 | As you Like it |  |
Actus Quartus.
Scene Prima.
Enter Rosalind, and Celia, and Iaques.Iaq.
I prethee, pretty youth, let me better acquainted
with thee.
Ros.
They say you are a melancholly fellow.
Iaq.
I am so: I doe loue it better then laughing.
Ros.
Those that are in extremity of either, are abhominable
fellowes, and betray themselues to euery moderne
censure, worse then drunkards.
Iaq.
Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.
Ros.
Why then 'tis good to be a poste.
Iaq.
I haue neither the Schollers melancholy, which
is emulation: nor the Musitians, which is fantasticall;
nor the Courtiers, which is proud: nor the Souldiers,
which is ambitious: nor the Lawiers, which is politick:
nor the Ladies, which is nice: nor the Louers, which
is all these: but it is a melancholy of mine owne, compounded
of many simples, extracted from many obiects,
and indeed the sundrie contemplation of my trauells, in
which by often rumination, wraps me in a most humorous
sadnesse.
Ros.
A Traueller: by my faith you haue great reason
to be sad: I feare you haue sold your owne Lands,
to see other mens; then to haue seene much, and to haue
nothing, is to haue rich eyes and poore hands.
Iaq.
Yes, I haue gain'd my experience.
Enter Orlando.
Ros.
And your experience makes you sad: I had rather
haue a foole to make me merrie, then experience to
make me sad, and to trauaile for it too.
Orl.
Good day, and happinesse, deere Rosalind.
Iaq.
Nay then God buy you, and you talke in blanke
verse.
Ros.
Farewell Mounsieur Trauellor: looke you
lispe, and weare strange suites; disable all the benefits
of your owne Countrie: be out of loue with your
natiuitie, and almost chide God for making you that
countenance you are; or I will scarce thinke you haue
swam in a Gundello. Why how now Orlando, where
haue you bin all this while? you a louer? and you
serue me such another tricke, neuer come in my sight
more.
Orl.
My faire Rosalind, I come within an houre of my
promise.
Ros.
Breake an houres promise in loue? hee that
will diuide a minute into a thousand parts, and breake
but a part of the thousand part of a minute in the affairs
of loue, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapt
him oth' shoulder, but Ile warrant him heart hole.
Orl.
Pardon me deere Rosalind.
Ros.
Nay, and you be so tardie, come no more in my
sight, I had as liefe be woo'd of a Snaile.
Orl.
Of a Snaile?
Ros.
I, of a Snaile: for though he comes slowly, hee
carries his house on his head; a better ioyncture I thinke
then you make a woman: besides, he brings his destinie
with him.
Orl.
What's that?
Ros.
Why hornes: w
c such as you are faine to be beholding
to your wiues for: but he comes armed in his
fortune, and preuents the slander of his wife.
Vertue is no horne-maker; and my Rosalind is
vertuous.
Ros.
And I am your Rosalind.
Cel.
It pleases him to call you so: but he hath a Rosalind
of a better leere then you.
Ros.
Come, wooe me, wooe mee: for now I am in a
holy-day humor, and like enough to consent: What
would you say to me now, and I were your verie, verie
Rosalind?
Orl.
I would kisse before I spoke.
Ros.
Nay, you were better speake first, and when you
were grauel'd, for lacke of matter, you might take occasion
to kisse: verie good Orators when they are out,
they will spit, and for louers, lacking (God warne vs)
matter, the cleanliest shift is to kisse.
Orl.
How if the kisse be denide?
Ros.
Then she puts you to entreatie, and there begins
new matter.
Orl.
Who could be out, being before his beloued
Mistris?
Ros.
Marrie that should you if I were your Mistris,
or I should thinke my honestie ranker then my wit.
Orl.
What, of my suite?
Ros.
Not out of your apparrell, and yet out of your
suite:
Am not I your Rosalind?
Orl.
I take some ioy to say you are, because I would
be talking of her.
Ros.
Well, in her person, I say I will not haue you.
Orl.
Then in mine owne person, I die.
Ros.
No faith, die by Attorney: the poore world is
almost six thousand yeeres old, and in all this time there
was not anie man died in his owne person (videlicet) in
a loue cause: Troilous had his braines dash'd out with a
Grecian club, yet he did what hee could to die before,
and he is one of the patternes of loue. Leander, he would
haue liu'd manie a faire yeere though Hero had turn'd
Nun; if it had not bin for a hot Midsomer-night, for
(good youth) he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont,
and being taken with the crampe, was droun'd,
and the foolish Chronoclers of that age, found it was
Hero of Cestos. But these are all lies, men haue died
from time to time, and wormes haue eaten them, but not
for loue.
Orl.
I would not haue my right Rosalind of this mind,
for I protest her frowne might kill me.
Ros.
By this hand, it will not kill a flie: but come,
now I will be your Rosalind in a more comming-on disposition:
and aske me what you will, I will grant it.
Orl.
Then loue me Rosalind.
Ros.
Yes faith will I, fridaies and saterdaies, and all.
Orl.
And wilt thou haue me?
Ros.
I, and twentie such.
Orl.
What saiest thou?
Ros.
Are you not good?
Orl.
I hope so.
Rosalind.
Why then, can one desire too much of a
good thing: Come sister, you shall be the Priest, and
marrie vs: giue me your hand Orlando: What doe you
say sister?
Orl.
Pray thee marrie vs.
Cel.
I cannot say the words.
Ros.
You must begin, will you Orlando.
Cel.
Goe too: wil you Orlando, haue to wife this Rosalind?
Orl.
I will.
Ros.
I, but when?
Orl.
Why now, as fast as she can marrie vs.
Ros.
Then you must say, I take thee Rosalind for
wife.
Orl.
I take thee Rosalind for wife.
Ros.
I might aske you for your Commission,
But I doe take thee Orlando for my husband: there's a
girle goes before the Priest, and certainely a Womans
thought runs before her actions.
Orl.
So do all thoughts, they are wing'd.
Ros.
Now tell me how long you would haue her, after
you haue possest her?
Orl.
For euer, and a day.
Ros.
Say a day, without the euer: no, no Orlando, men
are Aprill when they woe, December when they wed:
Maides are May when they are maides, but the sky changes
when they are wiues: I will bee more iealous of
thee, then a Barbary cocke-pidgeon ouer his hen, more
clamorous then a Parrat against raine, more new-fangled
then an ape, more giddy in my desires, then a monkey:
I will weepe for nothing, like Diana in the Fountaine,
& I wil do that when you are dispos'd to be merry:
I will laugh like a Hyen, and that when thou art inclin'd
to sleepe.
Orl.
But will my Rosalind doe so?
Ros.
By my life, she will doe as I doe.
Orl.
O but she is wise.
Ros.
Or else shee could not haue the wit to doe this:
the wiser, the waywarder: make the doores vpon a womans
wit, and it will out at the casement: shut that, and
'twill out at the key-hole: stop that, 'twill flie with the
smoake out at the chimney.
Orl.
A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might
say, wit whether wil't?
Ros.
Nay, you might keepe that checke for it, till you
met your wiues wit going to your neighbours bed.
Orl.
And what wit could wit haue, to excuse that?
Ros.
Marry to say, she came to seeke you there: you
shall neuer take her without her answer, vnlesse you take
her without her tongue: ô that woman that cannot
make her fault her husbands occasion, let her neuer nurse
her childe her selfe, for she will breed it like a foole.
Orl.
For these two houres Rosalinde, I wil leaue thee.
Ros
Alas, deere loue, I cannot lacke thee two houres.
Orl.
I must attend the Duke at dinner; by two a clock
I will be with thee againe.
Ros.
I, goe your waies, goe your waies: I knew what
you would proue, my friends told mee as much, and I
thought no lesse: that flattering tongue of yours wonne
me: 'tis but one cast away, and so come death: two o'
clocke is your howre.
Orl.
I, sweet Rosalind.
Ros.
By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God
mend mee, and by all pretty oathes that are not dangerous,
if you breake one iot of your promise, or come one
minute behinde your houre, I will thinke you the most
patheticall breake-promise, and the most hollow louer,
and the most vnworthy of her you call Rosalinde, that
may bee chosen out of the grosse band of the vnfaithfull:
therefore beware my censure, and keep your promise.
Orl.
With no lesse religion, then if thou wert indeed
my Rosalind: so adieu.
Ros.
Well, Time is the olde Iustice that examines all
such offenders, and let time try: adieu.
Exit.
Cel.
You haue simply misus'd our sexe in your loue-prate:
your head, and shew the world what the bird hath done
to her owne neast.
Ros.
O coz, coz, coz: my pretty little coz, that thou
didst know how many fathome deepe I am in loue: but
it cannot bee sounded: my affection hath an vnknowne
bottome, like the Bay of Portugall.
Cel.
Or rather bottomlesse, that as fast as you poure
affection in, in runs out.
Ros.
No, that same wicked Bastard of Venus, that was
begot of thought, conceiu'd of spleene, and borne of
madnesse, that blinde rascally boy, that abuses euery
ones eyes, because his owne are out, let him bee iudge,
how deepe I am in loue: ile tell thee Aliena, I cannot be
out of the sight of Orlando: Ile goe finde a shadow, and
sigh till he come.
Cel.
And Ile sleepe.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Enter Iaques and Lords, Forresters.Iaq.
Which is he that killed the Deare?
Lord.
Sir, it was I.
Iaq.
Let's present him to the Duke like a Romane
Conquerour, and it would doe well to set the Deares
horns vpon his head, for a branch of victory; haue you
no song Forrester for this purpose?
Lord.
Yes Sir.
Iaq.
Sing it: 'tis no matter how it bee in tune, so it
make noyse enough.
Musicke, Song.
What shall he haue that kild the Deare?
His Leather skin, and hornes to weare:
Then sing him home the rest shall beare this burthen;
Take thou no scorne to weare the horne,
It was a crest ere thou wast borne,
Thy fathers father wore it,
And thy father bore it.
The horne, the horne, the lusty horne,
Is not a thing to laugh to scorne.
Exeunt.
Scœna Tertia.
Enter Rosalind and Celia.Ros.
How say you now, is it not past two a clock?
And heere much Orlando.
Cel.
I warrant you, with pure loue, & troubled brain,
Enter Siluius.
He hath t'ane his bow and arrowes, and is gone forth
To sleepe: looke who comes heere.
Sil.
My errand is to you, faire youth,
My gentle Phebe, did bid me giue you this:
I know not the contents, but as I guesse
By the sterne brow, and waspish action
Which she did vse, as she was writing of it,
It beares an angry tenure; pardon me,
I am but as a guiltlesse messenger.
Ros.
Patience her selfe would startle at this letter,
And play the swaggerer, beare this, beare all:
Shee saies I am not faire, that I lacke manners,
She calls me proud, and that she could not loue me
Were man as rare as Phenix: 'od's my will,
Her loue is not the Hare that I doe hunt,
Why writes she so to me? well Shepheard, well,
This is a Letter of your owne deuice.
Sil.
No, I protest, I know not the contents,
Phebe did write it.
Ros.
Come, come, you are a foole,
And turn'd into the extremity of loue.
I saw her hand, she has a leatherne hand,
A freestone coloured hand: I verily did thinke
That her old gloues were on, but twas her hands:
She has a huswiues hand, but that's no matter:
I say she neuer did inuent this letter,
This is a mans inuention, and his hand.
Sil.
Sure it is hers.
Ros.
Why, tis a boysterous and a cruell stile,
A stile for challengers: why, she defies me,
Like Turke to Christian: vvomens gentle braine
Could not drop forth such giant rude inuention,
Such Ethiop vvords, blacker in their effect
Then in their countenance: vvill you heare the letter?
Sil.
So please you, for I neuer heard it yet:
Yet heard too much of Phebes crueltie.
Ros.
She Phebes me: marke how the tyrant vvrites.
Read.
That a maidens heart hath burn'd.
Sil.
Call you this railing?
Ros.
Read.
War'st thou with a womans heart?
That could do no vengeance to me.
Haue power to raise such loue in mine,
Alacke, in me, what strange effect
Would they worke in milde aspect?
Whiles you chid me, I did loue,
How then might your praiers moue?
He that brings this loue to thee,
Little knowes this Loue in me:
And by him seale vp thy minde,
Whether that thy youth and kinde
Will the faithfull offer take
Of me, and all that I can make,
Or else by him my loue denie,
And then Ile studie how to die.
Sil.
Call you this chiding?
Cel.
Alas poore Shepheard.
Ros.
Doe you pitty him? No, he deserues no pitty:
wilt thou loue such a woman? what to make thee an instrument,
and play false straines vpon thee? not to be endur'd.
Well, goe your way to her; (for I see Loue hath
made thee a tame snake) and say this to her; That if she
loue me, I charge her to loue thee: if she will not, I will
neuer haue her, vnlesse thou intreat for her: if you bee a
true louer hence, and not a word; for here comes more
company.
Exit. Sil.
Enter Oliuer.
Oliu.
Good morrow, faire ones: pray you, (if you know)
Where in the Purlews of this Forrest, stands
Cel.
West of this place, down in the neighbor bottom
The ranke of Oziers, by the murmuring streame
Left on your right hand, brings you to the place:
But at this howre, the house doth keepe it selfe,
There's none within.
Oli.
If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
Then should I know you by description,
Such garments, and such yeeres: the boy is faire,
Of femall fauour, and bestowes himselfe
Like a ripe sister: the woman low
And browner then her brother: are not you
The owner of the house I did enquire for?
Cel.
It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are.
Oli.
Orlando doth commend him to you both,
And to that youth hee calls his Rosalind,
He sends this bloudy napkin; are you he?
Ros.
I am: what must we vnderstand by this?
Oli.
Some of my shame, if you will know of me
What man I am, and how, and why, and where
This handkercher was stain'd.
Cel.
I pray you tell it.
Oli.
When last the yong Orlando parted from you,
He left a promise to returne againe
Within an houre, and pacing through the Forrest,
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancie,
Loe vvhat befell: he threw his eye aside,
And marke vvhat obiect did present it selfe
Vnder an old Oake, whose bows were moss'd with age
And high top, bald with drie antiquitie:
A wretched ragged man, ore-growne with haire
Lay sleeping on his back; about his necke
A greene and guilded snake had wreath'd it selfe,
Who with her head, nimble in threats approach'd
The opening of his mouth: but sodainly
Seeing Orlando, it vnlink'd it selfe,
And with indented glides, did slip away
Into a bush, vnder which bushes shade
A Lyonnesse, with vdders all drawne drie,
Lay cowching head on ground, with catlike watch
When that the sleeping man should stirre; for 'tis
The royall disposition of that beast
To prey on nothing, that doth seeme as dead:
This seene, Orlando did approach the man,
And found it was his brother, his elder brother.
Cel.
O I haue heard him speake of that same brother,
And he did render him the most vnnaturall
That liu'd amongst men.
Oli.
And well he might so doe,
For well I know he was vnnaturall.
Ros.
But to Orlando: did he leaue him there
Food to the suck'd and hungry Lyonnesse?
Oli.
Twice did he turne his backe, and purpos'd so:
But kindnesse, nobler euer then reuenge,
And Nature stronger then his iust occasion,
Made him giue battell to the Lyonnesse:
Who quickly fell before him, in which hurtling
From miserable slumber I awaked.
Cel.
Are you his brother?
Ros.
Was't you he rescu'd?
Cel.
Was't you that did so oft contriue to kill him?
Oli.
'Twas I: but 'tis not I: I doe not shame
To tell you what I was, since my conuersion
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am.
Ros.
But for the bloody napkin?
Oli.
By and by:
When from the first to last betwixt vs two,
Teares our recountments had most kindely bath'd,
As how I came into that Desert place.
I briefe, he led me to the gentle Duke,
Who gaue me fresh aray, and entertainment,
Committing me vnto my brothers loue,
Who led me instantly vnto his Caue,
There stript himselfe, and heere vpon his arme
The Lyonnesse had torne some flesh away,
Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted,
And cride in fainting vpon Rosalinde.
Briefe, I recouer'd him, bound vp 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 giue this napkin
Died in this bloud, vnto the Shepheard youth,
That he in sport doth call his Rosalind.
Cel.
Why how now Ganimed, sweet Ganimed.
Oli.
Many will swoon when they do look on bloud.
Cel.
There is more in it; Cosen Ganimed.
Oli.
Looke, he recouers.
Ros.
I would I were at home.
Cel.
Wee'll lead you thither:
I pray you will you take him by the arme.
Oli.
Be of good cheere youth: you a man?
You lacke a mans heart.
Ros.
I doe so, I confesse it:
Ah, sirra, a body would thinke this was well counterfeited,
I pray you tell your brother how well I counterfeited:
heigh-ho.
Oli.
This was not counterfeit, there is too great testimony
in your complexion that it was a passion of earnest.
Ros.
Counterfeit, I assure you.
Oli.
Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit to
be a man.
Ros.
So I doe: but yfaith, I should haue beene a woman
by right.
Cel.
Come, you looke paler and paler: pray you draw
homewards: good sir, goe with vs.
Oli.
That will I: for I must beare answere backe
How you excuse my brother, Rosalind.
Ros.
I shall deuise something: but I pray you commend
my counterfeiting to him: will you goe?
Exeunt.
| As you Like it | |