The Works of William Shakespeare [Cambridge Edition] [Vol. 2 of 9]

000 Scene IV. The forest.

AYLI III. 4 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?

005 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.

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

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

012 Ros. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch 013 of holy bread.

014 Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a nun of winter’s sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the 015 very ice of chastity is in them.

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

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

020 Ros. Do you think so?

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.

Ros. Not true in love?

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

Ros. You have heard him swear downright he was.

027 Cel. ‘Was’ is not ‘is:’ besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the 029 confirmer of false reckonings. He attends here in the forest 030 on the Duke your father.

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?

035 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 038 puisny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks 039 his staff like a noble goose: but all’s brave that youth 040 mounts and folly guides. Who comes here?

Enter Corin.

000 Scene V. Another part of the forest.

AYLI III. 5 Enter Silvius and Phebe.

ACT IV.

Scene I. The forest.

AYLI IV. 1 Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Jaques.

001 Jaq. I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee.

Ros. They say you are a melancholy fellow.

Jaq. I am so; I do love it better than laughing.

005 Ros. Those that are in extremity of either are abominable fellows, and betray themselves to every modern censure worse than drunkards.

Jaq. Why, ’tis good to be sad and say nothing.

Ros. Why then, ’tis good to be a post.

010 Jaq. I have neither the scholar’s melancholy, which is emulation; nor the musician’s, which is fantastical; nor the courtier’s, which is proud; nor the soldier’s, which is ambitious; nor the lawyer’s, which is politic; nor the lady’s, which is nice; nor the lover’s, which is all these: but it is a 015 melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects; and indeed the sundry contemplation 017 of my travels, in which my often rumination 018 wraps me in a most humorous sadness.

Ros. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason 020 to be sad: I fear you have sold your own lands to see other men’s; then, to have seen much, and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands.

023 Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience.

Ros. And your experience makes you sad: I had rather 025 have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me 026 sad; and to travel for it too!

Enter Orlando.

Orl. Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind!

028 Jaq. Nay, then, God buy you, an you talk in blank 029 verse. [Exit.

030 Ros. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: look you lisp and wear strange suits; disable all the benefits of your own country; be out of love with your nativity and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are; or I 034 will scarce think you have swam in a gondola. Why, how 035 now, Orlando! where have you been all this while? You a lover! An you serve me such another trick, never come in my sight more.

Orl. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise.

040 Ros. Break an hour’s promise in love! He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part 042 of the thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapped him o’ the shoulder, but I ’ll warrant him heart-whole.

045 Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind.

Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight: I had as lief be wooed of a snail.

Orl. Of a snail?

Ros. Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries 050 his house on his head; a better jointure, I think, than 051 you make a woman: besides, he brings his destiny with him.

Orl. What’s that?

Ros. Why, horns, which such as you are fain to be 054 beholding to your wives for: but he comes armed in his 055 fortune and prevents the slander of his wife.

Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous.

Ros. And I am your Rosalind.

Cel. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind 060 of a better leer than you.

Ros. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humour and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind?

Orl. I would kiss before I spoke.

065 Ros. Nay, you were better speak first; and when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will 068 spit; and for lovers lacking,—God warn us!—matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.

070 Orl. How if the kiss be denied?

Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty and there begins new matter.

Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress?

Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, 075 or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit.

076 Orl. What, of my suit?

Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind?

Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because I would 080 be talking of her.

Ros. Well in her person I say I will not have you.

082 Orl. Then in mine own person I die.

Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there 085 was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a 086 love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed out with a Grecian club; yet he did what he could to die before, and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have lived many a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it 090 had not been for a hot midsummer night; for, good youth, 091 he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont and being taken with the cramp was drowned: and the foolish 093 chroniclers of that age found it was ‘Hero of Sestos.’ But these are all lies: men have died from time to time and 095 worms have eaten them, but not for love.

Orl. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind; for, I protest, her frown might kill me.

Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition, 100 and ask me what you will, I will grant it.

Orl. Then love me, Rosalind.

Ros. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all.

Orl. And wilt thou have me?

Ros. Ay, and twenty such.

105 Orl. What sayest thou?

Ros. Are you not good?

Orl. I hope so.

Ros. Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing? Come, sister, you shall be the priest and marry us. Give 110 me your hand, Orlando. What do you say, sister?

Orl. Pray thee, marry us.

Cel. I cannot say the words.

Ros. You must begin, ‘Will you, Orlando—’

Cel. Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this 115 Rosalind?

Orl. I will.

117 Ros. Ay, but when?

Orl. Why now; as fast as she can marry us.

119 Ros. Then you must say ‘I take thee, Rosalind, for 120 wife.’

Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.

122 Ros. I might ask you for your commission; but I do 123 take thee, Orlando, for my husband: there’s a girl goes 125 before the priest; and certainly a woman’s thought runs before her actions.

Orl. So do all thoughts; they are winged.

Ros. Now tell me how long you would have her after you have possessed her.

Orl. For ever and a day.

130 Ros. Say ‘a day,’ without the ‘ever’. No, no, Orlando; men are April when they woo, December when they wed: maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen, more clamorous than 135 a parrot against rain, more new-fangled than an ape, more giddy in my desires than a monkey: I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you are disposed to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and 139 that when thou art inclined to sleep.

140 Orl. But will my Rosalind do so?

Ros. By my life, she will do as I do.

Orl. O, but she is wise.

Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the 144 wiser, the waywarder: make the doors upon a woman’s wit 145 and it will out at the casement; shut that and ’twill out at 146 the key-hole; stop that, ’twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney.

Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might 149 say ‘Wit, whither wilt?’

150 Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for it till you met your wife’s wit going to your neighbour’s bed.

Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse that?

Ros. Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You shall never take her without her answer, unless you take 155 her without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot make 156 her fault her husband’s occasion, let her never nurse her 157 child herself, for she will breed it like a fool!

Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee.

Ros. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours!

160 Orl. I must attend the Duke at dinner: by two o’clock I will be with thee again.

Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew what you would prove: my friends told me as much, and I thought no less: that flattering tongue of yours won me: 165 ’tis but one cast away, and so, come, death! Two o’clock is your hour?

Orl. Ay, sweet Rosalind.

Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, 170 if you break one jot of your promise or come one minute 171 behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical break-promise and the most hollow lover and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind that may be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful: therefore beware my 175 censure and keep your promise.

Orl. With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind: so adieu.

Ros. Well, Time is the old justice that examines all 179 such offenders, and let Time try: adieu. [Exit Orlando.

180 Cel. You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate: we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head, and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest.

Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But it 185 cannot be sounded: my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal.

Cel. Or rather, bottomless; that as fast as you pour 188 affection in, it runs out.

Ros. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus that was 190 begot of thought, conceived of spleen and born of madness, that blind rascally boy that abuses every one’s eyes because his own are out, let him be judge how deep I am 193 in love. I’ll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight 194 of Orlando: I’ll go find a shadow and sigh till he come.

195 Cel. And I’ll sleep. [Exeunt.

000 Scene II. The forest.

AYLI IV. 2 Enter Jaques, Lords, and Foresters.

Jaq. Which is he that killed the deer?

002 A Lord. Sir, it was I.

Jaq. Let’s present him to the Duke, like a Roman conqueror; and it would do well to set the deer’s horns upon 005 his head, for a branch of victory. Have you no song, forester, for this purpose?

007 For. Yes, sir.

Jaq. Sing it: ’tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough.

000 Scene III. The forest.

AYLI IV. 3 Enter Rosalind and Celia.

001 Ros. How say you now? Is it not past two o’clock? 002 and here much Orlando!

Cel. I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he hath ta’en his bow and arrows and is gone forth to 005 sleep. Look, who comes here.

Enter Silvius.