Act II, Scene IV — The Forest of Arden.
Enter ROSALIND for GANYMEDE, CELIA for ALIENA, and TOUCHSTONE.
Ros. O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits!
Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary.
Ros. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man’s apparel and to cry like a woman; but I must comfort the 5 weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat: therefore, courage, good Aliena.
Cel. I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go no further.
Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear you: yet I should bear no cross, if I did bear you; for 10 I think you have no money in your purse.
Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden.
Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden; the more fool I; when I was at home, I was in a better place: but travellers must be content. 15
Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone.
Enter CORIN and SILVIUS.
Look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in solemn talk.
Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still.
Sil. O Corin, that thou knew’st how I do love her! 20
Cor. I partly guess; for I have loved ere now.
Sil. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess, Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover As ever sigh’d upon a midnight pillow: But if thy love were ever like to mine,— 25 As sure I think did never man love so,— How many actions most ridiculous Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?
Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.
Sil. O, thou didst then ne’er love so heartily! 30 If thou remember’st not the slightest folly That ever love did make thee run into, Thou hast not loved: Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, Wearing thy hearer in thy mistress’ praise, 35 Thou hast not loved: Or if thou hast not broke from company Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, Thou hast not loved. O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe! [Exit. 40
Ros. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found mine own.
Touch. And I mine. I remember, when I was in love I broke my sword upon a stone and bid him take that for coming a-night to Jane Smile: and I remember the kissing 45 of her batlet and the cow’s dugs that her pretty chopt hands had milked: and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her; from whom I took two cods and, giving her them again, said with weeping tears ‘Wear these for my sake.’ We that are true lovers run into strange capers; 50 but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.
Ros. Thou speakest wiser than thou art ware of.
Touch. Nay, I shall ne’er be ware of mine own wit till I break my shins against it. 55
Ros. Jove, Jove! this shepherd’s passion Is much upon my fashion.
Touch. And mine; but it grows something stale with me.
Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man If he for gold will give us any food: 60 I faint almost to death.
Touch. Holla, you clown!
Ros. Peace, fool: he’s not thy kinsman.
Cor. Who calls?
Touch. Your betters, sir.
Cor. Else are they very wretched.
Ros. Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend.
Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. 65
Ros. I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold Can in this desert place buy entertainment, Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed: Here’s a young maid with travel much oppress’d And faints for succour.
Cor. Fair sir, I pity her 70 And wish, for her sake more than for mine own, My fortunes were more able to relieve her; But I am shepherd to another man And do not shear the fleeces that I graze: My master is of churlish disposition 75 And little recks to find the way to heaven By doing deeds of hospitality: Besides, his cote, his flocks and bounds of feed Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now, By reason of his absence, there is nothing 80 That you will feed on; but what is, come see, And in my voice most welcome shall you be.
Ros. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture?
Cor. That young swain that you saw here but erewhile, That little cares for buying any thing. 85
Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, Buy thou the cottage, pasture and the flock, And thou shalt have to pay for it of us.
Cel. And we will mend thy wages. I like this place, And willingly could waste my time in it. 90
Cor. Assuredly the thing is to be sold: Go with me: if you like upon report The soil, the profit and this kind of life, I will your very faithful feeder be And buy it with your gold right suddenly. [Exeunt. 95
~~~~~ Linenotes: As You Like It, II, 4.
Act II, Scene IV — Enter...] Enter Rosaline...and Clowne, alias Touchstone. Ff
1: weary] Theobald (Warburton). merry Ff.
8: cannot] F1. can F2 F3 F4.
13: Arden] a den Upton conj.
16, 17: S. Walker would read as verse Ay, Be so...here; A young...talk.
16: Enter C. and S.] Ff (after line 15).
24: ever] F1. ere F2 F3 F4.
30: ne’er] Rowe. never Ff.
34: sat] F1. sate F2 F3 F4. spake Collier MS.
35: Wearing] F1. Wearying F2 F3 F4. Wear’ing Grant White.
39: [Exit.] F1. Exeunt. F2 F3 F4.
41: of thy wound] Rowe. of they would F1. of their wound F2 F3 F4.
45: a-night] a night F1. a nights F2 F3 F4. o’ nights Capell. o’ night Malone.
46: batlet] F2 F3 F4. batler F1.
48: cods] peas Johnson conj.
56: Jove, Jove] Love, Love Collier (Collier MS.).
57: much upon] too much on Collier (from Collier MS).
58: After this line Collier (from Collier MS.) inserts And begins to fail with me.
59: yond] you’d Ff.
63: are they very] they are Rowe (ed. 1) they are very Rowe (ed. 2). they’re very Hanmer.
64: you,] your F1.
73: shepherd] a shepherd Rowe.
76: recks] Hanmer. wreakes F1 F2. wreaks F3 F4.
78: cote] Hanmer. coate F1 F2. coat F3 F4.
89, 90: Arranged as in Cappell. As three lines ending wages...could...it Ff. As three lines ending wages...waste...it Rowe (ed. 2).
89: wages] wage Lloyd conj.
94: feeder] factor W. Walker conj. ~~~~~
Act II, Scene V — The forest.
Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others.
SONG.
Ami. Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird’s throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither: 5 Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.
Jaq. More, more, I prithee, more.
Ami. It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques. 10
Jaq. I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more.
Ami. My voice is ragged: I know I cannot please you.
Jaq. I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to 15 sing. Come, more; another stanzo: call you ’em stanzos?
Ami. What you will, Monsieur Jaques.
Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing. Will you sing?
Ami. More at your request than to please myself. 20
Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I’ll thank you; but that they call compliment is like the encounter of two dog-apes, and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks I have given him a penny and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold 25 your tongues.
Ami. Well, I’ll end the song. Sirs, cover the while; the Duke will drink under this tree. He hath been all this day to look you.
Jaq. And I have been all this day to avoid him. He 30 is too disputable for my company: I think of as many matters as he; but I give heaven thanks, and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come.
SONG.
Who doth ambition shun, [All together here. And loves to live i’ the sun, 35 Seeking the food he eats, And pleased with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy 40 But winter and rough weather.
Jaq. I’ll give you a verse to this note, that I made yesterday in despite of my invention.
Ami. And I’ll sing it.
Jaq. Thus it goes:— 45
If it do come to pass That any man turn ass, Leaving his wealth and ease A stubborn will to please, Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame: 50 Here shall he see Gross fools as he, An if he will come to me.
Ami. What’s that ‘ducdame’?
Jaq. ’Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. 55 I’ll go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I’ll rail against all the first-born of Egypt.
Ami. And I’ll go seek the Duke: his banquet is prepared.
[Exeunt severally.
~~~~~ Linenotes: As You Like It, II, 5.
1: Ami.] Capell. om. Ff.
greenwood] greenhood F4.
3: turn] F3 F4. turne F1 F2. tune Rowe (ed. 2).
6: Here] Cho. Here Capell.
he] we Capell (corrected in MS.).
11–13: Printed in Ff as three lines ending more...song...more.
14: ragged] rugged Rowe.
16: Come, more] Come, come Rowe.
stanzo...stanzos] stanza...stanzas Steevens (Capell conj.). stanze...stanzes Anon. conj.
18: owe] F1. owne F2. own F3 F4.
22: compliment] complement Ff.
28: drink] dine Rowe.
30–33: And......them] Printed as four lines ending him...company:...give...them. in Ff. First as prose by Pope.
34: [All together...] Altogether... Ff. om. Rowe.
35: live] lye F4.
39: Here] Cho. Here Capell.
39–41: Here......weather] F3 F4. Heere shall he see, &c. F1 F2.
39: he] you Rowe.
44, 45: Ami. And...it. Jaq. Thus it goes] Amy. And Ile sing it. Amy. Thus it goes. F1.
50, 54: Ducdame.........ducdame] Duc ad me....Duc ad me Hanmer. Huc ad me...Huc ad me Anon. ap. Steevens conj.
53: to me] to Ami. Steevens (Farmer conj.). to the same Anon. conj. ~~~~~
Act II, Scene VI — The forest.
Enter ORLANDO and ADAM.
Adam. Dear master, I can go no further: O, I die for food! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master.
Orl. Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee? Live a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little. If this 5 uncouth forest yield any thing savage, I will either be food for it or bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. For my sake be comfortable; hold death awhile at the arm’s end: I will here be with thee presently; and if I bring thee not something to eat, I will give 10 thee leave to die: but if thou diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said! thou lookest cheerly, and I’ll be with thee quickly. Yet thou liest in the bleak air: come, I will bear thee to some shelter; and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this 15 desert. Cheerly, good Adam! [Exeunt.
~~~~~ Linenotes: As You Like It, II, 6.
1–3: Printed as three verses ending further...downe...master in Ff. First as prose by Pope.
1: I die] I die, I die S. Walker conj., making three lines ending O...down...master.
4–16: Printed as seventeen lines in Ff. First as prose by Pope.
5: comfort] comfort thee Anon. conj.
8: comfortable] comforted Collier MS. (Caldecott).
9: here be] be here Rowe.
10: I will] I’ll Pope.
12: cheerly] F4. cheerely F1 F2 F3. cheerily Reed. ~~~~~
Act II, Scene VII — The forest.
A table set out. Enter DUKE senior, AMIENS, and Lords like outlaws.
Duke S. I think he be transform’d into a beast; For I can no where find him like a man.
First Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone hence: Here was he merry, hearing of a song.
Duke S. If he, compact of jars, grow musical, 5 We shall have shortly discord in the spheres. Go, seek him: tell him I would speak with him.
Enter JAQUES.
First Lord. He saves my labour by his own approach.
Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this, That your poor friends must woo your company? 10 What, you look merrily!
Jaq. A fool, a fool! I met a fool i’ the forest, A motley fool; a miserable world! As I do live by food, I met a fool; Who laid him down and bask’d him in the sun, 15 And rail’d on Lady Fortune in good terms, In good set terms, and yet a motley fool. ‘Good morrow, fool,’ quoth I. ‘No, sir,’ quoth he, ‘Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune:’ And then he drew a dial from his poke, 20 And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, ‘It is ten o’clock: Thus we may see,’ quoth he, ‘how the world wags: ’Tis but an hour ago since it was nine; And after one hour more ’twill be eleven; 25 And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot; And thereby hangs a tale.’ When I did hear The motley fool thus moral on the time, My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, 30 That fools should be so deep-contemplative; And I did laugh sans intermission An hour by his dial. O noble fool! A worthy fool! Motley’s the only wear.
Duke S. What fool is this? 35
Jaq. O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier, And says, if ladies be but young and fair, They have the gift to know it: and in his brain, Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm’d 40 With observation, the which he vents In mangled forms. O that I were a fool! I am ambitious for a motley coat.
Duke S. Thou shalt have one.
Jaq. It is my only suit; Provided that you weed your better judgements 45 Of all opinion that grows rank in them That I am wise. I must have liberty Withal, as large a charter as the wind, To blow on whom I please; for so fools have; And they that are most galled with my folly, 50 They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so? The ‘why’ is plain as way to parish church: He that a fool doth very wisely hit Doth very foolishly, although he smart, Not to seem senseless of the bob: if not, 55 The wise man’s folly is anatomized Even by the squandering glances of the fool. Invest me in my motley; give me leave To speak my mind, and I will through and through Cleanse the foul body of the infected world, 60 If they will patiently receive my medicine.
Duke S. Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do.
Jaq. What, for a counter, would I do but good?
Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin: For thou thyself hast been a libertine, 65 As sensual as the brutish sting itself; And all the embossed sores and headed evils, That thou with license of free foot hast caught, Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.
Jaq. Why, who cries out on pride, 70 That can therein tax any private party? Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, Till that the weary very means do ebb? What woman in the city do I name, When that I say the city-woman bears 75 The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders? Who can come in and say that I mean her, When such a one as she such is her neighbour? Or what is he of basest function, That says his bravery is not of my cost, 80 Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits His folly to the mettle of my speech? There then; how then? what then? Let me see wherein My tongue hath wrong’d him: if it do him right, Then he hath wrong’d himself; if he be free, 85 Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies, Unclaim’d of any man. But who comes here?
Enter ORLANDO, with his sword drawn.
Orl. Forbear, and eat no more.
Jaq. Why, I have eat none yet.
Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be served.
Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of? 90
Duke S. Art thou thus bolden’d, man, by thy distress, Or else a rude despiser of good manners, That in civility thou seem’st so empty?
Orl. You touch’d my vein at first: the thorny point Of bare distress hath ta’en from me the show 95 Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred And know some nurture. But forbear, I say: He dies that touches any of this fruit Till I and my affairs are answered.
Jaq. An you will not be answered with reason, I 100 must die.
Duke S. What would you have? Your gentleness shall force, More than your force move us to gentleness.
Orl. I almost die for food; and let me have it.
Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table. 105
Orl. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you: I thought that all things had been savage here; And therefore put I on the countenance Of stern commandment. But whate’er you are That in this desert inaccessible, 110 Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time; If ever you have look’d on better days, If ever been where bells have knoll’d to church, If ever sat at any good man’s feast, 115 If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear And know what ’tis to pity and be pitied, Let gentleness my strong enforcement be: In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.
Duke S. True is it that we have seen better days, 120 And have with holy bell been knoll’d to church And sat at good men’s feasts and wiped our eyes Of drops that sacred pity hath engender’d: And therefore sit you down in gentleness And take upon command what help we have 125 That to your wanting may be minister’d.
Orl. Then but forbear your food a little while, Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn And give it food. There is an old poor man, Who after me hath many a weary step 130 Limp’d in pure love: till he be first sufficed, Oppress’d with two weak evils, age and hunger, I will not touch a bit.
Duke S. Go find him out, And we will nothing waste till you return.
Orl. I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort! 135
[Exit.
Duke S. Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy: This wide and universal theatre Presents more woeful pageants than the scene Wherein we play in.
Jaq. All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players: 140 They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms. Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel 145 And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, 150 Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, 155 Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide 160 For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, 165 Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.
Re-enter ORLANDO, with ADAM.
Duke S. Welcome. Set down your venerable burthen, And let him feed.
Orl. I thank you most for him.
Adam. So had you need: I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. 170
Duke S. Welcome; fall to: I will not trouble you As yet, to question you about your fortunes. Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing.
SONG.
Ami. Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind 175 As man’s ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly: 180 Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: Then, heigh-ho, the holly! This life is most jolly.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky That dost not bite so nigh 185 As benefits forgot: Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remember’d not. Heigh-ho! sing, &c. 190
Duke S. If that you were the good Sir Rowland’s son, As you have whisper’d faithfully you were, And as mine eye doth his effigies witness Most truly limn’d and living in your face, Be truly welcome hither: I am the Duke 195 That loved your father: the residue of your fortune, Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man, Thou art right welcome as thy master is. Support him by the arm. Give me your hand, And let me all your fortunes understand. [Exeunt. 200
~~~~~ Linenotes: As You Like It, II, 7.
Act II, Scene VII — A table set out] Rowe
Enter...] Enter Duke Sen. & Lord,... Ff.
10: After this line Capell inserts And cannot have ’t?
13: miserable world] miserable varlet Hanmer (Warburton). miserable word Becket conj. miserable!—well,— Jackson conj. miserable ort Hunter conj.
25: one] an Reed (1803).
31: deep-contemplative] Reed.
34–36: A worthy...O worthy] O worthy...A worthy Anon. conj.
53: He that] He whom Pope.
54, 55: Doth very foolishly,...Not to seem] Doth, very foolishly...Seem Whiter conj.
55: Not to seem senseless] Theobald (Warburton). Sceme senselesse Ff. But to seem senseless Collier (Collier MS.). Seem else than senseless or Seem less than senseless Anon. conj.
56: wise man’s] Wise-man’s F1 F2 F3. wise-man’s F4.
64: sin] fin F1.
66: sting] sty Johnson conj.
73: weary very means] F3 F4. (meanes F3). wearie verie meanes F1 F2. very very means Pope. weary venom means Jackson conj. very wearing means Collier conj. very means of wear Collier MS. wearer’s very means Singer. weary-very means or very-weary means Staunton conj. tributary streams Lloyd conj.
83: There then; how then? what then?] There then, how then, what then, Ff. There then; how, what then? Capell. Where then? how...then? Malone conj.
what then? Let me] Let me then Hanmer.
87: any....comes] F2 F3 F4. any man. But who come F1.
Enter......drawn.] Theobald. Enter Orlando. Ff.
90: Of what] What Capell conj.
come of] come Rowe.
95: hath] F1. that hath F2 F3 F4.
ta’en] torn Johnson conj.
100, 101: Printed as verse, ending reason...die in Ff. First as prose by Capell. If...not Be...die Pope.
100: An] And Ff. If Pope.
answered] answer’d Ff.
reason] reasons Staunton conj.
102, 103: As three lines ending have?...your force...gentleness in Ff.
109: commandment] command’ment Ff.
119: blush] F1. bush F2 F3 F4.
125: command] demand Johnson conj. commend Collier (Collier MS.).
130: a] om. F4.
132: Oppressed....hunger] Should follow line 129. Anon. conj.
135: [Exit.] Rowe. om. Ff.
139: Wherein we play in] Wherein we play Pope. Which we do play in Capell conj.
Wherein... Jaq. All] Wherein in we play. Jaq. Why, all Steevens conj. wherein we play. Jaq. Ay, all Anon. conj.
141: exits] Exits (in italics) Ff.
143: ages] labours Mason conj.
At first] As first Capell conj. Act first or First Anon. conj.
145: Then] And then Rowe (ed. 2). Then there’s Anon. conj.
150: pard] Pand Anon. conj.
161: shank] F3 F4. shanke F1 F2. shanks Hanmer.
167, 168: Welcome...feed] Printed as prose in Ff.
174: Ami.] Amiens sings. Johnson. om. Ff.
175–178: As two lines in Ff.
178: Because] Beside, Becket conj.
Because...seen] Thou causest not that teen Hanmer. Because the heart’s not seen Farmer conj. Because thou art foreseen Staunton conj.
seen] sheen Warburton.
182: Then,] Rowe. The Ff.
184–189: As four lines in Ff.
189: remember’d] remembering Hanmer.
198: master] masters F1. ~~~~~
Act III, Scene I — A room in the palace.
Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, and OLIVER.
Duke F. Not see 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: Find out thy brother, wheresoe’er he is; 5 Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more To seek a living in our territory. Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine Worth seizure do we seize into our hands, 10 Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother’s mouth Of what we think against thee.
Oli. O that your Highness knew my heart in this! I never loved my brother in my life.
Duke F. More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors; 15 And let my officers of such a nature Make an extent upon his house and lands: Do this expediently and turn him going. [Exeunt.
~~~~~ Linenotes: As You Like It, III, 1.
Act III, Scene I — A room...] Capell
Duke F.] Duke, F1.
1: see] seen Singer (Collier MS.).
3: seek] F1. see F2 F3 F4. ~~~~~
Act III, Scene II — The Forest.
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. O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books 5 And in their barks my thoughts I’ll character; That every eye which in this forest looks Shall see thy virtue witness’d every where. Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree The fair, the chaste and unexpressive she. [Exit. 10
Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE.
Cor. And how like you this shepherd’s life, Master Touchstone?
Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life; but in respect that it is a shepherd’s life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in 15 respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now, in respect 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 20 philosophy in thee, shepherd?
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 makes 25 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 complain of good breeding or comes of a very dull kindred.
Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court, shepherd? 30
Cor. No, truly.
Touch. Then thou art damned.
Cor. Nay, I hope.
Touch. Truly, thou art damned like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side. 35
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 wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd. 40
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. 45
Touch. Instance, briefly; come, instance.
Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their fells, you know, are greasy.
Touch. Why, do not your courtier’s hands sweat? and is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of 50 a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say; come.
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 55 our sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier’s hands are perfumed with civet.
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 60 flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd.
Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me: I ’ll rest.
Touch. Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee, shallow man! God make incision in thee! thou art raw.
Cor. Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get that 65 I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man’s happiness, glad of other men’s good, content with my harm, and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck.
Touch. That is another simple sin in you, to bring the ewes and the rams together and to offer to get your living 70 by the copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a bell-wether, and to betray a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not damned for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst ’scape. 75
Cor. Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress’s brother.
Enter ROSALIND, with a paper, reading.
Ros. From the east to western Ind, No jewel is like Rosalind. Her worth, being mounted on the wind, 80 Through all the world bears Rosalind. All the pictures fairest lined Are but black to Rosalind. Let no face be kept in mind But the fair of Rosalind. 85
Touch. I’ll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners and suppers and sleeping-hours excepted: it is the right butter-women’s rank to market.
Ros. Out, fool!
Touch. For a taste: 90
If a hart do lack a hind, Let him seek out Rosalind. If the cat will after kind, So be sure will Rosalind. Winter garments must be lined, 95 So must slender Rosalind. They that reap must sheaf and bind; Then to cart with Rosalind. Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, Such a nut is Rosalind. 100 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?
Ros. Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree. 105
Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.
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. 110
Touch. You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest judge.
Enter CELIA, with a writing.
Ros. Peace! Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside.
Cel. [reads] Why should this a desert be? 115 For it is unpeopled? No; Tongues I’ll hang on every tree, That shall civil sayings show: Some, how brief the life of man Runs his erring pilgrimage, 120 That the stretching of a span Buckles in his sum of age; Some, of violated vows ’Twixt the souls of friend and friend: But upon the fairest boughs, 125 Or at every sentence end, Will I Rosalinda write, Teaching all that read to know The quintessence of every sprite Heaven would in little show. 130 Therefore Heaven Nature charged That one body should be fill’d With all graces wide-enlarged: Nature presently distill’d Helen’s cheek, but not her heart, 135 Cleopatra’s majesty, Atalanta’s better part, Sad Lucretia’s modesty. Thus Rosalind of many parts By heavenly synod was devised; 140 Of many faces, eyes and hearts, To have the touches dearest prized. Heaven would that she these gifts should have, And I to live and die her slave.
Ros. O most gentle pulpiter! what tedious homily of 145 love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried ‘Have patience, good people’!
Cel. How now! back, friends! Shepherd, go off a little. Go with him, sirrah.
Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable 150 retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage. [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. 155
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.
Cel. But didst thou hear without wondering how thy 160 name should be hanged and carved upon these trees?
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-rhymed since Pythagoras’ time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember. 165
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?
Ros. I prithee, who? 170
Cel. O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes and so encounter.
Ros. Nay, but who is it?
Cel. Is it possible? 175
Ros. Nay, I prithee now with most petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is.
Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all hooping! 180
Ros. Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am caparisoned 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 185 pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-mouthed 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. 190
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.
Ros. Why, God will send more, if the man will be thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay 195 me not the knowledge of his chin.
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. 200
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 sawest him? What 205 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.
Cel. You must borrow me Gargantua’s mouth first: ’tis 210 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.
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 215 wrestled?
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 observance. I found him under a tree, like a dropped acorn. 220
Ros. It may well be called Jove’s tree, when it drops forth such fruit.
Cel. Give me audience, good madam.
Ros. Proceed.
Cel. There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded 225 knight.
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 furnished like a hunter. 230
Ros. O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.
Cel. I would sing my song without a burden: thou bringest me out of tune.
Ros. Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on. 235
Cel. You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here?
Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES.
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 sake, 240 I thank you too for your society.
Jaq. God buy 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. 245
Orl. I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading them ill-favouredly.
Jaq. Rosalind is your love’s name?
Orl. Yes, just.
Jaq. I do not like her name. 250
Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you when she was christened.
Jaq. What stature is she of?
Orl. Just as high as my heart.
Jaq. You are full of pretty answers. Have you not 255 been acquainted with goldsmiths’ wives, and conned them out of rings?
Orl. Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence you have studied your questions.
Jaq. You have a nimble wit: I think ’twas made of 260 Atalanta’s heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two will rail against our mistress the world, and all our misery.
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 love. 265
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.
Orl. He is drowned in the brook: look but in, and you 270 shall see him.
Jaq. There I shall see mine own figure.
Orl. Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.
Jaq. I’ll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good Signior Love. 275
Orl. I am glad of your departure: adieu, good Monsieur Melancholy. [Exit Jaques.
Ros. [Aside to Celia] I will speak to him like a saucy lackey, and under that habit play the knave with him. Do you hear, forester? 280
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.
Ros. Then there is no true lover in the forest; else 285 sighing every minute and groaning every hour would detect the lazy foot of Time as well as a clock.
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 290 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.
Orl. I prithee, who doth he trot withal?
Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between 295 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.
Orl. Who ambles Time withal?
Ros. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich man 300 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 wasteful learning, the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury: these Time ambles withal. 305
Orl. Who doth he gallop withal?
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?
Ros. With lawyers in the vacation; for they sleep between 310 term and term and then they perceive not how Time moves.
Orl. Where dwell you, pretty youth?
Ros. With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat. 315
Orl. Are you native of this place?
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.
Ros. I have been told so of many: but indeed an old 320 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 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 325 taxed their whole sex withal.
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 330 monstrous till his fellow-fault came to match it.
Orl. I prithee, recount some of them.
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; 335 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.
Orl. I am he that is so love-shaked: I pray you, tell 340 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 prisoner.
Orl. What were his marks? 345
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 350 be ungartered, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied and every thing about you demonstrating a careless 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. 355
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 360 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?
Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he. 365
Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak?
Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.
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 370 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?
Ros. Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress; and I set him every day to woo 375 me: at which time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing and liking; proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles; for every passion something and for no passion truly any thing, as boys and women are for the 380 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; which was, to forswear the full stream of the world and to 385 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. 390
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.
Ros. Go with me to it and I’ll show it you: and by 395 the way you shall tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go?
Orl. With all my heart, good youth.
Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you go? [Exeunt. 400
~~~~~ Linenotes: As You Like It, III, 2.
Act III, Scene II — Enter...paper] Capell. Enter Orlando. Ff
11: SCENE III. Pope.
25: good] pood F1.
28: good] bad Hanmer. gross Warburton.
33: hope.] hope— Rowe.
41: Touchstone] Mr. Touchstone Capell.
50: a mutton] F1. mutton F2 F3 F4.
54: more sounder] sounder Pope.
56: courtier’s] countiers F2.
59: flesh indeed!] flesh indeed: Ff. flesh: indeed!— Steevens.
71: bawd] F1 F2. a bawd F3 F4.
76: Master] M^r Ff.
77: SCENE IV. Pope.
Enter R....reading.] Capell. Enter Rosalind. Ff.
78: western] the western Pope.
82: lined] Linde F1 F2 F3. Lind F4. limn’d Capell.
84: face] fair S. Walker conj.
85: the fair of] F1 F2. the most fair F3 F4. the face of Rowe (ed. 2). of the fair Becket conj.
88: rank to] F3 F4. ranke to F1 F2. rate to Hanmer. rant at Grey conj.
95: Winter] F3 F4. Wintred F1 F2.
99: nut] F1 F2. meat F3 F4.
112: forest] forester Warburton.
113: SCENE V. Pope.
115: [reads] om. Ff.
a desert] Rowe. desert Ff. desert silent Steevens (Tyrwhitt conj.).
129: The] F1 F2. This F3 F4.
131: charged] charg’d F1 F2. chang’d F3 F4.
135: cheek] cheeke F1 F2. cheeks F3 F4.
her] Rowe. his Ff.
145: pulpiter] Edd. (Spedding conj.). Jupiter Ff. Juniper Warburton.
147: cried] cride, have your parishiones withall, and never cri’de F2.
148: back, friends] back-friends Theobald.
152: [Exeunt C. and T.] Exit. Ff.
153: SCENE VI. Pope.
162: the wonder] F1 wonder F2 F3 F4.
163, 164: palm-tree] plane-tree Collier conj.
164: Pythagoras’] Pythagoras. Ff. Pythagoras’s Rowe.
168: And] Ay, and Capell.
169: you] F1 F2. your F3 F4.
177: tell] till F2.
180: hooping] F1 F2 F3. hoping F4. whooping Theobald.
181: Good my] Odd’s my Theobald. Good! cry Becket conj. Goad my Jackson conj. Hood my Staunton conj.
complexion] coz perplexer Heath conj.
182: hose] F1. a hose F2 F3 F4.
183, 184: South-sea of discovery;] South-sea off discovery. Theobald (Warburton). South-sea Discover, Johnson conj. South-sea discovery: Id. conj. south-sea-off discovery. Capell.
184: who is it] who is it? Hanmer. who it is Anon. conj.
200: maid] mind Anon. conj.
210: Gargantua’s] Garagantua’s Pope.
212: in] om. Heath conj.
216: wrestled] wrastled F1 F3 F4. wrasted F2.
217: atomies] F1 F2. atomes F3 F4. atoms Rowe.
219: good] a good Steevens.
219, 220: a tree] an oak-tree Hanmer (Warburton conj.).
221, 222: drops forth such] F2 F3 F4. droppes forth F1. drops such Capell.
229: thy tongue] Rowe. the tongue Ff.
230: unseasonably] very unseasonably Reed (1803).
231: heart] Hart Ff.
236: SCENE VII. Pope.
here] heere F1. nerre F2. _near _ F3 F4.
Enter...] Ff (after line 235).
242: buy] Ff. b’w’ Rowe.
246: more] moe F1.
258: you] your Mason conj.
right] right in the stile of the Hanmer.
259: your] you F2.
264: most] F1. no F2 F3 F4.
276: SCENE VIII. Pope.
277: [Exit...] om. Ff.
280: [Advances. Capell.
290: paces] F1 F2. places F3 F4.
294: who] F1. whom F2 F3 F4.
doth he trot] ambles Time Hunter conj.
295: trots hard] ambles Id. conj.
297: hard] ambling Id. conj.
298: year] years F4.
299: ambles Time] doth he trot Hunter conj.
305: ambles] trots Hunter conj.
306: Who] F1. Whom F2 F3 F4.
309: Who] F1. Whom F2 F3 F4.
stays it] stands he Collier (Collier MS.).
317: kindled] kind-led Pope. See note (VII).
323: lectures] F3 F4. lectors F1. lecturs F2.
324: and] om. F3 F4.
330: one] F1 F2. ones F3 F4.
331: monstrous] most monstrous S. Walker conj.
335: barks] borkes F2.
337: deifying] F2 F3 F4. defying F1.
344: are] art F1.
346: blue] flu Becket conj.
349, 350: in beard] F1. no beard F2 F3 F4.
354. accoutrements] Rowe. accoustrements Ff.
384: his mad...living] Ff. a dying...living Johnson conj. a mad...loving Id. conj.
living humour of madness] humour of loving madness Farmer conj.
388: clean] F1. cleare F2. cleer F3. clear F4. ~~~~~
Act III, Scene III — The forest.
Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES behind.
Touch. 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 us! what features?
Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most 5 capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.
Jaq. [Aside] O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove in a thatched house!
Touch. When a man’s verses cannot be understood, nor a man’s good wit seconded with the forward child, understanding, 10 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? 15
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.
Aud. Do you wish then that the gods had made me poetical? 20
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.
Aud. Would you not have me honest?
Touch. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favoured; for 25 honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar.
Jaq. [Aside] A material fool!
Aud. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods make me honest.
Touch. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul 30 slut were to put good meat into an unclean dish.
Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul.
Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness! sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will 35 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! 40
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:’ right; 45 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 walled town is more worthier 50 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. Here comes Sir Oliver.
Enter SIR OLIVER MARTEXT.
Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met: will you dispatch us 55 here under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel?
Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the woman?
Touch. I will not take her on gift of any man.
Sir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful. 60
Jaq. 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. 65
Jaq. Will you 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 nibbling.
Jaq. And will you, being a man of your breeding, be 70 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. 75
Touch. [Aside] 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. 80
Touch. Come, sweet Audrey: We must be married, or we must live in bawdry. Farewell, good Master Oliver: not,—
O sweet Oliver, O brave Oliver, 85 Leave me not behind thee:
but,—
Wind away, Begone, I say, I will not to wedding with thee.
[Exeunt Jaques, Touchstone and Audrey. 90
Sir Oli. ’Tis no matter: ne’er a fantastical knave of them all shall flout me out of my calling. [Exit.
~~~~~ Linenotes: As You Like It, III, 3.
Act III, Scene III — ] SCENE IX. Pope
...behind.] om. Ff.
2: how] F1 F2. now F3 F4.
4: jeatures!...what features] feature!...what’s feature Farmer conj.
11: reckoning] reeking Hanmer.
17, 18: what they...feign] what they swear as lovers, they may be said to feign as poets Johnson conj.
18: may] it may Collier (Mason conj.).
30: foul] faule F2.
32, 33: I am foul] I am full Tyrwhitt conj. for my foulness Ritson conj.
41: may] might Collier MS.
43: horn-beasts] horne-beasts F1 F2. horn’d beasts S. Walker conj.
48: Horns?......alone?] Theobald. horns, even so poor men alone: Ff. Horns!, never for poor men alone? Singer. Are horns given to poor men alone? Collier (Collier MS.). Horns? ever to poor men alone? Dyce. Horns are not for poor men alone. Spedding conj.
50: more] om. Pope.
62: What-ye-call’t] What ye call Rowe (ed. 2).
63: God ’ild] Theobald. goddild F1. godild F2 F3 F4.
67: bow] bough Capell.
68: her] F1 F2. his F3 F4.
80: Johnson proposes to place this line after line 82. See note (VIII).
83: Master] Sir Warburton.
83, 84: not,—O sweet] Not, o sweet Capell.
84–86, 88–90: Printed as prose in Ff, as verse by Johnson (Warburton conj.).
86: behind thee] behi’ thee Steevens (Farmer conj.)
87, 88: but,—Wind] But wind Capell.
88: Wind] Wend Collier (Johnson conj.).
90: with thee] wi’ thee Steevens (Farmer conj.). bind thee Collier (Collier MS.). with thee to-day Johnson conj.
[Exeunt J. T. and A.] Exeunt. Ff (after line 92). ~~~~~
Act III, Scene IV — 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?
Cel. As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep. 5
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 10 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 nun of winter’s sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the 15 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? 20
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?
Cel. Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in. 25
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 confirmer of false reckonings. He attends here in the forest on the Duke your father. 30
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?
Cel. O, that’s a brave man! he writes brave verses, 35 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? 40
Enter CORIN.
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? 45
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. If you will mark it.
Ros. O, come, let us remove: 50 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.
~~~~~ Linenotes: As You Like It, III, 4.
Act III, Scene IV — ] SCENE X. Pope
12–16: Ros. And...bread. Cel. He...them] Ros. And his kissing— Cel. Is as...them. S. Walker conj.
13: bread] beard Theobald (Warburton).
14: cast] F1. chast F2 F3 F4.
15: winter’s] Winifred’s Theobald conj.
27: a lover] F2 F3 F4. lover F1.
29: confirmer] Ff. confirmers Pope.
38: puisny] Ff. puny Capell. See note (IX).
spurs] spurnes F2.
39: noble goose] nose-quill’d goose Hanmer. noble joust Becket conj.
40: guides] guider F2.
43: Who] F1. Whom F2 F3 F4.
52: Bring us to] Ff. Bring us but to Pope. Come, bring us to Capell. Bring us unto Malone. ~~~~~
Act III, Scene V — 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, Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck 5 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: I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. Thou tell’st me there is murder in mine eye: 10 ’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 call’d tyrants, butchers, murderers! Now I do frown on thee with all my heart; 15 And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee: Now counterfeit to swoon; 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, Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not, 25 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,— You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy. Then shall you know the wounds invisible 30 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 mother, 35 That you insult, exult, and all at once, Over the wretched? What though you have no 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! No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it: 45 ’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. You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her, Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain? 50 You are a thousand times a properer man Than she a woman: ’tis such fools as you That makes the world full of ill-favoured children: ’Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her; And out of you she sees herself more proper 55 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: 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: I had rather hear you chide than this man woo. 65
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 answers thee with frowning looks, I’ll sauce her with bitter words. Why look you so upon me?
Phe. For no ill will I bear you. 70
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. 75 Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better, And be not proud: though all the world could see, None could be so abused in sight as he. Come, to our flock. [Exeunt Rosalind, Celia and Corin.
Phe. Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might, 80 ‘Who ever loved that loved not 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: 85 If you do sorrow at my grief in love, By giving love your sorrow and my grief Were both extermined.
Phe. Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly?
Sil. I would have you.
Phe. Why, that were covetousness. 90 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: 95 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 100 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.
Phe. Know’st thou the youth that spoke to me erewhile?
Sil. Not very well, but I have met him oft; 105 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; ’Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well; But what care I for words? yet words do well 110 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 115 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 120 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, 125 I love him not nor hate him not; and yet 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, scorn’d at me: 130 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.
Phe. I’ll write it straight; 135 The matter’s in my head and in my heart: I will be bitter with him and passing short. Go with me, Silvius. [Exeunt.
~~~~~ Linenotes: As You Like It, III, 5.
Act III, Scene V — ] SCENE XI. Pope
1: Phebe;] Rowe. Phebe F1 F2. Phebe, F3 F4.
7: dies and lives] Ff. deals and lives Theobald (Warburton). lives and thrives Hanmer. dies his lips Johnson conj. daily lives Heath conj. eyes, and lives Capell. dyes, and lives Steevens. lives and dies Tollet conj. dines and lives Collier. kills and lives Collier MS.
drops] props F2.
...behind] om. Ff.
11: pretty, sure] Theobald. pretty sure Ff.
17: swoon] swound Ff.
22: but] om. F1.
23: capable] Ff. palpable Singer.
26: Nor] Now De Quincey MS.
27: O dear] O my dear Hanmer.
29: meet] F1 met F2 F3 F4.
35: [Advancing. Capell.
36: and all at once] and rail at once Theobald (Warburton). and domineer Hanmer. à l’outrecuidance Forbes conj.
37: have no] have Theobald (L. H. conj.). have some Hanmer. had more Mason conj. have mo Malone.
37, 38: no...As] more... Yet De Quincey MS.
44: my] F1. mine F2 F3 F4.
46: black silk] black-silk Capell.
48: entame] entraine Warburton conj.
53: makes] make Pope.
54: flatters] flatter Pope.
62: being foul] being found Warburton.
66–69: Printed in Ff as four lines, ending she’ll...fast...sauce...me? as prose by Pope.
66: your] her Hanmer.
79: Come, to] F1 F2. Come to F3 F4.
[Exeunt...] Exit. Ff.
80: Dead] F1. Deed F2 F3 F4. ’Deed, Hanmer.
99: I in] F1. in F2. om. F3 F4.
And...grace] And such a poverty of grace attends it Rowe.
102: loose] F1 F2 F3. lose F4.
104: erewhile] F4. yerewhile F1 F2 F3.
107: carlot] Carlot Ff (in italics).
117: very] om. Capell.
127: I have] F2 F3 F4. Have F1. Have much Staunton conj.
137: and] om. Capell. ~~~~~
Act IV, Scene I — The forest.
Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES.
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.
Ros. Those that are in extremity of either are abominable 5 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 10 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 15 from many objects; and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous sadness.
Ros. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad: I fear you have sold your own lands to see 20 other men’s; then, to have seen much, and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands.
Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience.
Ros. And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me 25 sad; and to travel for it too!
Enter ORLANDO.
Orl. Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind!
Jaq. Nay, then, God buy you, an you talk in blank verse. [Exit.
Ros. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: look you lisp and 30 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 will scarce think you have swam in a gondola. Why, how now, Orlando! where have you been all this while? You 35 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.
Ros. Break an hour’s promise in love! He that will 40 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 clapped him o’ the shoulder, but I ’ll warrant him heart-whole.
Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. 45
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 his house on his head; a better jointure, I think, than 50 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 beholding to your wives for: but he comes armed in his fortune and prevents the slander of his wife. 55
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 of a better leer than you. 60
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.
Ros. Nay, you were better speak first; and when you 65 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? 70
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, or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit. 75
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. 80
Ros. Well in her person I say I will not have you.
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 85 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, 90 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. 95
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, and ask me what you will, I will grant it. 100
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.
Orl. What sayest thou? 105
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 me your hand, Orlando. What do you say, sister? 110
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 Rosalind? 115
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 wife.’ 120
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. 125
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.
Ros. Say ‘a day,’ without the ‘ever’. No, no, Orlando; 130 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-fangled than an ape, more 135 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? 140
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 wiser, the waywarder: make the doors upon a woman’s wit and it will out at the casement; shut that and ’twill out at 145 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 150 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. O, that woman that cannot make 155 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 160 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 165 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, if you break one jot of your promise or come one minute 170 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. 175
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 Orlando.
Cel. You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate: 180 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 cannot be sounded: my affection hath an unknown bottom, 185 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, conceived of spleen and born of madness, 190 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. 195
~~~~~ Linenotes: As You Like It, IV, 1.
1: be] om. F1.
17: in which my] and which by Malone.
my] by F1.
18: in] is Steevens.
23: my] om. Rowe. me Warburton.
26: Enter...] Ff (after line 23).
28: Jaq.] Orl. F2.
buy] Ff. b’w’y Rowe.
29: [Exit.] F2 F3 F4. om. F1. [Exit Jaques. Dyce, after gondola, line 34.
34: gondola] Pope. gundello Ff. gondallo Rowe.
42: thousandth] Rowe. thousand Ff.
51: make] can make Hanmer.
54: beholding] beholden Pope.
comes] F1 F4. come F2 F3.
in his] against Anon. conj.
55: fortune] forehead Anon. conj.
60: leer] lure Becket conj.
65: Ros.] Orl. F2.
68: warn] ward Steevens conj. warr’nt Anon. conj.
75: think...ranker] thank...rather Collier (Collier MS.).
76: of] out of Collier MS.
82: die] F1 F4. doe F2 F3.
86: brains] F1. brain F2 F3 F4.
91: him] F1. om. F2 F3 F4.
93: chroniclers] F2 F3 F4. chronoclers F1. coroners Hanmer (Anon. conj.).
Sestos] Cestos F1.
117: Ay] om. F3 F4.
119: Ros.] Cel. Anon. conj.
122: I...commission] Printed as a verse in Ff.
123: there’s] there Steevens (Farmer conj.). thus Lloyd conj.
139: thou art] you are Rowe (ed. 2).
sleep] weep Warburton.
144: doors] doors fast Rowe (ed. 2).
146: ’twill] it will F4.
149: wilt] F3 F4. wil’t F1 F2.
156: occasion] accusation Hanmer. accusing Collier (Collier MS.). confusion Staunton conj.
157: she will...like a fool] she’ll...a fool Capell.
171: pathetical] atheistical Warburton. jesuitical Grey conj.
179: try] try you Collier MS.
180: SCENE III. Pope.
188: it] in F1.
193: I’ll tell] I tell Edd. conj.
194: Orlando] Orland F2. ~~~~~
Act IV, Scene II — The forest.
Enter JAQUES, Lords, and Foresters.
Jaq. Which is he that killed the deer?
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 his head, for a branch of victory. Have you no song, 5 forester, for this purpose?
For. Yes, sir.
Act IV, Scene II — ] SCENE IV. Pope
Enter...] Rowe. Enter Jaques and Lords, Forresters. Ff. Enter J. and Lords, in the habit of foresters. Steevens.
Jaq. Sing it: ’tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough.
SONG.
For. What shall he have that kill’d the deer? 10 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, 15 And thy father bore it: The horn, the horn, the lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. [Exeunt.
~~~~~ Linenotes: As You Like It, IV, 2.
2: A Lord] Lord. Ff. 1 F. Capell. 1 Lord. Malone.
7: For.] Rowe. Lord. Ff. 2 F. Capell. 2 Lord. Malone.
10: SONG.] Musicke, Song. Ff.
12: Then sing him home] See note (X).
13: the horn] the horn, the horn, the horn Theobald. the horn, the lusty horn Capell.
16: And thy father] And thy own father Hanmer. Ay, and thy or Ay, and his Capell conj. ~~~~~
Act IV, Scene III — The forest.
Enter ROSALIND and 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. 5
Enter SILVIUS.
Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth; My gentle Phebe 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, 10 It bears an angry tenour: 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; 15 She calls me proud, and that she could not love me, Were man as rare as phœnix. ’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. 20
Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents: Phebe did write it.
Ros. Come, come, you are a fool, And turn’d into the extremity of love. I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand, A freestone-colour’d hand; I verily did think 25 That her old gloves were on, but ’twas her hands: She has a huswife’s hand; but that’s no matter: I say she never did invent this letter; This is a man’s invention and his hand.
Sil. Sure, it is hers. 30
Ros. Why, ’tis a boisterous and a cruel style, A style for challengers; why, she defies me, Like Turk to Christian: women’s gentle brain Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention, Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect 35 Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter?
Sil. So please you, for I never heard it yet; Yet heard too much of Phebe’s cruelty.
Ros. She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes.
[Reads.
Art thou god to shepherd turn’d, 40 That a maiden’s heart hath burn’d? Can a woman rail thus?
Sil. Call you this railing?
Ros. [reads
Why, thy godhead laid apart, Warr’st thou with a woman’s heart? 45
Did you ever hear such railing?
Whiles the eye of man did woo me, That could do no vengeance to me.
Meaning me a beast.
If the scorn of your bright eyne 50 Have power to raise such love in mine, Alack, in me what strange effect Would they work in mild aspect! Whiles you chid me, I did love; How then might your prayers move! 55 He that brings this love to thee Little knows this love in me: And by him seal up thy mind; Whether that thy youth and kind Will the faithful offer take 60 Of me and all that I can make; Or else by him my love deny, And then I’ll study how to die.
Sil. Call you this chiding?
Cel. Alas, poor shepherd! 65
Ros. Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity. Wilt thou love such a woman? What, to make thee an instrument and play false strains upon thee! not to be endured! Well, go your way to her, for I see love hath made thee a tame snake, and say this to her: that if she love me, I 70 charge her to love thee; if she will not, I will never have her unless thou entreat for her. If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more company.
[Exit Silvius.
Enter OLIVER.
Oli. Good morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you know, Where in the purlieus of this forest stands 75 A sheep-cote fenced about with olive-trees?
Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom: The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream Left on your right hand brings you to the place. But at this hour the house doth keep itself; 80 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 years: ‘The boy is fair, Of female favour, and bestows himself 85 Like a ripe sister: the woman low, And browner than her brother.’ Are not you The owner of the house I did inquire for?
Cel. It is no boast, being ask’d, to say we are.
Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both, 90 And to that youth he calls his Rosalind He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he?
Ros. I am: what must we understand by this?
Oli. Some of my shame; if you will know of me What man I am, and how, and why, and where 95 This handkercher was stain’d.
Cel. I pray you, tell it.
Oli. When last the young Orlando parted from you He left a promise to return again Within an hour, and pacing through the forest, Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, 100 Lo, what befel! he threw his eye aside, And mark what object did present itself: Under an oak, whose boughs were moss’d with age And high top bald with dry antiquity, A wretched ragged man, o’ergrown with hair, 105 Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself, Who with her head nimble in threats approach’d The opening of his mouth; but suddenly, Seeing Orlando, it unlink’d itself, 110 And with indented glides did slip away Into a bush: under which bush’s shade A lioness, with udders all drawn dry, Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch, When that the sleeping man should stir; for ’tis 115 The royal disposition of that beast To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead: This seen, Orlando did approach the man And found it was his brother, his elder brother.
Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that same brother; 120 And he did render him the most unnatural That lived amongst men.
Oli. And well he might so do, For well I know he was unnatural.
Ros. But, to Orlando: did he leave him there, Food to the suck’d and hungry lioness? 125
Oil. Twice did he turn his back and purposed so; But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, And nature, stronger than his just occasion, Made him give battle to the lioness, Who quickly fell before him: in which hurtling 130 From miserable slumber I awaked.
Cel. Are you his brother?
Ros. Was’t you he rescued?
Cel. Was’t you that did so oft contrive to kill him?
Oli. ’Twas I; but ’tis not I: I do not shame To tell you what I was, since my conversion 135 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 us two Tears our recountments had most kindly bathed, As how I came into that desert place; 140 In brief, he led me to the gentle Duke, Who gave me fresh array and entertainment, Committing me unto my brother’s love; Who led me instantly unto his cave, There stripp’d himself, and here upon his arm 145 The lioness had torn some flesh away, Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind. Brief, I recover’d him, bound up his wound; And, after some small space, being strong at heart, 150 He sent me hither, stranger as I am, To tell this story, that you might excuse His broken promise, and to give this napkin, Dyed in his blood, unto the shepherd youth That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. [Rosalind swoons. 155
Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede!
Oli. Many will swoon when they do look on blood.
Cel. There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede!
Oli. Look, he recovers.
Ros. I would I were at home.
Cel. We’ll lead you thither. 160 I pray you, will you take him by the arm?
Oli. Be of good cheer, youth: you a man! you lack a man’s heart.
Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would think this was well counterfeited! I pray you, tell your 165 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 170 be a man.
Ros. So I do: but, i’faith, I should have been a woman by right.
Cel. Come, you look paler and paler: pray you, draw homewards. Good sir, go with us. 175
Oli. That will I, for I must bear answer back How you excuse my brother, Rosalind.
Ros. I shall devise something: but, I pray you, commend my counterfeiting to him. Will you go? [Exeunt.
~~~~~ Linenotes: As You Like It, IV, 3.
Act IV, Scene III — ] SCENE V. Pope
1–5: How...here] Printed in Ff as five lines, ending clock...Orlando...brain...forth...here.
2: and here much Orlando] Ff. I wonder much Orlando is not here Pope. and how much Orlando comes? Capell. and here’s much Orlando Steevens. and here’s no Orlando Ritson conj. and here mute is Orlando Jackson conj.
5: Enter...] Ff (after line 3).
7: bid] F2 F3 F4. did bid F1.
8: know] F1. knew F2 F3 F4.
11: tenour] Theobald. tenure Ff.
18: do] F1. did F2 F3 F4.
22: Phebe did write it] Phebe did write it, with her own fair hand Mason conj.
23: turn’d into] turned in Capell conj. turn’d so in the Id. conj.
26: on] F1 F4. one F2 F3.
33: women’s] Ff. woman’s Rowe.
54: chid] chide Rowe.
57: this] that Rowe (ed. 2).
68: strains] F1. strings F2 F3 F4.
70: snake] sneak Becket conj.
79: brings] F1. bring F2 F3 F4.
85: and] but Lettsom conj.
86: ripe sister] right forester Lettsom conj.
the] F1 but the F2 F3 F4.
88: owner] owners Capell conj.
92: this] kis Warbuton.
96: handkercher] handkerchief Rowe.
99: an hour] two hours Hanmer.
100: food] cud Staunton.
103: oak] Pope. old oake Ff.
112: which] F1. whose F2 F3 F4.
122: amongst] ’mongst Rowe (ed. 2).
132: Was’t you he rescued] Was’t...rescu’d Ff. Was it...rescu’d Warburton.
140: As how] As, how Reed. After this line Capell supposes two lines to be lost, e.g. How, in that habit; what my state, what his; And whose the service he was now engag’d in.
141: In] F2 F3 F4. I F1.
154: his] F2 F3 F4. this F1.
155: [R. swoons.] om. Ff.
158: There is more in it] F1 F2. There is no more in it F3 F4. There is no more in ’t Pope.
Cousin Ganymede!] Cosen Ganimed. Ff. (cosin F4). Cousin—Ganymed! Johnson.
160: I would] Would Pope.
164: sirrah] sirra Ff. sir Pope. See note (XI).
168: a passion] F1. passion F2 F3 F4. ~~~~~
Act V, Scene I — The forest.
Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY.
Touch. We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey.
Aud. Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old gentleman’s saying.
Touch. A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile 5 Martext. But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to you.
Aud. Ay, I know who ’tis: he hath no interest in me in the world: here comes the man you mean.
Touch. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown: by 10 my troth, we that have good wits have much to answer for; we shall be flouting; we cannot hold.
Enter WILLIAM.
Will. Good even, Audrey.
Aud. God ye good even, William.
Will. And good even to you, sir. 15
Touch. Good even, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover thy head; nay, prithee, be covered. How old are you, friend?
Will. Five and twenty, sir.
Touch. A ripe age. Is thy name William?
Will. William, sir. 20
Touch. A fair name. Wast born i’ the forest here?
Will. Ay, sir, I thank God.
Touch. ‘Thank God;’ a good answer. Art rich?
Will. Faith, sir, so so.
Touch. ‘So so’ is good, very good, very excellent good; 25 and yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thou wise?
Will. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit.
Touch. Why, thou sayest well. I do now remember a saying, ‘The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.’ The heathen philosopher, when 30 he had a desire to eat a grape, would open his lips when he put it into his mouth; meaning thereby that grapes were made to eat and lips to open. You do love this maid?
Will. I do, sir.
Touch. Give me your hand. Art thou learned? 35
Will. No, sir.
Touch. Then learn this of me: to have, is to have; for it is a figure in rhetoric that drink, being poured out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty the other; for all your writers do consent that ipse is he: now, you are 40 not ipse, for I am he.
Will. Which he, sir?
Touch. He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, you clown, abandon,—which is in the vulgar leave,— the society,—which in the boorish is company,—of this 45 female,—which in the common is woman; which together is, abandon the society of this female, or, clown, thou perishest; or, to thy better understanding, diest; or, to wit, I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into death, thy liberty into bondage: I will deal in poison with thee, 50 or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy with thee in faction; I will o’er-run thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways: therefore tremble, and depart.
Aud. Do, good William.
Will. God rest you merry, sir. [Exit. 55
Enter CORIN.
Cor. Our master and mistress seeks you; come, away, away!
Touch. Trip, Audrey! trip, Audrey! I attend, I attend.
[Exeunt.
~~~~~ Linenotes: As You Like It, V, 1.
29: wise man] wiseman Ff. See note (III).
34: sir] sit F1.
48: or, to wit] to wit Steevens (Farmer conj.).
52: policy] F2 F3 F4. police F1.
56: seeks] F3 F4. seekes F1 F2. seek Rowe. ~~~~~
Act V, Scene II — The forest.
Enter ORLANDO and OLIVER.
Orl. Is’t possible that on so little acquaintance you should like her? that but seeing you should love her? and loving woo? and, wooing, she should grant? and will you persever to enjoy her?
Oli. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the 5 poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing, nor her sudden consenting; but say with me, I love Aliena; say with her that she loves me; consent with both that we may enjoy each other: it shall be to your good; for my father’s house and all the revenue that was old Sir Rowland’s 10 will I estate upon you, and here live and die a shepherd.
Orl. You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow: thither will I invite the Duke and all’s contented followers. Go you and prepare Aliena; for look you, here comes my Rosalind. 15
Enter ROSALIND.
Ros. God save you, brother.
Oli. And you, fair sister. [Exit.
Ros. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee wear thy heart in a scarf!
Orl. It is my arm. 20
Ros. I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion.
Orl. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady.
Ros. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to swoon when he showed me your handkercher? 25
Orl. Ay, and greater wonders than that.
Ros. O, I know where you are: nay, ’tis true: there was never any thing so sudden but the fight of two rams, and Cæsar’s thrasonical brag of ‘I came, saw, and overcame:’ for your brother and my sister no sooner met but 30 they looked; no sooner looked but they loved; no sooner loved but they sighed; no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason; no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy: and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage which they will climb 35 incontinent, or else be incontinent before marriage: they are in the very wrath of love and they will together; clubs cannot part them.
Orl. They shall be married to-morrow, and I will bid the Duke to the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a thing it is 40 to look into happiness through another man’s eyes! By so much the more shall I to-morrow be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I shall think my brother happy in having what he wishes for.
Ros. Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn 45 for Rosalind?
Orl. I can live no longer by thinking.
Ros. I will weary you then no longer with idle talking. Know of me then, for now I speak to some purpose, that I know you are a gentleman of good conceit: I speak not 50 this that you should bear a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch I say I know you are; neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may in some little measure draw a belief from you, to do yourself good and not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange things: I 55 have, since I was three year old, conversed with a magician, most profound in his art and yet not damnable. If you do love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture cries it out, when your brother marries Aliena, shall you marry her: I know into what straits of fortune she is driven; and it is 60 not impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, to set her before your eyes to-morrow human as she is and without any danger.
Orl. Speakest thou in sober meanings?
Ros. By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, though 65 I say I am a magician. Therefore, put you in your best array; bid your friends; for if you will be married to-morrow, you shall; and to Rosalind, if you will.
Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE.
Look, here comes a lover of mine and a lover of hers.
Phe. Youth, you have done me much ungentleness, 70 To show the letter that I writ to you.
Ros. I care not if I have: it is my study To seem despiteful and ungentle to you: You are there followed by a faithful shepherd; Look upon him, love him; he worships you. 75
Phe. Good shepherd, tell this youth what ’tis to love.
Sil. It is to be all made of sighs and tears; And so am I for Phebe.
Phe. And I for Ganymede.
Orl. And I for Rosalind. 80
Ros. And I for no woman.
Sil. It is to be all made of faith and service; And so am I for Phebe.
Phe. And I for Ganymede.
Orl. And I for Rosalind. 85
Ros. And I for no woman.
Sil. It is to be all made of fantasy, All made of passion, and all made of wishes; All adoration, duty, and observance, All humbleness, all patience, and impatience, 90 All purity, all trial, all observance; And so am I for Phebe.
Phe. And so am I for Ganymede.
Orl. And so am I for Rosalind.
Ros. And so am I for no woman. 95
Phe. If this be so, why blame you me to love you?
Sil. If this be so, why blame you me to love you?
Orl. If this be so, why blame you me to love you?
Ros. Who do you speak to, ‘Why blame you me to love you?’ 100
Orl. To her that is not here, nor doth not hear.
Ros. Pray you, no more of this; ’tis like the howling of Irish wolves against the moon. [To Sil.] I will help you, if I can: [To Phe.] I would love you, if I could. To-morrow meet me all together. [To Phe.] I will marry you, if 105 ever I marry woman, and I’ll be married to-morrow: [To Orl.] I will satisfy you, if ever I satisfied man, and you shall be married to-morrow: [To Sil.] I will content you, if what pleases you contents you, and you shall be married to-morrow. [To Orl.] As you love Rosalind, meet: [To 110 Sil.] as you love Phebe, meet: and as I love no woman, I ’ll meet. So, fare you well: I have left you commands.
Sil. I’ll not fail, if I live.
Phe. Nor I.
Orl. Nor I. [Exeunt. 115
~~~~~ Linenotes: As You Like It, V, 2.
4: persever] F1 F2. persevere F3 F4.
7: nor her] Rowe. nor Ff.
12–15: Printed as five lines ending consent...I...followers:...you,...Rosalinda in Ff.
13: all’s] Ff. all his Pope.
15: Enter R.] Ff (after line 11).
17: And you] And you, and your Johnson conj.
[Exit.] Capell. om. Ff.
25: swoon] sound F1 F2 F3. swound F4.
handkercher] handkerchief F4.
28: fight] sight F4.
29: overcame] overcome F1.
52: I say] (I say) Ff.
56: year] F3. yeare F1 F2. years F4.
58: cries it] crieth Capell conj.
59: shall you] F1 F2. you shall F3 F4.
64: meanings] meaning S. Walker conj.
69: SCENE III. Pope.
75: Look...you] Look on him, love him, for he worships you Anon. conj.
77: all made] F1 F2. made all F3 F4.
82: all made] Ff. made all Rowe.
89: observance] F1 F3 F4. obserbance F2. obedience Dyce (Collier MS.).
91: observance] Ff. obeisance Ritson conj. obedience Malone conj. perseverence Heath conj. endurance Harness conj. deservance Nicholson conj.
99: Who...to] Rowe. Why...too Ff. Whom...to Singer.
103, 108, 110: To Sil.] Pope. om. Ff.
104, 105: To Phe.] Pope. om. Ff.
105: all together] F4. altogether F1 F2 F3.
106, 110: To Orl.] Pope. om. Ff.
107: satisfied] satisfy Douce conj.
113–115: Printed as a verse by Reed. ~~~~~
Act V, Scene III — The forest.
Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY.
Touch. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey; to-morrow will we be married.
Aud. I do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is no dishonest desire to desire to be a woman of the world. Here come two of the banished Duke’s pages. 5
Enter two Pages.
First Page. Well met, honest gentleman.
Touch. By my troth, well met. Come, sit, sit, and a song.
Sec. Page. We are for you: sit i’ the middle.
First Page. Shall we clap into’t roundly, without hawking or spitting or saying we are hoarse, which are 10 the only prologues to a bad voice?
Sec. Page. I’faith, i’faith; and both in a tune, like two gipsies on a horse.
SONG.
It was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 15 That o’er the green corn-field did pass In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding: Sweet lovers love the spring.
Between the acres of the rye, 20 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, These pretty country folks would lie, In spring time, &c.
This carol they began that hour, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 25 How that a life was but a flower In spring time, &c.
And therefore take the present time, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino; For love is crowned with the prime 30 In spring time, &c.
Touch. Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no great matter in the ditty, yet the note was very untuneable.
First Page. You are deceived, sir: we kept time, we lost not our time. 35
Touch. By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear such a foolish song. God buy you; and God mend your voices! Come, Audrey. [Exeunt.
~~~~~ Linenotes: As You Like It, V, 3.
Act V, Scene III — ] SCENE IV. Pope
11: the only] only the Capell conj. your only Grant White.
17: In the] Ff. In Knight (Edinburgh MS.). See note (XII).
the only...ring] Edinburgh MS. and Steevens conj. the onely...rang Ff. the pretty spring Rowe (ed. 2). the only...rank Johnson (ed. 2). the pretty ring Steevens conj. the only...range Whiter conj. the only...spring Harness conj.
22: folks] fools Edin. MS.
would] did Edin. MS.
23: In] F1 F2 and Edin. MS. In the F3 F4.
24: This] F1 F2 and Edin. MS. The F3 F4.
26: a life] Ff and Edin. MS. life Hanmer.
27: In] F1 F2 and Edin. MS. In the F3 F4.
28–31: Placed after line 19 in Ff. Transferred by Johnson (Thirlby conj.); so in Edin. MS.
28: And...time] Then prettie lovers take the tym. Edin. MS.
33: untuneable] untunable Ff. untimeable Theobald.
34, 35: time...time] tune...tune S. Walker conj.
37: buy you] Ff. b’ w’ you Rowe. ~~~~~
Act V, Scene IV — The forest.
Enter DUKE senior, AMIENS, JAQUES, ORLANDO, OLIVER, and CELIA.
Duke S. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy Can do all this that he hath promised?
Orl. I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not; As those that fear they hope, and know they fear.
Enter ROSALIND, SILVIUS, and PHEBE.
Ros. Patience once more, whiles our compact is urged: 5 You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, You will bestow her on Orlando here?
Duke S. That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her.
Ros. And you say, you will have her, when I bring her?
Orl. That would I, were I of all kingdoms king. 10
Ros. You say, you’ll marry me, if I be willing?
Phe. That will I, should I die the hour after.
Ros. But if you do refuse to marry me, You’ll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd?
Phe. So is the bargain. 15
Ros. You say, that you’ll have Phebe, if she will?
Sil. Though to have her and death were both one thing.
Ros. I have promised to make all this matter even. Keep you your word, O Duke, to give your daughter; You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter: 20 Keep your word, Phebe, that you’ll marry me, Or else refusing me, to wed this shepherd: Keep your word, Silvius, that you’ll marry her, If she refuse me: and from hence I go, To make these doubts all even. 25
[Exeunt Rosalind and Celia.
Duke S. I do remember in this shepherd boy Some lively touches of my daughter’s favour.
Orl. My lord, the first time that I ever saw him Methought he was a brother to your daughter: But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born, 30 And hath been tutor’d in the rudiments Of many desperate studies by his uncle, Whom he reports to be a great magician, Obscured in the circle of this forest.
Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY.
Jaq. There is, sure, another flood toward, and these 35 couples are coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools.
Touch. Salutation and greeting to you all!
Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome: this is the motley-minded gentleman that I have so often met in the 40 forest: he hath been a courtier, he swears.
Touch. If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation. I have trod a measure; I have flattered a lady; I have been politic with my friend, smooth with mine enemy; I have undone three tailors; I have had four quarrels, 45 and like to have fought one.
Jaq. And how was that ta’en up?
Touch. Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the seventh cause.
Jaq. How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this 50 fellow.
Duke S. I like him very well.
Touch. God ’ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country copulatives, to swear and to forswear; according as marriage binds and 55 blood breaks: a poor virgin, sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own; a poor humour of mine, sir, to take that that no man else will: rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor house; as your pearl in your foul oyster.
Duke S. By my faith, he is very swift and sententious. 60
Touch. According to the fool’s bolt, sir, and such dulcet diseases.
Jaq. But, for the seventh cause; how did you find the quarrel on the seventh cause?
Touch. Upon a lie seven times removed:—bear your 65 body more seeming, Audrey:—as thus, sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain courtier’s beard: he sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it was: this is called the Retort Courteous. If I sent him word again ‘it was not well cut,’ he would send me word, he cut 70 it to please himself: this is called the Quip Modest. If again ‘it was not well cut,’ he disabled my judgement: this is called the Reply Churlish. If again ‘it was not well cut,’ he would answer, I spake not true: this is called the Reproof Valiant. If again ‘it was not well cut,’ he would say, 75 I lie: this is called the Countercheck Quarrelsome: and so to the Lie Circumstantial and the Lie Direct.
Jaq. And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut?
Touch. I durst go no further than the Lie Circumstantial, 80 nor he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we measured swords and parted.
Jaq. Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie?
Touch. O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book; as you 85 have books for good manners: I will name you the degrees. The first, the Retort Courteous; the second, the Quip Modest; the third, the Reply Churlish; the fourth, the Reproof Valiant; the fifth, the Countercheck Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with Circumstance; the seventh, the Lie 90 Direct. All these you may avoid but the Lie Direct; and you may avoid that too, with an If. I knew when seven justices could not take up a quarrel, but when the parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an If, as, ‘If you said so, then I said so;’ and they shook hands and 95 swore brothers. Your If is the only peace-maker; much virtue in If.
Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he’s as good at any thing and yet a fool.
DUKE S. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse and 100 under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.
Enter HYMEN, ROSALIND, and CELIA.
Still Music.
Hym. Then is there mirth in heaven, When earthly things made even Atone together. Good Duke, receive thy daughter: 105 Hymen from heaven brought her, Yea, brought her hither, That thou mightst join her hand with his Whose heart within his bosom is.
Ros. To you I give myself, for I am yours. 110 To you I give myself, for I am yours.
Duke S. If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter.
Orl. If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind.
Phe. If sight and shape be true, Why then, my love adieu! 115
Ros. I’ll have no father, if you be not he: I’ll have no husband, if you be not he: Nor ne’er wed woman, if you be not she.
Hym. Peace, ho! I bar confusion: ’Tis I must make conclusion 120 Of these most strange events: Here’s eight that must take hands To join in Hymen’s bands, If truth holds true contents. You and you no cross shall part: 125 You and you are heart in heart: You to his love must accord, Or have a woman to your lord: You and you are sure together, As the winter to foul weather. 130 Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing, Feed yourselves with questioning; That reason wonder may diminish, How thus we met, and these things finish.
SONG.
Wedding is great Juno’s crown: 135 O blessed bond of board and bed! ’Tis Hymen peoples every town; High wedlock then be honoured: Honour, high honour and renown, To Hymen, god of every town! 140
Duke S. O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me! Even daughter, welcome, in no less degree.
Phe. I will not eat my word, now thou art mine; Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine.
Enter JAQUES DE BOYS.
Jaq. de B. Let me have audience for a word or two: 145 I am the second son of old Sir Rowland, That bring these tidings to this fair assembly. Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day Men of great worth resorted to this forest, Address’d a mighty power; which were on foot, 150 In his own conduct, purposely to take His brother here and put him to the sword: And to the skirts of this wild wood he came; Where meeting with an old religious man, After some question with him, was converted 155 Both from his enterprise and from the world; His crown bequeathing to his banish’d brother, And all their lands restored to them again That were with him exiled. This to be true, I do engage my life.
Duke S. Welcome, young man; 160 Thou offer’st fairly to thy brothers’ wedding: To one his lands withheld; and to the other A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. First, in this forest let us do those ends That here were well begun and well begot: 165 And after, every of this happy number, That have endured shrewd days and nights with us, Shall share the good of our returned fortune, According to the measure of their states. Meantime, forget this new-fallen dignity, 170 And fall into our rustic revelry. Play, music! And you, brides and bridegrooms all, With measure heap’d in joy, to the measures fall.
Jaq. Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly, The Duke hath put on a religious life 175 And thrown into neglect the pompous court?
Jaq. de B. He hath.
Jaq. To him will I: out of these convertites There is much matter to be heard and learn’d. [To Duke S.] You to your former honour I bequeath; 180 Your patience and your virtue well deserves it: [To Orl.] You to a love, that your true faith doth merit: [To Oli.] You to your land, and love, and great allies: [To Sil.] You to a long and well-deserved bed: [To Touch.] And you to wrangling; for thy loving voyage 185 Is but for two months victuall’d. So, to your pleasures: I am for other than for dancing measures.
Duke S. Stay, Jaques, stay.
Jaq. To see no pastime I: what you would have I’ll stay to know at your abandon’d cave. [Exit. 190
Duke S. Proceed, proceed: we will begin these rites, As we do trust they’ll end, in true delights. [A dance.
Epilogue
Ros. It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue; but it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord the prologue. If it be true that good wine needs no bush, ’tis true that a good play needs no epilogue: yet to good wine they do use good bushes; and good plays prove the better by 5 the help of good epilogues. What a case am I in then, that am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play! I am not furnished like a beggar, therefore to beg will not become me: my way is to conjure you; and I’ll begin with the women. I charge 10 you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much of this play as please you: and I charge you, O men, for the love you bear to women,—as I perceive by your simpering, none of you hates them,—that between you and the women the play may please. If I were a woman I 15 would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me and breaths that I defied not: and, I am sure, as many as have good beards or good faces or sweet breaths will, for my kind offer, when I make curtsy, bid me farewell. [Exeunt. 20
~~~~~ Linenotes: As You Like It, V, 4.
IV. ] SCENE V. Pope
Celia.] Colia. F2.
4: that fear] that think Hanmer.
fear they hope...they fear] fear their hap...their fear Warburton. fear with hope and hope with fear Johnson conj. fear, they hope, and now they fear Id. conj. fear their hope, and know their fear. Capell (Heath conj.). feign they hope, and know they fear. Blackstone conj. fear, then hope; and know, then fear Musgrave conj. fearing hope, and hoping fear Mason conj. hope they fear, then know they fear Becket conj. fear the hope, and know the fear Jackson conj. fear may hope, and know they fear Harness conj. fear; they hope, and know they fear Delius (Henley conj.). fear to hope and know they fear Collier MS.
5: urged] heard Collier MS.
21: your] Pope. you your Ff.
25: even.] even—even so Collier (Collier MS.)
[Exeunt R. and C.] Exit Ros. and Celia. Ff.
33: Whom] F1 F2. Who F3 F4.
Enter T. and A.] Enter Clowne and Audrey. Ff (after line 33).
35: SCENE VI. Pope.
36, 37: very strange] unclean Hanmer (Warburton).
48: was] was not Johnson conj.
50: seventh] F1 F2. the seventh F3 F4.
53: you of] of you Warburton.
55, 56: binds...breaks] bids...bids break Warburton.
61: fool’s] F4. fooles F1 F3. foles F2.
and such] in such Farmer conj.
61, 62: Touch. According...diseases.] Jaq. According......sir. Touch. And...diseases— S. Walker conj.
62: diseases] discourses Johnson conj. phrases Mason conj. discords Anon. conj.
76: I lie] I ly’d Capell.
76, 77: so to the] F2 F3 F4. so ro F1. so the Rowe.
93: take up] make up De Quincey MS.
98: as] om. Rowe.
104: Atone] Attone Ff.
108: her hand] F3 F4. his hand F1 F2.
109: his bosom] her bosom Malone.
113: sight] shape Johnson conj.
114, 115: Printed as one line in Ff.
134: these things] thus we Collier MS.
140: of] in Collier MS.
142: daughter, welcome,] F4. daughter welcome, F1 F2 F3. daughter-welcome Theobald.
144: Enter Jaques de Boys.] Rowe. Enter Second Brother. Ff.
158: them] Rowe. him Ff.
161: brothers’] Capell. brothers F1 F2 F3. brother’s F4. brothers, Reed.
169: states] ’states Collier.
180, 182, 183, 184, 185: Stage directions not in Ff.
181: deserves] deserve Pope.
191: we will] F2 F3 F4. wee’l F1.
192: As] And Reed.
trust they’ll end, in] Pope. trust, they’l end in Ff.
[A dance.] Capell. Exit. F1. om. F2 F3 F4.
EPILOGUE.] Warburton. Seymour supposes what follows to be spurious.
6: then] tho’ Kenrick conj.
7: cannot] can Pope.
12: please you] F1 F2. pleases you F3 F4. pleases them Hanmer (Warburton). please them Steevens.
and I] and so I Steevens (Farmer conj.).
14: hates] hate Pope.
them] them) to like as much as pleases them Hanmer (Warburton).
20: [Exeunt.] F2 F3 F4. [Exit. F1. ~~~~~
NOTES.
NOTE I.
Le Beau is so called in F1 on his first entrance, afterwards always ‘Le Beu.’
The banished Duke is called Duke Senior in the stage directions.
Rosalind is spelt indifferently thus and ‘Rosaline.’
Rowe, in his second edition, besides ‘Touchstone’ and ‘William,’ introduced among the Dramatis Personæ ‘A clown in love with Audrey.’ He was followed by Pope, Theobald, Hanmer, and Warburton. Johnson struck it out.
NOTE II.
I. 1. 46. The correction revenues for reverence has been made in MS. by some unknown hand in Capell’s copy of the third Folio. The writing somewhat resembles Warburton’s.
NOTE III.
I. 2. 79. There can be no doubt that the words ‘wise men’ here printed as two, in obedience to modern usage, were frequently in Shakespeare’s time written and pronounced as one word, with the accent on the first syllable, as ‘madman’ is still. See Sidney Walker’s Criticisms, Vol. II. p. 139.
NOTE IV.
I. 2. 147, 149. It does not seem necessary to make any change in the text here. Perhaps Shakespeare wrote the prose parts of the play hastily, or it may be that Orlando, who is summoned by Celia, but whose thoughts are fixed upon Rosalind, is made to say ‘them,’ not ‘her,’ designedly.
NOTE V.
I. 2. 187. Before we were aware of Mason’s conjecture, it occurred to us that the sentence would run better thus: ‘An you mean to mock me after, you should not have mocked me before.’ ‘And,’ for ‘an,’ is a more probable reading than ‘if,’ as it may have been omitted by the printer, who mistook it for part of the stage direction—‘Orl. and’ for ‘Orland.’ We have since discovered that Theobald proposed ‘An.’
NOTE VI.
I. 3. 92. See a discussion as to the proper punctuation and meaning of the words ‘No, hath not?’ in Notes and Queries, 1st Ser. Vol. VII. p. 520, and in Mr Singer’s note on this passage. It may be doubted whether the passages quoted by Mr Grant White are apposite to this, where there is a double negative.
NOTE VII.
III. 2. 317. In the fourth Folio, and in Rowe’s two editions, the word ‘kindled’ happens to be in two lines, and therefore divided by a hyphen. Pope, misled by this, printed it in his first edition as a compound, ‘kind-led,’ interpreting it probably with reference to the gregarious habits of the animal in question.
NOTE VIII.
III. 3. 80–83. Johnson proposes to arrange these lines as follows:
Clo.... Come, sweet Audrey; we must be married, or we must live in bawdry.
Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. [They whisper.
Clo. Farewell, &c.
NOTE IX.
III. 4. 38. As the word ‘puisny’ is here used not in the modern sense of ‘diminutive,’ but in the now obsolete sense of ‘inferior, unskilled,’ we think it better to retain the spelling of the Folios.
NOTE X.
IV. 2. 12. The words ‘Then sing him home, the rest shall beare this burthen’ are printed in the Folios as part of the song. Rowe and Pope made no change. Theobald first gave ‘the rest shall bear this burthen’ as a stage direction. Mr Knight, Mr Collier, Mr Grant White and Mr Dyce take the whole to be a stage direction, Mr Grant White reading ‘They sing him home,’ for ‘Then.......’ Mr Halliwell prints ‘Then sing him home, the rest shall bear—This burthen.’ Mr Knight gives in a note the music written for this song by Hilton, and published in 1652. In Hilton’s setting, the words ‘Then sing him home, &c.’ are left out, but that, as Mr Knight implies, is not conclusive as to the original song.
Capell’s arrangement is as follows:
1 v. What......deer? 2 v. His.........wear. 1 v. Then ......home. BOTH. Take ......born. 1 v. Thy ........wore it. 2 v. And ........bore it. CHO. The horn......scorn.
NOTE XI.
IV. 3. 164. Malone wrongly attributes the reading ‘Sir’ for ‘Sirra’ to the second Folio.
NOTE XII.
V. 3. 17. The Edinburgh MS. mentioned in our footnotes is one in the Advocates’ Library (fol. 18), and the song has been reprinted from it in Chappell’s Collection of National English Airs, ed. 1840, p. 130.
ADDENDA.
Love’s Labour’s Lost, IV. 1. 92. Monarcho] mammuccio Hanmer.
A Midsummer-Night’s Dream, IV. 1. 205. a patched] Ff. patcht a Qq.
CAMBRIDGE: PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS.
TRANSCRIBER'S ENDNOTES.
Linenotes are moved from the end of each page to the end of each Scene. Line breaks in dialogue—including prose and poetry passages—are unchanged. The exception to this is that words originally broken by a hyphen over two lines are rejoined on one line. Line numbers are from the original text. Ellipses look like the original, unless the original was at a line-break that has been eliminated in this version—for example, in a linenote, footnote, or general note.
Preface
Section 4., The Merchant of Venice.: the phrase "July 22, 1598. James Roberts) A booke" was changed to "July 22, 1598. (James Roberts) A booke".
Much Ado About Nothing
II. 3. 100: the printed line number was misplaced, one down; moved it up.
Love's Labour's Lost
V. 2. 917: the linenotes printed for lines 912 and 913 actually refer to lines 917 and 918; the text herein has been altered to this effect.
V. 1. 37: the word "honorificabilitudinitatibus" was retained in original form, broken over two lines, with a hyphen between "bi" and "li" In the mobile versions, available from Project Gutenberg, this word has been rejoined.
Midsummer-Night's Dream
III. 2. 204: the original linenote here erroneously said "See note III", but is herein corrected to Note V.
IV. 1. 1: the linenote here erroneously said "See note (V)", herein altered to VI.
IV. 1. 7-8: the linenote is changed from "See note VI" to "See note VII".
V. 1. 0: the linenote "Enter...] see note (VIII)." was originally indented under linenote 40 of IV. 2 (the last linenote of the scene), but clearly refers to the beginning of V. 1, where it has been placed.
V. 1. 105: the line number was misplaced, up one line. It has been moved to the line "In least speak...".
V. 1. 139: the linenote said "conjectures th a line"; herein changed "th " to "that".
Play Note II: "andhe" changed to "and he".
Play Note XIII: the reference is to lines V. 1. 408, 409, changed from "406, 407".
Merchant of Venice
IV, 1. 74: in the printed linenote there is a smudge and something missing between "bleat" and "the" in Hanmer's rendering. Furthermore, the presumed "t" in "bleat" is not clearly printed and may be something else, perhaps a "c". The transcriber renders this phrase "When you behold the ewe bleat for the lamb; Hanmer.", but there is significant doubt about it.
Play Note XIV: the reference is changed from IV. 1. 210 to IV. 1. 209.
As You Like It
Play Note V: "I. 2. 181" changed to "I. 2. 187".
Addenda
These two linenotes have been copied to their appropriate locations amongst the linenotes.
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