As You Like It (1919) Yale/Text/Act III

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Scene One

[A Room in the Palace]

Enter Duke [Frederick], Lords, and Oliver.

Duke F. Not seen 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: 4
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. 8
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. 12

Oli. O that your highness knew my heart in this!
I never lov'd my brother in my life.

Duke F. More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors;
And let my officers of such a nature 16
Make an extent upon his house and lands.
Do this expediently and turn him going. Exeunt.

Scene Two

[The Forest of Arden]

Enter Orlando [with a paper].

Orl. 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. 4
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 witness'd everywhere. 8
Run, run, Orlando: carve on every tree
The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she. Exit.

Enter Corin and Touchstone.

Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life,
Master Touchstone? 12

Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself,
it is a good life; but in respect that it is a shep-
herd'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 17
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? 23

Cor. 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 28
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 com-
plain of
good breeding, or comes of a very dull

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

Cor. No, truly. 36

Touch. Then thou art damned.

Cor. Nay, I hope.

Touch. Truly, thou art damned, like an ill-
roasted egg, all on one side. 40

Cor. For not being at court? Your reason.

Touch. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou
never sawest good manners; if thou never sawest
good manners, then thy manners must be wick-
ed; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation.
Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd. 46

Cor. 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.

Touch. Instance, briefly; come, instance.

Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes, and
their fells, you know, are greasy. 56

Touch. 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. 60

Cor. Besides, our hands are hard.

Touch. Your lips will feel them the sooner:
shallow again. A more sounder instance; come.

Cor. 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. 67

Touch. 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. 72

Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me: I'll

Touch. Wilt thou rest damned? God help
thee, shallow man! God make incision in thee!
thou art raw. 77

Cor. 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, con-
tent with my harm; and the greatest of my pride
is to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck. 82

Touch. 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 be-
tray a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to a crooked- 87
, old, cuckoldy ram, out of all reasonable
. If thou be'st not damned for this, the
devil himself will have no shepherds: I cannot
see else how thou shouldst 'scape.

Cor. Here comes young Master Ganymede,
my new mistress's brother. 93

Enter Rosalind [reading a paper].

Ros. 'From the east to western Ind,
No jewel is like Rosalind.
Her worth, being mounted on the wind, 96
Through all the world bears Rosalind.
All the pictures fairest lin'd
Are but black to Rosalind.
Let no face be kept in mind, 100
But the fair of Rosalind.'

Touch. I'll rime you so, eight years together,
dinners and suppers and sleeping hours ex-
cepted: it is the right butter-women's rank to
market. 105

Ros. Out, fool!

Touch. For a taste:—
'If a hart do lack a hind, 108
Let him seek out Rosalind.
If the cat will after kind,
So be sure will Rosalind.
Winter garments must be lin'd, 112
So must slender Rosalind.
They that reap must sheaf and bind,
Then to cart with Rosalind.
Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, lie
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? 121

Ros. Peace! you dull fool: I found them on
a tree.

Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. 124

Ros. I'll graff it with you, and then I shall
graff it with a medlar: then it will be the earliest
fruit i' the country; for you'll be rotten ere you
be half ripe, and that's the right virtue of the
medlar. 129

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

Enter Celia with a writing.

Ros. Peace! 132
Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside.

Cel. 'Why should this a desert be?
For it is unpeopled? No;
Tongues I'll hang on every tree, 136
That shall civil sayings show.
Some, how brief the life of man
Runs his erring pilgrimage,
That the stretching of a span 140
Buckles in his sum of age;
Some, of violated vows
'Twixt the souls of friend and friend:
But upon the fairest boughs, 144
Or at every sentence' end,
Will I Rosalinda write;
Teaching all that read to know
The quintessence of every sprite 148
Heaven would in little show.
Therefore Heaven Nature charg'd
That one body should be fill'd
With all graces wide enlarg'd: 152
Nature presently distill'd
Helen's cheek, but not her heart,
Cleopatra's majesty,
Atalanta's better part, 156
Sad Lucretia's modesty.
Thus Rosalind of many parts
By heavenly synod was devis'd
Of many faces, eyes, and hearts, 160
To have the touches dearest priz'd.
Heaven would that she these gifts should have,
And I to live and die her slave.'

Ros. O most gentle Jupiter! what tedious 164
homily of love have you wearied your parishion-
ers withal, and never cried, 'Have patience, good

Cel. How now! back, friends! Shepherd, go
off a little: go with him, sirrah. 169

Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an ho-
nourable retreat; though not with bag and bag-
gage, yet with scrip and scrippage. 172

[Exeunt Corin and Touchstone.]

Cel. Didst thou hear these verses?

Ros. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too;
for some of them had in them more feet than
the verses would bear. 176

Cel. That's no matter: the feet might bear
the verses.

Ros. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could
not bear themselves without the verse, and
therefore stood lamely in the verse. 181

Cel. But didst thou hear without wondering
how thy name should be hanged and carved
upon these trees? 184

Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the
wonder before you came; for look here what I
found on a palm-tree: I was never so be-rimed
since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat,
which I can hardly remember. 189

Cel. Trow you who hath done this?

Ros. Is it a man?

Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about
his neck. Change you colour? 193

Ros. I prithee, who?

Cel. O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for
friends to meet
; but mountains may be removed
with earthquakes, and so encounter. 197

Ros. Nay, but who is it?

Cel. Is it possible?

Ros. Nay, I prithee now, with most petitionary
vehemence, tell me who it is. 201

Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most won-
derful wonderful! and yet again wonderful! and
after that, out of all whooping! 204

Ros. Good my complexion! dost thou think,
though I am caparison'd 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-mouth'd
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.

Cel. So you may put a man in your belly. 216

Ros. Is he of God's making? What manner
of man? Is his head worth a hat, or his chin
worth a beard?

Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard. 220

Ros. 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. 224

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

Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak,
sad brow and true maid. 228

Cel. I' faith, coz, 'tis he.

Ros. Orlando?

Cel. Orlando.

Ros. Alas the day! what shall I do with my
doublet and hose? What did he when thou 233
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. 238

Cel.. 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
. 242

Ros. 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? 245

Cel. 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
. I found him under a tree, like a
dropped acorn.

Ros. It may well be called Jove's tree, when
it drops forth such fruit. 252

Cel. Give me audience, good madam.

Ros. Proceed.

Cel. There lay he, stretch'd along like a
wounded knight. 256

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

Cel. Cry 'holla!' to thy tongue, I prithee; it
curvets unseasonably. He was furnish'd like a
hunter. 261

Ros. O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.

Cel. I would sing my song without a burthen:
thou bringest me out of tune. 264

Ros. Do you not know I am a woman? when
I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on.

Enter Orlando and Jaques.

Cel. You bring me out. Soft! comes he not
here? 268

Ros. 'Tis he: slink by, and note him.

Jaq. I thank you for your company; but,
good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone.

Orl. And so had I; but yet, for fashion's sake,
I thank you too for your society. 273

Jaq. God be wi' you: let's meet as little as
we can.

Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers.

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

Orl. I pray you mar no moe of my verses
with reading them ill-favouredly. 280

Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name?

Orl. Yes, just.

Jaq. I do not like her name.

Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you
when she was christened. 285

Jaq. What stature is she of?

Orl. Just as high as my heart.

Jaq. You are full of pretty answers. Have
you not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, 289
and conn'd them out of rings?

Orl. Not so; but I answer you right painted
, from whence you have studied your ques-
tions. 293

Jaq. 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 mis-
tress the world, and all our misery. 297

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

Jaq. The worst fault you have is to be in

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

Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool
when I found you. 305

Orl. He is drowned in the brook: look but in,
and you shall see him.

Jaq. There I shall see mine own figure. 308

Orl. Which I take to be either a fool or a

Jaq. I'll tarry no longer with you. Farewell,
good Signior Love. 312

Orl. I am glad of your departure. Adieu,
good Monsieur Melancholy. [Exit Jaques.]

Ros. I will speak to him like a saucy lackey,
and under that habit play the knave with him.
Do you hear, forester? 317

Orl. Very well: what would you?

Ros. I pray you, what is 't o'clock?

Orl. You should ask me, what time o' day;
there's no clock in the forest. 321

Ros. 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. 325

Orl. And why not the swift foot of Time?
had not that been as proper?

Ros. 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. 332

Orl. I prithee, who doth he trot withal?

Ros. 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. 338

Orl. Who ambles Time withal?

Ros. 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 waste-
learning, the other knowing no burden
of heavy tedious penury. These Time ambles

Orl. Who doth he gallop withal? 348

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

Orl. Who stays it still withal? 352

Ros. With lawyers in the vacation; for they
sleep between term and term, and then they per-
ceive not how Time moves.

Orl. Where dwell you, pretty youth? 356

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

Orl. Are you native of this place? 360

Ros. As the cony, that you see dwell where
she is kindled.

Orl. Your accent is something finer than you
could purchase in so removed a dwelling. 364

Ros. 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 368
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. 373

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

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

Orl. I prithee, recount some of them. 380

Ros. 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. 389

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

Ros. 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

Orl. What were his marks? 396

Ros. 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 403
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 accoutre-
ments as loving yourself than seeming the lover
of any other. 409

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

Ros. 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? 418

Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white
hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfor-
tunate he.

Ros. But are you so much in love as your
rimes speak?

Orl. Neither rime nor reason can express
how much. 425

Ros. 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.

Orl. Did you ever cure any so? 432

Ros. 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 effemi-
nate, changeable, longing and liking; proud,
fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of 438
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 445
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.

Orl. I would not be cured, youth. 452

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

Orl. Now, by the faith of my love, I will: tell
me where it is. 457

Ros. 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?

Orl. With all my heart, good youth. 461

Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind. Come,
sister, will you go? Exeunt.

Scene Three

[Another Part of the Forest]

Enter Touchstone, Audrey, and Jaques.

Touch. Come apace, good Audrey: I will
fetch up your goats, Audrey. And how, Audrey?
am I the man yet? doth my simple feature con-
tent you? 4

Aud. Your features! Lord warrant us! what

Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats,
as the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was
among the Goths
. 9

Jaq. [Aside.] O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse
than Jove in a thatch'd house!

Touch. When a man's verses cannot be under-
stood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the
forward child Understanding, it strikes a man
more dead than a great reckoning in a little
. Truly, I would the gods had made thee
poetical. 17

Aud. I do not know what 'poetical' is. Is
it honest in deed and word? Is it a true
thing? 20

Touch. No, truly, for the truest poetry is the
most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry,
and what they swear in poetry may be said as
lovers they do feign. 24

Aud. Do you wish then that the gods had
made me poetical?

Touch. I do, truly; for thou swearest to me
thou art honest: now, if thou wert a poet, I
might have some hope thou didst feign. 29

Aud. Would you not have me honest?

Touch. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-
favour'd; for honesty coupled to beauty is to
have honey a sauce to sugar. 33

Jaq. [Aside.] A material fool.

Aud. Well, I am not fair, and therefore I
pray the gods make me honest. 36

Touch. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon
a foul slut were to put good meat into an un-
clean dish.

Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods
I am foul. 41

Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foul-
ness! sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it
as it may be, I will marry thee; and to that end
I have been with Sir Oliver Martext, the vicar
of the next village, who hath promised to meet
me in this place of the forest, and to couple us.

Jaq. [Aside.] I would fain see this meeting.

Aud. Well, the gods give us joy! 49

Touch. Amen. A man may, if he were of a
fearful heart, stagger in this attempt; for here
we have no temple but the wood, no assembly
but horn-beasts. But what though? Courage!
As horns are odious, they are necessary. It is
said, 'many a man knows no end of his goods': 55
right; many a man has good horns, and knows
no end of them. Well, that is the dowry of his
wife; 'tis none of his own getting. Horns?
Even so. Poor men alone? No, no; the noblest
deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the 60
single man therefore blessed? No: as a walled
town is more worthier than a village, so is the
forehead of a married man more honourable
than the bare brow of a bachelor; and by how
much defence is better than no skill, by so much
is a horn more precious than to want.

Enter Sir Oliver Martext.

Here comes Sir Oliver.—Sir Oliver Martext, 67
you are well met: will you dispatch us here
under this tree, or shall we go with you to your

Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the
woman? 72

Touch. I will not take her on gift of any

Sir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the mar-
riage is not lawful. 76

Jaq. [Coming forward.] Proceed, proceed:
I'll give her.

Touch. Good even, good Master What-ye-
call't: how do you, sir? You are very well met:
God 'ild you for your last company: I am very
glad to see you: even a toy in hand here, sir:
nay, pray be covered.

Jaq. Will you be married, motley? 84

Touch. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse
his curb, and the falcon her bells, so man hath
his desires; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock
would be nibbling. 88

Jaq. And will you, being a man of your
breeding, be married under a bush, like a
beggar? Get you to church, and have a good
priest that can tell you what marriage is: this
fellow will but join you together as they join
wainscot; then one of you will prove a shrunk
panel, and like green timber, warp, warp. 95

Touch. [Aside.] I am not in the mind but I
were better to be married of him than of an-
other: for he is not like to marry me well, and
not being well married, it will be a good excuse
for me hereafter to leave my wife. 100

Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.

Touch. Come, sweet Audrey:
We must be married, or we must live in bawdry.
Farewell, good Master Oliver: not 104

'O sweet Oliver!
O brave Oliver!
Leave me not behind thee:'

but,— 108

'Wind away,
Begone, I say,
I will not to wedding with thee.'

[Exeunt Jaques, Touchstone, and Audrey.]

Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter: ne'er a fantastical
knave of them all shall flout me out of my call-
ing. [Exit.]

Scene Four

[Another Part of the Forest]

Enter Rosalind and Celia.

Ros. Never talk to me: I will weep.

Cel. Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to
consider that tears do not become a man.

Ros. But have I not cause to weep? 4

Cel. As good cause as one would desire;
therefore weep.

Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling colour.

Cel. Something browner than Judas's; marry,
his kisses are Judas's own children. 9

Ros. I' faith, his hair is of a good colour.

Cel. An excellent colour: your chestnut was
ever the only colour. 12

Ros. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as
the touch of holy bread.

Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of
Diana: a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not
more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them. 17

Ros. But why did he swear he would come
this morning, and comes not?

Cel. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.

Ros. Do you think so? 21

Cel. Yes: I think he is not a pick-purse nor a
horse-stealer; but for his verity in love, I do
think him as concave as a covered goblet or a
worm-eaten nut. 25

Ros. Not true in love?

Cel. Yes, when he is in; but I think he is
not in. 28

Ros. You have heard him swear downright
he was.

Cel. 'Was' is not 'is': besides, the oath of a
lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster;
they are both the confirmers of false reckonings.
He attends here in the forest on the duke your
father. 35

Ros. I met the duke yesterday and had much
question with him. He asked me of what
parentage I was; I told him, of as good as he;
so he laughed, and let me go. But what talk we
of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando? 40

Cel. O, that's a brave man! he writes brave
verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths,
and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart
the heart of his lover; as a puisny tilter, that
spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff
like a noble goose. But all's brave that youth
mounts and folly guides. Who comes here?

Enter Corin.

Cor. Mistress and master, you have oft inquir'd 48
After the shepherd that complain'd of love,
Who you saw sitting by me on the turf,
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
That was his mistress.

Cel.Well, and what of him? 52

Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd,
Between the pale complexion of true love
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain,
Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you, 56
If you will mark it.

Ros.O! come, let us remove:
The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.
Bring us to this sight, and you shall say
I'll prove a busy actor in their play. Exeunt.

Scene Five

[Another Part of the Forest]

Enter Silvius and Phebe.

Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe:
Say that you love me not, but say not so
In bitterness. The common executioner,
Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard, 4
Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck
But first begs pardon: will you sterner be
Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?

Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Corin [behind].

Phe. I would not be thy executioner: 8
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye:
'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,
That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things, 12
Who shut their coward gates on atomies,
Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers!
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart;
And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee; 16
Now counterfeit to swound; why now fall down;
Or, if thou canst not, O! for shame, for shame,
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers.
Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee; 20
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush,
The cicatrice and capable impressure
Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes, 24
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not,
Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes
That can do hurt.

Sil.O dear Phebe,
If ever,—as that ever may be near,— 28
You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy,
Then shall you know the wounds invisible
That love's keen arrows make.

Phe.But, till that time
Come not thou near me; and, when that time comes, 32
Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not;
As, till that time I shall not pity thee.

Ros. [Advancing.] And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother,
That you insult, exult, and all at once, 36
Over the wretched? What though you have beauty,—
As by my faith, I see no more in you
Than without candle may go dark to bed,—
Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? 40
Why, what means this? Why do you look on me?
I see no more in you than in the ordinary
Of nature's sale-work. Od's my little life!
I think she means to tangle my eyes too. 44
No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it:
'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair,
Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my spirits to your worship. 48
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her,
Like foggy south puffing with wind and rain?
You are a thousand times a properer man
Than she a woman: 'tis such fools as you 52
That make the world full of ill-favour'd children:
'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her:
And out of you she sees herself more proper
Than any of her lineaments can show her. 56
But, mistress, know yourself: down on your knees,
And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love:
For I must tell you friendly in your ear,
Sell when you can; you are not for all markets. 60
Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer:
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.
So take her to thee, shepherd. Fare you well.

Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together: 64
I had rather hear you chide than this man woo.

Ros. He's fallen in love with her 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? 70

Phe. For no ill will I bear you.

Ros. 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, 74
'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, 78
None could be so abus'd in sight as he.
Come, to our flock.

[Exeunt Rosalind, Celia, and Corin.]

Phe. Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might:
'Who ever lov'd that lov'd not at first sight?' 82

Sil. Sweet Phebe,—

Phe.Ha! what sayst thou, Silvius?

Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me.

Phe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.

Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be: 86
If you do sorrow at my grief in love,
By giving love your sorrow and my grief
Were both extermin'd.

Phe. Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly?

Sil. I would have you.

Phe.Why, that were covetousness.
Silvius, the time was that I hated thee; 92
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; 96
But do not look for further recompense
Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd.

Sil. So holy and so perfect is my love,
And I in such a poverty of grace, 100
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. 104

Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me erewhile?

Sil. 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. 108

Phe. 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. 112
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 116
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, 120
A little riper and more lusty red
Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference
Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask.
There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him 124
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
Have more cause to hate him than to love him: 128
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: 132
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?

Sil. Phebe, with all my heart.

Phe.I'll write it straight; 136
The matter's in my head and in my heart:
I will be bitter with him and passing short.
Go with me, Silvius. Exeunt.

Footnotes to Act III

Scene One

2 made mercy: made of mercy
3 argument: subject
6 candle; cf. n.
7 turn: return
11 quit: acquit
17 extent; cf. n.
18 expediently: expeditiously

Scene Two

2 thrice-crowned; cf. n.
3 sphere: orbit
4 huntress' name; cf. n.
full: whole
doth sway: hath under control
6 character: inscribe
10 unexpressive: inexpressible
15 naught: good for nothing
20 spare: frugal
humour: whim
27 property: particular quality, peculiarity
31 complain of: bewail the lack of
44 manners: here in sense of 'morals'
46 parlous: contraction of 'perilous'
50 mockable: deserving ridicule
56 fells: fleeces
67 civet: perfume derived from the civet cat
68 worms-meat; cf. n.
69 in respect of: in comparison with
70 perpend: consider
71 flux: discharge
76 incision: i.e., to cure thee of thy simpleness; cf. n.
77 raw: untrained
79 owe . . . hate: have hate toward no man
85 offer: presume
86 bell-wether: leading sheep of a flock on whose neck a bell is hung
87 crooked-pated: crooked-headed; i.e., in reference to the ram's horns
88 cuckoldy; cf. n.
out . . . match: quite unsuitable for her
98 lin'd: drawn
104 butter-women's rank; cf. n.
107 taste: i.e., sample of skill
110 after kind: follow the dictates of nature
115 cart: a pun on farmer's cart which bore the harvest to market and the sheriff's cart on which female offenders were publicly disgraced
121 infect: contaminate (?)
125 graff: graft
126 medlar: a fruit, with quibble on 'meddler'
137 civil sayings; cf. n.
139 erring: wandering
140 span; cf. n.
141 Buckles in: limits
148 quintessence; cf. n.
149 in little: in miniature (?); cf. n.
156 Atalanta's better part: i.e., her athletic grace; cf. n.
159 heavenly synod: assembly of the gods
161 touches: features
164 Jupiter; cf. n.
166 withal: with
172 scrip: a shepherd's pouch
scrippage: its contents
185 seven . . . nine; cf. n.
187 palm-tree; cf. n.
188 Pythagoras' . . . rat; cf. n.
190 Trow: know
195 hard . . . meet; cf. n.
204 out . . . whooping: beyond all shouting of astonishment
205 Good my complexion; cf. n.
207 doublet and hose: i.e., typical male attire; cf. n.
One . . . discovery; cf. n.
217 God's making; cf. n.
222 stay: wait for
228 sad . . . maid: i.e., in earnest and as you are a true maiden
229 I' faith: on my faith
235 Wherein went he: i.e., how was he dressed
makes: does
239 Gargantua's mouth; cf. n.
241 ay . . . catechism; cf. n.
244 freshly: bloomingly
246 atomies: atoms, motes
247 resolve: answer logically
propositions: questions
248 relish: appreciate
good observance: respectful attention
251 Jove's tree; cf. n.
253 audience: hearing, attention
258 becomes: adorns
259 'holla': stop
260 curvets unseasonably: prances ill-timedly
furnish'd: dressed
262 heart: with quibble on 'hart'
263 burthen: refrain, bass, or undersong
264 bringest: puttest
269 by: aside
271 myself alone: all by myself
279 moe: more
280 ill-favouredly: badly
282 just: exactly that
289 goldsmiths' wives . . . rings; cf. n.
290 conn'd: learned by heart
291 painted cloth; cf. n.
298 breather: living creature
316 habit: garb
334 hard: uneasily
337 se'nnight: seven-night, week
344 wasteful: consuming
354 term: period of court sessions
361 cony: rabbit
362 kindled: brought forth
364 purchase: acquire
removed: remote, secluded
366 religious: i.e., belonging to a religious order (?)
368 courtship: courtliness of manners, with quibble on 'wooing'
370 lectures: admonitions
387 fancy-monger: dealer in love
389 quotidian: an intermittent daily fever; cf. n.
394 cage of rushes: i.e., ineffectual prison
398 blue eye: i.e., with a dark circle about the eye
399 unquestionable: unwilling to talk
401 having: possessions
403 ungartered . . . untied: i.e., the signs of a disconsolate lover
404 unbanded: without a hatband
407 point-device: extremely precise
427 dark . . . whip; cf. n.
431 profess: claim to have knowledge of
434 set him: i.e., as a task
436 moonish: variable
438 fantastical: capricious
apish: imitative
443 entertain: receive
forswear: renounce
445 living . . . madness: humor of actual madness
449 liver; cf. n.

Scene Three

5 features; cf. n.
8 capricious . . . Goths; cf. n.
10 ill-inhabited: ill-lodged
11 Jove in a thatch'd house; cf. n.
14 strikes . . . room; cf. n.
22 feigning: imaginative
24 feign: relate in fiction, or lying
34 material: full of sense
41 foul: ill-looking
49 gods . . . joy; cf. n.
51 stagger: hesitate
53 horn-beasts: i.e., deer
60 rascal: young or inferior deer of a herd
65 defence: skill in swordplay
81 God 'ild: God reward
82 toy: trifling matter
85 bow: yoke
103 bawdry: immorality
105 O sweet Oliver; cf. n.
109 Wind away: go away

Scene Four

7 dissembling: false; cf. n.
8 Judas's; cf. n.
11 your chestnut; cf. n.
15 cast: cast off, possibly a quibble for 'chaste'
16 winter's sisterhood; cf. n.
24 concave: hollow
41 brave: fine
43 traverse: across; cf. n.
44 puisny: paltry

Scene Five

5 Falls: lets fall
7 dies and lives; cf. n.
11 sure: surely
17 swound: swoon
23 cicatrice: scar, here 'mark'
capable impressure: sensible (i.e., receivable) impression
29 fancy: love
39 dark: without light; cf. n.
43 sale-work: ready-made work, (hence) work not of the best quality
Od's: God save
44 tangle: entangle
45 after it: i.e., to accomplish this
47 bugle: black; cf. n.
48 entame: subdue
50 south: south wind
51 properer: better looking
61 Cry . . . mercy: beg for mercy
62 Foul . . . scoffer; cf. n.
64 together: on end
75 tuft: clump
79 abus'd in sight: deceived by eyesight
81 Dead shepherd; cf. n.
89 extermin'd: exterminated
93 yet . . . not: i.e., the time is not yet
100 grace: good esteem, favor
108 carlot: peasant
110 peevish: captious
121 lusty: vigorous
123 constant: uniform
mingled damask: mixed red and white; cf. n.
125 In parcels: in detail
131 am remember'd: recall
133 omittance is no quittance: omission is no discharge (proverbial)
138 passing short: extremely curt