE SENIOR

Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy

Can do all this that he hath promised?

ORLANDO

I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not,

As those that fear they hope, and know they fear.

Enter Rosalind as Ganymede, with Silvius and

Phoebe

ROSALIND

Patience once more, whiles our compact is urged.

(To the Duke) You say if I bring in your Rosalind

You will bestow her on Orlando here?

DUKE SENIOR

That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her.

ROSALIND (to Orlando)

And you say you will have her when I bring her?

ORLANDO That would I, were I of all kingdoms king.

ROSALIND (to Phoebe)

You say you’ll marry me if I be willing?

PHOEBE

That will I, should I die the hour after.

ROSALIND

But if you do refuse to marry me

You’ll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd?

PHOEBE So is the bargain.

ROSALIND (to Silvius)

You say that you’ll have Phoebe if she will.

SILVIUS

Though to have her and death were both one thing.

ROSALIND

I have promised to make all this matter even.

Keep you your word, O Duke, to give your daughter.

You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter.

Keep your word, Phoebe, that you’ll marry me,

Or else refusing me to wed this shepherd.

Keep your word, Silvius, that you’ll marry her

If she refuse me; and from hence I go

To make these doubts all even.

Exeunt Rosalind and Celia

DUKE SENIOR

I do remember in this shepherd boy

Some lively touches of my daughter’s favour.

ORLANDO

My lord, the first time that I ever saw him,

Methought he was a brother to your daughter.

But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born,

And hath been tutored in the rudiments

Of many desperate studies by his uncle,

Whom he reports to be a great magician

Obscured in the circle of this forest.

⌈Enter Touchstone the clown and Audrey⌉

JAQUES There is sure another flood toward, and these couples are coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools.

TOUCHSTONE Salutation and greeting to you all.

JAQUES (to the Duke) Good my lord, bid him welcome. This is the motley-minded gentleman that I have so often met in the forest. He hath been a courtier, he swears.

TOUCHSTONE If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation. I have trod a measure, I have flattered a lady, I have been politic with my friend, smooth with mine enemy, I have undone three tailors, I have had four quarrels, and like to have fought one.

JAQUES And how was that ta’en up?

TOUCHSTONE Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the seventh cause.

JAQUES How, seventh cause?—Good my lord, like this fellow.

DUKE SENIOR I like him very well.

TOUCHSTONE God’ield you, sir, I desire you of the like. I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country copulatives, to swear, and to forswear, according as marriage binds and blood breaks. A poor virgin, sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own. A poor humour of mine, sir, to take that that no man else will. Rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor house, as your pearl in your foul oyster.

DUKE SENIOR By my faith, he is very swift and sententious.

TOUCHSTONE According to the fool’s bolt, sir, and such dulcet diseases.

JAQUES But for the seventh cause. How did you find the quarrel on the seventh cause?

TOUCHSTONE Upon a lie seven times removed.—Bear your body more seeming, Audrey.—As thus, sir: I did dislike the cut of a certain courtier’s beard. He sent me word if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it was. This is called the Retort Courteous. If I sent him word again it was not well cut, he would send me word he cut it to please himself. This is called the Quip Modest. If again it was not well cut, he disabled my judgement. This is called the Reply Churlish. If again it was not well cut, he would answer I spake not true. This is called the Reproof Valiant. If again it was not well cut, he would say I lie. This is called the Countercheck Quarrelsome. And so to the Lie Circumstantial, and the Lie Direct.

JAQUES And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut?

TOUCHSTONE I durst go no further than the Lie Circumstantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we measured swords, and parted.

JAQUES Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie?

TOUCHSTONE O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book, as you have books for good manners. I will name you the degrees. The first, the Retort Courteous; the second, the Quip Modest; the third, the Reply Churlish; the fourth, the Reproof Valiant; the fifth, the Countercheck Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with Circumstance; the seventh, the Lie Direct. All these you may avoid but the Lie Direct; and you may avoid that, too, with an ‘if’. I knew when seven justices could not take up a quarrel, but when the parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an ‘if’, as ‘If you said so, then I said so’, and they shook hands and swore brothers. Your ‘if’ is the only peacemaker; much virtue in ‘if’.

JAQUES (to the Duke) Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? He’s as good at anything, and yet a fool.

DUKE SENIOR He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.

⌈Still music⌉ Enter Hymen with Rosalind and Celia as themselves

HYMEN Then is there mirth in heaven

When earthly things made even

Atone together.

Good Duke, receive thy daughter;

Hymen from heaven brought her,

Yea, brought her hither,

That thou mightst join her hand with his

Whose heart within his bosom is.

ROSALIND (to the Duke)

To you I give myself, for I am yours.

(To Orlando) To you I give myself, for I am yours.

DUKE SENIOR

If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter.

ORLANDO

If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind.

PHOEBE

If sight and shape be true,

Why then, my love adieu!

ROSALIND (to the Duke)

I’ll have no father if you be not he.

(To Orlando) I’ll have no husband if you be not he,

(To Phoebe) Nor ne’er wed woman if you be not she.

HYMEN Peace, ho, I bar confusion.

‘Tis I must make conclusion

Of these most strange events.

Here’s eight that must take hands

To join in Hymen’s bands,

If truth holds true contents.

(To Orlando and Rosalind)

You and you no cross shall part.

(To Oliver and Celia)

You and you are heart in heart.

(To Phoebe)

You to his love must accord,

Or have a woman to your lord.

(To Touchstone and Audrey)

You and you are sure together

As the winter to foul weather.—

Whiles a wedlock hymn we sing,

Feed yourselves with questioning,

That reason wonder may diminish

How thus we met, and these things finish.

Song

Wedding is great Juno’s crown,

O blessèd bond of board and bed.

‘Tis Hymen peoples every town.

High wedlock then be honoured.

Honour, high honour and renown

To Hymen, god of every town.

DUKE SENIOR (to Celia)

O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me,

Even daughter; welcome in no less degree.

PHOEBE (to Silvius.)

I will not eat my word. Now thou art mine,

Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine.

Enter Jaques de Bois, the second brother

JAQUES DE BOIS

Let me have audience for a word or two.

I am the second son of old Sir Rowland,

That bring these tidings to this fair assembly.

Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day

Men of great worth resorted to this forest,

Addressed a mighty power, which were on foot,

In his own conduct, purposely to take

His brother here, and put him to the sword.

And to the skirts of this wild wood he came

Where, meeting with an old religious man,

After some question with him was converted

Both from his enterprise and from the world,

His crown bequeathing to his banished brother,

And all their lands restored to them again

That were with him exiled. This to be true

I do engage my life.

DUKE SENIOR

Welcome, young man.

Thou offer’st fairly to thy brothers’ wedding:

To one his lands withheld, and to the other

A land itself at large, a potent dukedom.

First, in this forest let us do those ends

That here were well begun, and well begot.

And after, every of this happy number

That have endured shrewd days and nights with us

Shall share the good of our returned fortune

According to the measure of their states.

Meantime, forget this new-fallen dignity

And fall into our rustic revelry.

Play, music, and you brides and bridegrooms all,

With measure heaped in joy to th’ measures fall.

JAQUES

Sir, by your patience. (To Jaques de Bois) If I heard you

rightly

The Duke hath put on a religious life

And thrown into neglect the pompous court.

JAQUES DE BOIS He hath.

JAQUES

To him will I. Out of these convertites

There is much matter to be heard and learned.

(To the Duke)

You to your former honour I bequeath;

Your patience and your virtue well deserves it.

(To Orlando)

You to a love that your true faith doth merit;

(To Oliver)

You to your land, and love, and great allies;

(To Silvius)

You to a long and well-deserved bed;

(To Touchstone)

And you to wrangling, for thy loving voyage

Is but for two months victualled.—So, to your

pleasures;

I am for other than for dancing measures.

DUKE SENIOR Stay, Jaques, stay.

JAQUES

To see no pastime, I. What you would have

I’ll stay to know at your abandoned cave. Exit

DUKE SENIOR

Proceed, proceed. We’ll so begin these rites

As we do trust they’ll end, in true delights.

⌈They dance; then⌉ exeunt all but Rosalind

Epilogue

ROSALIND (to the audience) It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue; but it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord the prologue. If it be true that good wine needs no bush, ’tis true that a good play needs no epilogue. Yet to good wine they do use good bushes, and good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues. What a case am I in then, that am neither a good epilogue nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play! I am not furnished like a beggar, therefore to beg will not become me. My way is to conjure you; and I’ll begin with the women. I charge you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much of this play as please you. And I charge you, O men, for the love you bear to women—as I perceive by your simpering none of you hates them—that between you and the women the play may please. If I were a woman I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me, and breaths that I defied not. And I am sure, as many as have good beards, or good faces, or sweet breaths will for my kind offer, when I make curtsy, bid me farewell.

Exit