William Michael Rossetti William Shakespeare.

The complete works of Shakespeare: With a critical biography online

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you, tell me your remedy,

£o9. There is none of my uncle's marks upon
you : he taught me how to know a man in love ; in
wiitch cage of rushes, I am sure, you are not prisoner.

OrL Wiuit were his marks?

Boa. 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 tliat ; for, simply, your having in
beard is a younger brother's revenue:) Then
your hose should be nngartered, your bonnet
unhanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe
untied, and everything about you demonstrating
acareless desolation But you are no such man ; you
are rather point-device in your accoutrements; as
loving yourself, than seeming the lover of any other.

Ori. Fair youth, I would ( could make thee
believe 1 love.

Bos, Me believe it? ^ou may as soon make her
that you love believe it ; which, I warrant, she
b apter to do than to confess she does : that is
one of the points in the which women still give
the lie to their conscience. But, in good sooth,
are you he tliat hangs the verses on the trees,
^herein Roealtnd is so admired ?

OrL I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand
of Rosalind, I am that be, that unfortunate he.

Jios, But are you so much in love as your
rhymes s]>eak ?

OrL Neither rhyme nor reason can express how
much.

Has. 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, ttiat the luiuicy is so ordi-
nary that the whippers are in love too: Yet I
profess curing it by counsel.

OrL Did you ever cure any so ?

Hos. Yes, one ; and in this manner. He was
to imagine mo his love, his mistress ; and I set
him every day to woo me: At which time would
I, being but a moonbh youth, grieve, be effemi-
nate, changeable, longing, and liking; proud, fan-
tastical, apldi, shallow, inconstant, full of 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 humour of madness ;
wbioh 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 1 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^.

OrL I would not be cnredj jouth.

lios, I would cure you, u^oa would but call
me liosalind, and come every day to my ooto, ahd
woomob



LIKE IT. 160

OrL Now, by the fSuth of my love, 2 will; tell
me where it is.

Iio8, Go with me to it, and 111 show it yon :
and, by the way, jon shall tell me where in the
forest you live : Will you go ?

OrL With all my heart, good youth.

Bos. Nay, you must call me Rosalind : — Come,
sister, will you go ? [Exewd,

SCENE III.

Enter Touchstonb and Audrey ; Jaqdbs at a
diatancty observing them,

Toiuck, Come apace, good Audrey ; I will fetch
up your goats, Audrey : And how, Audrey? am I
the man yet ? Doth my simple feature content you ?

Aud, Your features! Lord warrant nsl what
features ?

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

Jaq. knowledge ill-inhabited! worse than
Jove in a thatched house I [Aside*

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 tlian a great reckoning in a little room:
Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical.

AwL I do not know what poetical is: is it honest
in deed and word ? Is it a true thing?

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 fei^. [me poetical ?

Aud. Do you wish, then, that the gods nad made

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

Aud, Would you i ot nave me honest?

Touch, No, truly,unless thou wert hard-favoured:
for honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a
sauce to sugar.

Jaq. A material fool t [Aside,

Aud. Well, 1 am not &ir ; and therefbre I pray
the gods make me honest I

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

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

Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness 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 promised to meet me in
this place of the forest, and to cou))le us.

Jaq. I would fain see this meeting. [Atidt,

Aud, Well, the gods give us joy I

Touch, Amen. A man may, if he were of a
fearful heart, stagger in this attempt ; for here we
have no temple out the wood, no assembly but
horn-beasts. But what though? Courage I As
horns are odious, they are necessary. It is said.
Many a man knows no end of his goods : right ;
numy a man has good horns, and knows no end of
them. Well, that is the dowry of his wife: 'tis
none of his own getthig. 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 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 dufonoe is better than no skill:
by so much is a horn more precious than to wanr

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Enter Sir Oliver Mar-text.

Here comes 8ir Oliver. — Sir Oliver Mar-text,
yoa are well met: Will yon desptch us here
under this tree, or shall we go with you to your
ebai>el ?

6ir OH, Is there none here to ^ve the woman?

Tottch. I will not take her on gift of any man.

Sir OK. Truly she must be given, or the
marriage is not lawful.

Ja^. [discovering himself.] Proceed, proceed;
ni give her.

7'ouch. Good even, good master " Wliat ye
callt:" How do you, sir? You are very well
met: God lid you for your laat company : I am
very glad to see you :— Even a toy iu liand, here,
sir : — Nay ; pray be covered.

Jaq, Will yoD be married, motley?

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
Dibbling.

Jaq. And will yon, being a man of your breed-
ing, be married under a bush, like a beggar ? Get
you to church, and have a ^ood priest tliat can tell
you what marriage is: this fellow will but join
you to|^ether as they join wainscot ; then one of
you will prove a shrunk panel, and, like green
timber, warj), warp.

Touch. 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. [Aside.

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

Touch. Come, sweet Audrey:
We must be married, or we must live in bawdry.
Farewell, good Master Oliver 1

Not O sweet Oliver,
O brave Oliver,
Leave me not behind thee ;
But wi d ttwiiy,
Bcgoue 1 1 ay,
I will nut to wedding with tbee.

[Exeimt Jaq., Touch., and Aud.
iSlur OU. Tis no matter ; ne'era fantastical knave
of them all shall flout me oat of my calling.

[Exit.

SCENE IV The same, B^orea Cottage,

Enter Eosaund and Celia.

Bos. 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.

Jios. But have I not cause to weep?

Cel. As good cause as one would desire ; there-
fore weep.

Boa, His very hair is of the dissembling colour.

CcL Something browner than Judas's: marry,
his kisses are Judks*s own children.

Bvs. V faith, his hair is of a good colour.

Cel. An excellent colour: your chesnut was
ever the only colour.

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

Cel. He hath bought a i^air of cast lips of
Diana: a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not
more religiously ; the very ice of chastity b in
tbcm.

Bos. Rut why did he swear he would come this
morning, and comes not ?

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

Bos. Do Tou think so?



LTKE TT.

CeL Yes; I think he is not a pick-porse, nor a
horse-stealer ; but for his verity in love, 1 do think
him as concave as a covered goblet, or a worm-
eaten nut.

Bos, Not true in love ?

CeL Yes, when he is in ; but, I thmk he ia not in.

Bos. 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 C( mfirmer of false reckonings : He attends
here in the forest on the duke your father.

Bos. I mot the duke yesterday, and had much
question with him : Ho asked me, of what parent-
is 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*s such a man as Orlando ?

CeL 0, that's a brave man I 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 buton one side, breaks bis staff likea nobis
g(iose: but all^ brave that youth mounts, and
folly guides: — Who comes here?

Enter CoRDV.

Cor. Mistress, and master, you have oft inquired
After the shepherd that complain'd of love;
Who you saw sitting bv me on the turf.
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
That was his mistre«js.

CeL Well, and what of him ?

Cor, If von will see a pageant truly play'd.
Between the pale complexion of true love
Aid the red gl<iw of scorn and proud disdain,
Go hence a littie, and I shall conduct you,
If you will mark it.

Bos. 0, come, let us remove;

The sicjht of lovers fecdeth tliose in love :
Bring us but to this si^ht, and you shall say
111 prove a busy actor in their play. [EzewU.

SCENE Y.^AnotherpartofiheForeit,
Enter SiLVius and Phebb.

6iL Sweet Phebe, do not sooth me; do not,
Phebe:
Say, that you love me not ; but sa^ not so
In bitterness : The common executioner, [hard,
Whose heart the accustom 'd sight of death makes
FalN not the axe upon the humbled neck,
But tirst begs pardon ; Will you sterner be
Than he that dies and lives through bloody drops?

Enter RosAUHD J CEiJA,amf Corin, atadistanee,

Phe. I would not be thy executioner;
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
Thou teirst me, there is murther in mine eye ;
Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,
That eves, that are the frairst and softest things,
Who shut their coward gates on atomies,
Should be calPd tyrants, butchers, murtherers!
Now I do fi-own 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, 0, for shame, for shame.
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murtherers.
Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thae;
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remaiu
Some scar of it ; lean upon a rush,
The cicatrice and capable imprcssure,
Th y palm some moment keeps : but now mine eyes.

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Whiob I hare darted at thee, hurt thee not;
Nor, I am sure there is no force in eyee
That can do hurt

Sa, OdearPhebel

If eyer (as that ever may be near)
Too meet in some fresh cheek the power of imcj,
Then shall yoo know the wonnds invisible
That love^ keen arrows make.

I9ie. Bat, till thri time,

Come not thou near me: and, when *^hat time comes,
Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not;
As, till that time, I shall not pity thee.

.fiot. And why, I pray yon? fAdvandng,] Who
might M yonr mother r
That yon msolt, exult, and all at once,
Oyer the wretched? What thongh yon hayo no

beanty
(As, by my fiuth, I see no more in you
Than without candle may go dark to bed).
Hast you be therefore proud and pitiless?
Why, what means this? Why do yon look on me?
I see no more in you than in the ordinary
Of nature's sale-work :~0d% my little life I
I think she means to tangle my eyes too: —
Np* *iaith, proud mistress, hope not after it:
*Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair,
Tour bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream.
That can entame my spirits to your worship.
Ton foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her,
Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain ?
Ton are a thousana times a properer man.
Than she a woman : *Tb such fools as you
That make the world taU of ill-&Tonr v children :
lis not her glass, but you, that flatters her ;
And out of yon she sees herself more oroper
Than any of her lineaments can show her.
But mistress, know yourself, down on your knees.
And thank heayen, fasting, for a good man's love :
For I must tell yon friendly in your ear,
Sen 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.
80, take her to thee, shepherd; hie you well.

Pke, Sweet youth, 1 pray you chide a year
together;
I bad lather hear yon chide than this man woo.

£0$, He^ fallen in love with your foulness, and
shell £U1 in love with my anger; If it be so, as
fkst as she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll
sance her with bitter words.— Why look you so
sponme?

PA€. For no ill will I bear yon.

So$. I pray you, do not fall in love with me,
For I am fiUser 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 >—
Wm you go, sister ? Shepherd, ply her hard ;
Come sister : Shepherdess, look on him better.
And be not proud : though all the world oould see,
None oould be so abused m sight as he.
Come, to our flock.

[Exeunt Boe., Cbl., and Cob.

Phi. Dead shepherd I now I find thy saw of

•^ Wlko ever loy'd, that loy*d not at first sight?"



LIKE IT. 161

SO, Sweet Fhebe,—

Fhe. Ha I what say Ist Aon, Silvius f

SU, Sweet Phebe, pity me.

Phe, Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Sflvint

SU, Wherever sorrow is, relief would be ;
If you do sorrow at my grief in love,
By giving love, your sorrow and my grief
Were Loth eztermin'd.

Phe, Thou hast my love ; Is not that neigh-
bourly?

JBU. I would have vou.

Phe, why, that were oovetoosneas.

Silvius, the time was that I hated thee;
And ^et it is not that I bear thee love :
But since that thou canst talk of love so well,
Th^r company, which erst was irksome to me,
I will enaare ; and 111 employ thee too :
But do not look for further recompense
Than thine own gladness that thou art employed.

SiL So holy and so perfect is my love,
And I in sucn a poverty of grace.
That I shall thmk it a most plenteous crop
To glean the broken ears after the man
That the main harvest reaps : loose now and then
A scattered smile, and that 111 live upon.

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

JSU, 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^

Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him ;
T is but a peevish boy :— yet he talks well ;—
But what care I for words ? vet words do well.
When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.
It is a pretty youth :— not very pretty : —
But, sure, be s proud; and yet his loide becomes

him:
Hell make a proper man : The best thing in him
Is his complexion ; and &ster than his tongue
Did make offence, his eye did heal it up.
He is not very tall ; yet for his years he^ tall :
His leg is but so so ; and yet ^ is well :
There was a pretty redness in hb 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, nad they marked

him
In parcels as I did, would have gone n ear
To fidl in love with him : but, for my part,
I love him not, nor hate him not ; and vet
I 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, soom*d at me :
I marvel why I answered not again :
But that's all one : omittance is no quittance.
Ill write to him a very taunting letter.
And thou shalt bear it ; Wilt thou, Silvius ?
SiL Phebe, with all my heart
Phe. Ill write it straight •

The matter*^ in my head, and in my heart :
I will be bitter with him, and passing short :
Go with me, Silviua. (JESboeunt



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ACT IV.



SCENE L—The



Enter Bosalind, Cblia, and Jaques.

Jaq. I prithee, pretty jontb, let me be better
Bcaoainted with thee.

Boa. They say yon are a melancholy fellow.

Jaq, I am 80: I do love it better than laughing.

Mos. Those that are in extremity of either are
abominable fellows; and betray themselves to
everj modem censure, worse than drunkards.

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

Hot, 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, compounded of many
simples, extracted from many objects, and, indeed,
the sundry contemplation of mj tiavels. in which
my often rumination wraps me m a most humorous
sadness.

Hot, A traveller! By my faith, you have great
reason to be sad : I fear, you have sold your own
lands, to see other mens; then, to have seen
much, and to have nothing, is to have rich Qyoa
and poor hands.

Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience.

Enter Oklasih).

Hoe. And your experience makes you sad : I
had rather have a fool to make me merryj than
experience to make me sad ; and to travel for it too.

OrU Good day, and happiness, dear Uosalind I

Jaq. Nay, then, God be wi' you, an you talk in
blank verse. [Exit.

Bob. Farewell, monsieur traveller: Look you
lisp and wear strange suits ; disable all the benefits
of your own company ; be out of love with your
nativity, and almost chide God for making yon
that countenance you are ; or I will scarce think
you have swam m a gondola. — Why, how now,
Orlando! where have you been all this'whfle? You
a lover?— An you serve me such another trick,
never oome in nov sight more.

OrL "My Cur Rosalind, I come within an lioar
of my promise.

Eos, Break an hour's promise in love? Ho
tlut will divide a minute into a thousand parts,
and break but apart of the thousandth part of a
minute in the afQiirs of love, it may be said of him
that Cupid hath clapped him o' the shoulder, but
I'll warrant him heart-whole.

OrL Pardon me, dear Rosalind.

Eae. 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?

Eoi. Ay, of a snail; for thongh he comes
slowly, he carries his house on his head, a better
jointure, I think, than you can make a woman:
Besides, he brin^ his destiny with him.

Ori. What's that?

Eo$. Whv, horns ; which such as you are fain
to be beliolden 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 virtoous.



Jio». And I am your Rosalind.
CeL It plbases him to call you so : but be hath
a Rosalind of a better leer than yotu

Eos. 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 1 would kiss before I spoke.

Ed. Nay, you were better speak first; and
when you were gravelled for lack of matter, ytw
might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators,
when they are out, they will spit ; and for lovers,
lacking (God warn as I) matter, the cleanliest shift
is to kiss.

Orl. How if the kiss be denied?

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

OrL Who oould be out, being before his beloved
mistress ?

Eos. Marry, that should you, if I were your
mbtress ; or I should think my honesty ranker
than my wit.

OrL What, of my suit?

Eos. 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.

Eos. Well, in ner person, I say — I will not
have vou.

OrL Then, in mine own person, I die.

Eos. 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
1 ies ; men have died from time to time, and vrorms
have eaten them, but not for love.

OrL 1 would not have my right Rosalind of
this mind ; for, I protest, her frown might kill me.

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

OrL Then love me. Rosalind.

Eos. Yes, faith will I, Fridays, and Satordays,
Andall.

OrL And wilt thou have me ?

Eos, Ay, and twenty such.

OrL WW say 'st thou?

Eos, Are you not good?

OrL I hope so.

Eos. Whv, 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, sister ?

OrL Pray thoe, marry us.

CeL I cannot say the words.

Eos. You must begin,— *' Will you, Orlando,"—

CeL Go to ^- Will you Orlando, have to wife
this Rosalind?

OrL ImlL



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Mm. At, but when?

OrL Vnxy, now ; as hat as she can marry as.

£09. Then toq most say,—** I take thee, Roea-
Ind, fbr w ife.^

OrL 1 take thee, BoaaUnd, for wifb.

B09. I might ask yon for year commission;
bat, — I do take thee, OrUndo, for m^r husband :
There^ a ghrl goes before the priest: and,
certainly, a woman's thought runs before her



OrL So do all thoughts; they are winged.

Bot. Now tell me, now long you would have
her. after you haye possessed her.

OrL For ever, and a day.

Boi. Say a day, without the eyer: No, no,
Orlando ; men are April when they woo, Decern-
ber when they wed : maids are May when the;^ are
maids, bot the sky changes when they are wiyes.
I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbery
•ode-pigeon oyer his hen ; more clamorous than a
parrot against rain; more new-&ngled than an
a]>e ; 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 that when
thou art inclined to sleep.

OrL But will my Rosalind do so?

Boi. By my life^ she will do as I do.

OrL 0, but she is wise.

Mo§. Or else she could not haye the wit to do
this: the wiser, the waywarder: Make the doors
upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the case-
ment ; shut that, and twill oat at the key-hole;
•top that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the
chimney*

OrL A man that had a wife with such a wit, he
- -^t sav,— " Wit, whither wUt? "

t. Nay, you might keep that check for it, till
met your wife^ wit going to your neighbour's

OrL And what wit could wit haye to excuse
that?

Bm. Marry, to say— she came to seek you
there. Ton shall never take her vrithoot her
answer, unless you take her without her tongue.
0, that woman that cannot make her fault her
husband^ occasion, let her never nurse her child
herself, for she wUl breed it like a fool.

OrL For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave



a'



LIKE IT. IdS

Oel, You have sfanply mirased our sex in your
love prate: we must have your doublet and nose
plucked over your head, and show the world what
the bird hath done to her own nest

Bot. coz, coz, cos, my pretty little cox, that
thou didst know how many fS&mom deep I am
in love I But it cannot be sounded; mvi^ection
hath an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal.

Od, Or rather, bottomless ; that as fittt as you



Online LibraryWilliam Michael Rossetti William ShakespeareThe complete works of Shakespeare: With a critical biography → online text (page 49 of 224)