Jaq. Oh, knowledge ill-inhabited! worse than Jove
in a thatch'd house !
Clown. When a man's verses cannot be understood,
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 room.
Truly, I would the gods
had made thee poetical.
Aud. I do not know what poetical is. Is it honest
in deed and word } Is it a true thing }
Clown. 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
Aud. Do you wish, then, that the gods had made me
Clown. I do, truly ; for thou swear'st to me thou art
honest. Now, if thou wert a poet I might have some
hope thou didst feign.
Aud. Would you not have me honest }
Clown. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favour'd ; for
honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to
Jaq. A material fool !
Aud. Well, I am not fair ; and therefore I pray the
gods make me honest !
Clown. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul
slut were to put good meat into an unclean dish.
Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I
Clown. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness !
As You Like It, act ii., scene v.
AS YOU LIKE IT 12 1
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 Mar-text, the vicar of the next village, who
hath promis'd to meet me in this place of the forest,
and to couple us.
Jaq. I would fain see this meeting.
Aud. Well, the gods give us joy!
Clown. 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 ; 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 single man
therefore blessed.? No. As a wall'd town is more
worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a mar-
ried man more honorable 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
Enter Sir Oliver Mar-text.
Here comes Sir Oliver. — Sir Oliver Mar-text, you are
well met. Will you despatch us here under this tree,
or shall we go with you to your chapel }
OH. Is there none here to give the woman }
Clown. I will not take her on gift of any man.
OH. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not
Jaq. Proceed, proceed ; I'll give her.
Clown. Good-even, good master ^y^^/jV^r^//'/. How
do you, sir.? You are very well met. Goddild you for
your last company, I am very glad to see you, even a
toy in hand here, sir. Nay, pray be cover'd.
Jaq. Will you be married, Motley ?
Clown. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his
122 COMEDIES OF SHAKESPEARE
curb, and the falcon her bells, so man hath his de-
sires; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nib-
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.
Clown. I am not in the mind, but I were better to be
married of him than of another, 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.
Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.
Clown. Come, sweet Audrey,
We must be married, or we must live in bawdry. —
Farewell, good master Oliver, Not, oh, sweet Oliver,
oh, brave Oliver, leave me not behind thee. But
wind away, begone, I say, I will not to wedding with
Oli. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave of
them all shall flout me out of my calling. \_ExeunL
Scene IV. — Enter Rosalind and Celia,
Ros. Never talk to me, I will weep.
Cel. Do, I prithee ; but yet have the grace to con-
sider that tears do not become a man.
Ros. But have I not cause to weep 1
Cel As good cause as one would desire ; therefore
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.
Cel. An excellent colour. Your chestnut was ever
the only colour.
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
AS voir LIKE IT 123
nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously;
the 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.
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 cover'd goblet, or a worm-eaten nut.
Ros. Not true in love 1
CeL Yes, when he is in ; but I think he is not in.
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.
Ros. I met the duke yesterday, and had much ques-
tion with him ; he asked me of what parentage I was ;
I told him of as good as he ; so he laugh'd, and let me
go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a
man as Orlando.'*
CeL Oh, 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 puny 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
Cor. Mistress and master, you have oft inquired
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 ?
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,
124 ' COMEDIES OF SHAKESPEARE
Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you,
If you will mark it.
Ros. Oh, come, let us remove ;
The si^ht 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 V. — 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
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.
Phe. I would not be thy executioner,
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.
Who shut their coward gates on atomies,
Should be called tyrants, butchers, murderers !
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart.
And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee;
Now, counterfeit to swoon, why, now, fall down !
Or, if thou canst not, oh, for shame, for shame.
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers.
Now, show the wound mine eyes hath made in thee ;
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,
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not ;
Nor I am sure there is no force in eyes
That can do hurt.
Flatf i6 """ "
" IT IS TEN O'CLOCK. THUS MAY WE SEE, QUOTH HE,
HOW THE WORLD WAGS "
As You I^ike It, act ii., scene vi.
I .n^'-'T -ss.'
AS YOU LIKE IT 125
Sil. Oh, dear Phebe,
If ever (as that ever may be near)
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,
Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not.
As, till that time, I shall not pity thee.
Ros. And why, I pray you.? Who might be your
That you insult, exult, and all at once,
Over the wretched .? What though, you have no
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 .f*
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 ;
No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it,
'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair,
Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my spirits to your worship.
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
That makes 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.
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.
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.
126 COMEDIES OF SHAKESPEARE
Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together ;
I had rather hear you chide than this man woo.
Ros. He's fallen in love with your foulness, and she'll
fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she an-
swers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce her with bitter
words. Why look you so upon me .f*
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,
'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.
None could be so abus'd in sight as he.
Come, to our flock. \_Exit.
Phe. Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might :
Whoever lovd, that lovd 7iot at first sight?
Sil. Sweet Phebe.
Phe. Ha! what say 'st thou, Silvius.''
Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me.
Phe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.
Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be ;
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,
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.
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.
That I shall think it a most plenteous crop
To glean the broken ears after the man
AS YOU LIKE IT 127
That the main harvest reaps ; loose now and then
A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon.
Pke. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me ere-
SiL Not very well, but I have met him oft,
And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds
That the old Carlos once was master of.
Pke. 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.
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
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 ;
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
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.
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 ;
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.
Pke. I'll write it straight ;
The matter's in my head and in my heart.
I will be bitter with him, and passing short.
Go with me, Silvius. \_ExeuHt.
128 COMEDIES OF SHAKESPEARE
Scene I. — Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Jaques.
Jaq. I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better ac-
quainted with thee.
Ros. They say you are a melancholy fellow.
Jaq. I am so ; I do love it better than laughing.
Ros. Those that are in extremity of either are abom-
inable 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.
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 melancholy of mine own, com-
pounded of many simples, extracted from many ob-
jects ; and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my
travels ; which, by often rumination, wraps me in a
most humorous sadness.
Ros. A traveller ! By my faith, you have great rea-
son 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.
Jaq. Yes, I have gain'd my experience.
Ros. And your experience makes you sad. I had
rather have a fool to make me merry than experience
to make me sad, and to travel for it too.
Orl. Good-day, and happiness, dear Rosalind !
Jaq. Nay, then, God buy you, and you talk in blank
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
GIVE ME YOUR HAND. ORLANDO
As Vou Like It, act iv.. scene i.
<' .\ 1 1: ii
AS YOU LIKE IT 129
almost chide God for making you that countenance
you are, or I will scarce think you have swam in a gon-
dola. Why, how now, Orlando ! where have you been
all this while ? You a lover? And you serve me such
another trick, never come in my sight more.
OrL My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my
Ros. Break an hour's promise in love } He that will
divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break but a
part of the thousandth part of a minute in the affairs
of love, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapp'd
him o' the shoulder, but I'll warrant him heart-whole.
OrL Pardon me, dear Rosalind.
Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my
sight. I had as lief be woo'd of a snail.
OrL Of a snail .?
Ros. Ay, of a snail ; for though he comes slowly he
carries his house on his head ; a better jointure, I think,
than you make a woman. Besides, he brings his des-
tiny with him.
OrL What's that }
Ros. Why, horns ; which such as you are fain to be
beholding to your wives for. But he comes armed in
his fortune, and prevents the slander of his wife.
OrL Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is
Ros. And I am your Rosalind.
CeL. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a
Rosalind 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, and I were your very, very
OrL I would kiss before I spoke.
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 spit ; and for lovers, lacking (God warn
us !) matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.
Orl. How if the kiss be denied?
13© COMEDIES OF SHAKESPEARE
Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there be-
gins new matter.
Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved
Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress ;
or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit.
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
be talking of her,
Ros. Well, in her person, I say — I will not have
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
was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a
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 had not been for a hot midsummer
night : for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him
in the Hellespont, and, being taken with the cramp, was
drowned ; and the foolish chroniclers of that age found
it was — Hero of Sestos. But these are all lies \ men
have died from time to time and 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 dis-
position, and ask me what you will I will grant it.
Orl Then love me, Rosalind.
Ros. Yes, faith will I, Fridays and Saturdays and
Orl And wilt thou have me ?
Ros. Ay, and twenty such.
Orl. What say'st thou ?
Ros. Are you not good }
AS YOU LIKE IT 131
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 me your hand, Orlando. What do you say,
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
Orl. I will.
Ros. Ay, but when ?
Orl. Why, now ; as fast as she can marry us.
Ros. Then you must say, I take thee, Rosalind, for
Orl I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.
Ros. I might ask you for your commission; but — I
do take thee, Orlando, for my husband. There's a girl
goes before the priest ; and, certainly, a woman's thought
runs before her actions.
Orl. So do all thoughts ; they are wing'd.
Ros. Now tell me how long you would have her af-
ter you have possessed her.
Orl. For ever and a day.
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 a parrot against rain ; more new-fan-
gled 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 hyena, and that when
thou art inclined to sleep.
Orl But will my Rosalind do so ?
Ros. By my life, she will do as I do.
Orl. Oh, but she is wise.
Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do this :
the wiser the waywarden Make the doors upon a wom-
132 COMEDIES OF SHAKESPEARE
an's wit, and it will out at the casement; shut that,
and 'twill out at 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
say. Wit, whither wilt ?
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 her without her tongue. Oh, that woman
that cannot make her fault her husband's occasion, let
her never nurse her 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.
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. '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 danger-
ous, if you break one jot of your promise, or come one
minute 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 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
such offenders, and let time try. Adieu ! \_Exit.
Cel. You have simply misus'd our sex in your love
prate. We must have your doublet and hose pluck'd
over your head, and show the world what the bird hath
done to her own nest.
AS YOU LIKE IT 133
Ros. Oh, coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou
didst know how many fathoms deep I am in love ! But
it cannot be sounded ; my affection hath an unknown
bottom, like the bay of Portugal.
Cel. Or, rather, bottomless ; that as fast as you pour
affection in, it runs out.
Ros. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was
begot of thought, conceiv'd of spleen, and born of mad-
ness ; that blind, rascally boy that abuses every one's
eyes because his own are out, let him be judge how
deep I am in love. I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out
of the sight of Orlando. I'll go find a shadow, and sigh
till he come.
Cel. And I'll sleep. \Exeunt.
Scene II. — £nUr Jaqves and Lords, Foresters.
yaq. Which is he that killed the deer.?
Lord. Sir, it was I.
yaq. 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 ?
Lord. Yes, sir.
yaq. Sing it ; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it
makes noise enough.
What shall he have that kilVd the deer f
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.
134 COMEDIES OF SHAKESPEARE
Scene III. — ^«/^r Rosalind ^/^^ Celia.
Ros. How say you now ? Is it not past two o'clock ?
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 sleep. Look, who comes here.
Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth.
My gentle Phebe did bid me give you this.
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.
Ros. 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.
Sil. No, I protest I know not the contents.
Phebe did write it.