Adam.
Orlando.
As I remember, Adam, it was† note bequeathed me by
will, but a poor thousand crowns; and, as thou
say'st, charged my brother, on his blessing, to breed
me well: and there begins my sadness. My brother
Jaques he keeps at school, and report speaks goldenly
of his profit. For my part, he keeps me rustically at
home; or (to speak more properly) stays me here unkept:
for call you that keeping for a gentleman of my
birth, that differs not from the stalling of an ox? His
horses are bred better; for besides that they are fair
with their feeding, they are taught their manage,
and to that end riders dearly hired: but I, his brother,
-- 78 --
gain nothing under him but growth, for the which,
his animals on his dunghills are as much bound to
him, as I. Besides this nothing, that he so plentifully
gives me, the something that nature gave me,
his countenance seems to take from me. He lets me
feed with his hinds; bars me the place of a brother;
and as much as in him lies, mines my gentility
with my education. This is it, Adam, that grieves
me; and the spirit of my father, which I think is
within me, begins to mutiny against this servitude.
I will no longer endure it; though yet I know no wise
remedy how to avoid it.
Enter Oliver.
Adam.
Yonder comes my master, your brother.
Orla.
Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he
will shake me up.
Oli.
Now, sir, what make you here?
Orla.
Nothing, I am not taught to make any thing,
Oli.
What mar you then, sir?
Orla.
Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that,
which Heav'n made; a poor unworthy brother of
yours, with idleness.
Oli.
Know you where you are, sir?
Orla.
O, sir, very well; here in your orchard.
Oli.
Know you before whom, sir?
Orla.
Ay, better than he I am before knows me.
I know you are my eldest brother, and in the gentle
condition of blood, you should so know me: the courtesy
of nations allows you my better, in that you are
the first born; but the same tradition takes not away
my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt us. I
have as much of my father in me, as you; albeit, I
confess, your coming before me, is nearer to his revenue.
Oli.
What, boy!
Orla.
Come, come, elder brother, you are too
young in this.
Oli.
Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?
-- 79 --
Orla.
I am no villain: I am the youngest son of Sir
Rowland de Bois; and he is thrice a villain that says
such a father begot villains. Wert thou not my brother,
I would not take this hand from thy throat, 'till
this other had pull'd out thy tongue, for saying so.
Thou hast rail'd on thy self.* note
Adam.
Sweet masters, be patient; for your father's
remembrance, be at accord.
Oli.
Let me go, I say.
Orla.
I will not, 'till I please: you shall hear me.
My father charg'd you in his will, to give me a good
education: you have train'd me up like a peasant,
obscuring, and hiding from me, all gentleman-like
qualities. The spirit of my father grows strong in me,
and I will no longer endure it: therefore, allow me
such exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me
the poor allottery my father left me by testament:
with that I will go buy my fortunes.
Oli.
And what wilt thou do? beg when that is
spent? Well, sir, get you in. I will not long be
troubled with you: you shall have some part of your
will. I pray you leave me.
Orla.
I will no further offend you, than becomes
me for my good.† note
Oli.
Get you with him, you old dog.
Adam.
Is old dog my reward? Most true, I have
lost my teeth in your service. Heav'n be with my old
master, he would not have spoke such a word.&verbar2; note
[Exeunt Orlando and Adam.
-- 80 --
Oli.
Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me?
I will physic your rankness, and yet give you no
thousand crowns neither. Holla, Dennis!
Enter Dennis.
Den.
Calls your worship?
Oli.
Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, here, to
speak with me?
Den.
So please you, he is here at the door, and importunes
access to you.
Oli.
Call him in; 'twill be a good way; and tomorrow
the wrestling is.
Enter Charles.
Char.
Good-morrow to your worship.
Oli.
Good monsieur Charles, what's the new news
at the new court?
Char.
There's no news at the court, sir, but the old
news; that is, the old duke is banish'd by his younger
brother, the new duke; and three or four loving lords
have put themselves into voluntary exile with him,
whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke; therefore
he gives them good leave to wander.
Oli.
Can you tell if Rosalind, the duke's daughter,
be banish'd with her father?
Char.
O, no; for the duke's daughter, her cousin,
so loves her, being ever from their cradles bred together,
that she would have follow'd her exile, or
have died to stay behind her. She is at the court, and
no less belov'd of her uncle, than his own daughter
and never two ladies lov'd, as they do.
Oli.
Where will the old duke live?
Char.
They say he is already in the forest of Arden,
and a many merry men with him; and there they live
like the old Robin Hood of England: they say many
young gentlemen flock to him, every day, and fleet the
time carelesly, as they did in the golden world.
Oli.
What, you wrestle, to-morrow, before the new
duke?
-- 81 --
Char.
Marry do I, sir, and I come to acquaint you
with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand,
that your younger brother Orlando, hath a disposition
to come in, disguis'd, against me, to try a fall.
To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit, and he that
escapes me without some brokem limb, shall acquit
him well. Your brother is but young and tender,
and for your love, I would be loth to foil him, as I
must, for mine own honour, if he come in.
Oli.
Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which
thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I had, myself
notice of my brother's purpose herein, and have,
by under-hand means, labour'd to dissuade him from
it; but he is resolute. I tell thee, Charles, he is the
stubbornest young fellow of France; full of ambition,
an envious emulator of every man's good parts; a
secret, and villanous contriver against me, his natural
brother: therefore, use thy discretion; I had as lief
thou didst break his neck, as his finger. And thou wert
best look to't; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace,
or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will
practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by some
treacherous device; and never leave thee 'till he hath
ta'en thy life, by some indirect means or other: for I
assure thee, (and almost with tears I speak it) there is
not one so young and so villanous, this day living.
I speak but brotherly of him; but should I anatomize
him to thee as he is, I must blush, and weep, and thou
look pale, and wonder.
Char.
I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If
he come, to-morrow, I'll give him his payment. If
ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize
more; and so Heav'n keep your worship.
[Exit.
Oli.
Farewel, good Charles. I hope I shall see an end
of him; for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing
more than him. Yet he's gentle, never school'd,
and yet learned, full of noble device, of all sorts enchantingly
belov'd; and indeed so much in the heart
of the world, and especially of my own people, who
best know him, that I am altogether misprised. But
-- 82 --
it shall not be so, long; this wrestler shall clear all
Nothing remains, but that I kindle the boy thither
which now I'll go about.
[Exit
Scene
SCENE, the Palace.
* noteEnter Rosalind and Celia.
Cel.
I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet coz, be merry.
Ros.
Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am
mistress of; and would you yet I were merrier? Unless
you could teach me to forget a banish'd father,
you must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary
pleasure.
Cel.
Herein I see thou lov'st me not with the full
weight that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banish'd
father, had banish'd thy uncle, the duke my father,
so thou hadst been still with me, I could have taught
my love to take thy father for mine; so would'st
thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously
temper'd, as mine is to thee.
Ros.
Well, I will forget the condition of my estate,
to rejoice in yours.
Cel.
You know my father hath no child but me, nor
none is like to have, and truly when he dies thou shalt
be his heir; for what he hath taken away from thy
father, per force, I will render thee again, in affection;
by mine honour I will, and when I break that oath,
let me turn monster: therefore, my sweet Rose, my
dear Rose, be merry.† note
Ros.
From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports.
Let me see, what think you of falling in love?
-- 83 --
Cel.
Marry, I pr'ythee do, to make sport withal;
but love no man in good earnest, nor no further in
sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou
may'st in honour come off again.
Ros.
What shall be the sport, then?
Cel.
Let us sit and mock the good housewife, fortune,
from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth
be bestowed equally.
Ros.
I would we could do so; for her benefits are
mightily misplaced, and the bountiful blind woman
doth most mistake in her gifts to woman.
Cel.
'Tis true, for those that she makes fair, she
scarce makes honest; and those that she makes honest,
she makes very ill-favoured.
Ros.
Nay, now thou go'st from fortune's office, to
nature's: fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in
the lineaments of nature.
Cel.
No; when nature hath made a fair creature,
may she not by fortune fall into the fire? though nature
hath given us wit to flout at fortune, hath not
fortune sent in this fool to cut off this argument?* note
Ros.
Indeed, there is fortune too hard for nature.
Cel.
Peradventure this is not fortune's work neither,
but nature's; who perceiving our natural wits too
dull to reason of such goddesses, hath sent this natural
for our whetstone: for always the dulness of
the fool, is the whetstone of the wits.
Enter Touchstone.
How now, whither wander you?
Touch.
Mistress, you must come away to your father.
Cel.
Were you made the messenger?
Touch.
No, by mine honour, but I was bid to come
for you.
Ros.
Where learned you that oath, fool?
-- 84 --
Touch.
Of a certain knight, that swore by his honour
they were good pancakes, and swore by his honour
the mustard was nought. Now I'll stand to it,
the pancakes were nought, and the mustard was good,
and yet was not the knight forsworn.
Cel.
How prove you that, in the great heap of your
knowledge?
Ros.
Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom.
Touch.
Stand you both forth now, stroke your chins,
and swear by your beards that I am a knave.
Cel.
By our beards, if we had them, thou art.
Touch.
By my knavery, if I had it, then I were;
but if you swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn,
no more was this knight, swearing by his honour,
for he never had any; or if he had, he had
sworn it away, before ever he saw those pancakes, or
that mustard.† note
Cel.
Here comes monsieur Le Beu.
Enter Le Beu.
Ros.
With his mouth full of news.
Cel.
Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their
young.
Ros.
Then shall we be news-cram'd.
Cel.
All the better, we shall be the more marketable.
Bon jour, monsieur Le Beu, what news?
Le Beu.
Fair princesses, you have lost much sport.
Cel.
Sport; of what colour?
Le Beu.
What colour, madam? How shall I answer
you?
Ros.
As wit and fortune will.
Touch.
Or as the destinies decree.
Cel.
Well said, that was laid on with a trowel.
Le Beu.
You amaze me, ladies! I would have told
you of good wrestling, which you have lost the sight of.
Ros.
Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling.
-- 85 --
Le Beu.
I will tell you the beginning, and if it please
your ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is yet
to do; and here where you are, they are coming to
perform it.
Cel.
Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried.
Le Beu.
There comes an old man and his three sons.
Cel.
I could match this beginning with an old tale.
Le Beu.
Three proper young men, of excellent
growth and presence.
Ros.
With bills on their neck: Be it known unto all
men, by these presents.
Le Beu.
The eldest of the three wrestled with
Charles, the duke's wrestler, which Charles in a moment
threw him, and broke three of his ribs, that
there is little hope of life in him: so he serv'd the
second, and so the third: yonder they lie, the poor
old man their father making such pitiful dole over
them, that all the beholders take his part with weeping.
Ros.
Alas!
Touch.
But what is the sport, monsieur, that the
ladies have lost?* note
Le Beu.
Why this that I speak of.
Touch.
Thus men grow wiser, every day. It is the
first time that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport
for ladies.
Cel.
Or I, I promise thee.
Ros.
But is there any else longs to see this broken
music in his sides? Is there yet another doats upon
rib-breaking? Shall we see this wrestling, cousin?
Le Beu.
You must if you stay here; for here is the
place appointed for the wrestling; and they are ready
to perform it.
Cel.
Yonder sure they are coming: let us now stay
and see it.
-- 86 --
Flourish. Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, Orlando, Charles, and Attendants.
Duke.
Come on; since the youth will not be entreated,
his own peril on his forwardness.
Ros.
Is yonder the man?
Le Beu.
Even he, madam.
Cel.
Alas, he's too young; yet he looks successfully.
Duke.
How now, daughter and cousin; are you
crept hither to see the wrestling?
Ros.
Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave.
Duke.
You will take little delight in it, I can tell
you, there's such odds in the men. In pity of the
challenger's youth, I would fain dissuade him, but he
will not be entreated. Speak to him, ladies; see if
you can move him.
Cel.
Call him hither, good monsieur Le Beu.
Duke.
Do so; I'll not be by.
[Retires.
Le Beu.
Monsieur the challenger, the princess calls
for you.
Orla.
I attend her, with all respect and duty.
Ros.
Young man, have you challeng'd Charles the
wrestler?* note
Orla.
No, fair princess; he is the general challenger:
I come but, as others do, to try with him the
strength of my youth.
Cel.
Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold, for
your years: you have seen cruel proof of this man's
strength. If you saw yourself with our eyes, or knew
yourself with our judgment, the fear of your adventure
would counsel you to a more equal enterprise.
We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own
safety, and give over this attempt.
Ros.
Do, young sir, your reputation shall not therefore
be misprised; we will make it our suit to the duke,
that the wrestling might not go forward.† note
-- 87 --
Orla.
I beseech you, punish me not with your hard
thoughts, wherein I confess me much guilty to deny
so fair and excellent ladies any thing: but let your
fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to the trial,
wherein if I be foil'd, there is but one sham'd that was
never gracious; if kill'd, but one dead that is willing
to be so. I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have
none to lament me; the world no injury, for in it I
have nothing; only in the world I fill up a place,
which may be better supplied when I have make it
empty.‡ note
Ros.
The little strength that I have, I would it
were with you.
Cel.
And mine to eke out hers.
Ros.
Fare you well; pray heaven I be deceiv'd in
you.
Orla.
Your heart's desires be with you.
Cha.
Come, where is this young gallant, that is so
desirous to lie with his mother earth?
Orla.
Ready, sir.
Duke.
You shall try but one fall.
Cha.
No, I warrant your grace, you shall not intreat
him to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him
from a first.
Orla.
You mean to mock me after; you should not
have mock'd before. But come your ways.
Ros.
Now Hercules be thy speed, young man.
Cel.
I would I were invisible, to catch the strong
fellow by the leg.
[They wrestle.
Duke.
No more, no more.
[Charles is thrown.
Orla.
Yes, I beseech your grace; I am not yet
well breath'd.
Duke.
How dost thou, Charles?
Touch.
He cannot speak, my lord.
Duke.
Bear him away. What is thy name, young
man?
Orla.
Orlando, my liege, the youngest son of Sir
Rowland de Bois.
-- 88 --
Duke.
I would thou hadst been son to some man else;
The world esteem'd thy father honourable,
But I did find him still mine enemy.
But fare thee well, thou art a gallant youth,
I would thou had'st told me of another father.* note
[Exit Duke, &c.
Cel.
Were I my father, coz, would I do this?
Orla.
I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son,
His youngest son, and would not change that calling
To be adopted heir to Frederick.
Ros.
My father lov'd Sir Rowland as his soul,
And all the world was of my father's mind:
Had I before known this young man, his son,
I should have given him tears unto entreaties,
Ere he should thus have ventur'd.† note
Cel.
Gentle cousin,
Let us go thank him, and encourage him.
My father's rough and envious disposition
Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well deserv'd:
If you do keep your promises in love,
But justly as you have exceeded all in promise,
Your mistress shall be happy.
Ros.
Gentleman,
Wear this for me, one out of suits with fortune,
That would give more, but that her hand lacks means.
Shall we go, coz?
Cel.
Ay, fare you well, fair gentleman.
Orla.
Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts
Are all thrown down, and that which here stands up,
Is but a mere lifeless block.&verbar2; note
-- 89 --
Ros.
He calls us back. My pride fell with my fortunes.
I'll ask him what he would. Did you call, sir?
Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown
More than your enemies.
Cel.
Will you go, coz?
Ros.
Have with you: fare you well.
[Exeunt Ros. and Cel.
Orla.
What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue?
I cannot speak to her; yet she urg'd conference.
Enter Le Beu.
O poor Orlando! thou art overthrown;
Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee.
Le Beu.
Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you
To leave this place: albeit you have deserv'd
High commendation, true applause, and love;
Yet such is now the duke's condition,
That he misconstrues all that you have done.
The duke is humourous: what he is indeed
More suits you to conceive, than me to speak of.
Orla.
I thank you, sir; and pray you tell me this,
Which of the two was daughter of the duke,
That here was at the wrestling?
Le Beu.
Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners,
But yet, indeed, the shorter is his daughter;* note
-- 90 --
Sir, fare you well;
Hereafter, in a better world than this,
I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.
[Exit.
Orla.
I rest much bounden to you: fare you well!
Thus must I from the smoke into the smother;
From tyrant duke, unto a tyrant brother;
But heavenly Rosalind!
[Exit.
Scene
SCENE a Saloon.
Re-enter Celia and Rosalind.
Cel.
Why, cousin; why, Rosalind. Cupid, have
mercy! Not a word!
Ros.
Not one, to throw at a dog.
Cel.
No, thy words are too precious to be cast away
upon curs; throw some of them at me. But is all
this for your father?
Ros.
No, some of it is for my father's child. Oh,
how full of briers is this working-day world!
Cel.
They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee
in holiday foolery; if we walk not in the trodden
paths, our very petticoats will catch them.* note
Ros.
I could shake them off my coat; these burs are
in my heart.
Cel.
Hem them away.
Ros.
I would try, if I could cry hem, and have him.
Cel.
Come, come, wrestle with thy affections.
Ros.
O they take the part of a better wrestler than
myself.
Cel.
O, a good wish upon you; you will try in time
in despight of a fall. But turning these jests out of
service, let us talk in good earnest; is it possible, on
-- 91 --
such a sudden, you should fall into so strong a liking
with old Sir Rowland's youngest son?
Ros.
The duke, my father, lov'd his father dearly.
Cel.
Doth it therefore ensue that you should love
his son dearly? By this kind of chase I should hate
him, for my father hated his father deadly; yet I
hate not Orlando.
Ros.
No, faith, hate him not, for my sake.
Cel.
Why should I? Doth he not deserve well?
Enter Duke, with Lords.
Ros.
Let me love him for that; and do you love him
because I do. Look, here comes the duke.
Cel.
With his eyes full of anger.
Duke.
Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste,
And get you from our court.
Ros.
Me, uncle!
Duke.
You, cousin.
Within these ten days if that thou be'st found
So near our public court as twenty miles,
Thou diest for it.
Ros.
I do beseech your grace.
Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me.
If with myself I hold intelligence,
Or have acquaintance with my own desires;
If that I do not dream, or be not frantic,
As I do trust I am not, then, dear uncle,
Never so much as in a thought unborn,
Did I offend your highness.
Duke.
Thus do all traitors.
Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not.
Ros.
Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor.
Tell me wherein the likelihood depends.
Duke.
Thou art thy father's daughter; there's enough.* note
Ros.
So was I when your highness took his dukedom,
-- 92 --
So was I when your highness banish'd him.
Treason is not inherited, my lord;
Or if we did derive it from our friends,
What's that to me? My father was no traitor:
Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much,
To think my poverty is treacherous.
Cel.
Dear sovereign, hear me speak.
Duke.
Ay, Celia, we but staid her for your sake,
Else had she with her father rang'd along.
Cel.
I did not then intreat to have her stay;
It was your pleasure, and your own remorse;
I was too young that time to value her:
But now I know her; if she be a traitor,
Why, so am I; we still have slept together,
Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together,
And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans,
Still we went coupled and inseparable.* note
Duke.
She is too subtle for thee, and her smoothness,
Her very silence and her patience,
Speak to the people, and they pity her:† note
Then open not thy lips;
Firm and irrevocable is my doom,
Which I have past upon her; she is banish'd.
Cel.
Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege,
I cannot live out of her company.
Duke.
You, niece, provide yourself;
If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour,
And in the greatness of my word, you die.
[Exeunt Duke, &c.
Cel.
O, my poor Rosalind, where wilt thou go?
Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine.
I charge thee be not thou more griev'd, than I am.
Ros.
I have more cause.
Cel.
Thou hast not, cousin;
-- 93 --
Pry'thee be chearful; know'st thou not the duke
Has banish'd me his daughter?
Ros.
That he hath not.
Cel.
No? hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love
Which teacheth me that thou and I are one.
Shall we be sundered? Shall we part, sweet girl?
No, let my father seek another heir.
Therefore devise with me how we may fly,
Whither to go, and what to bear with us,
And do not seek to take the charge upon you,
To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out:
For by this heav'n, now at our sorrows pale.
Say what thou can'st, I'll go along with thee.* note
Ros.
Why, whither shall we go?
Cel.
To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden.
Ros.
Alas, what danger will it be to us,
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far!
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.
Cel.
I'll put myself in poor and mean attire,
The like do you; so shall we pass along,
And never stir assailants.
Ros.
Were't not better,
Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did suit me all points like a man;
A gallant cutlass by my side,
A boar-spear in my hand; and (in my heart
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will)
We'll have a swashing and a martial outside,
As many other mannish cowards have,
That do outface it with their semblances.
Cel.
What shall I call thee when thou art a man?
Ros.
I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page,
And therefore look ye call me Ganimede.
But what will you be call'd?
Cel.
Something that has a reference to my state:
No longer Celia, but Aliena.
-- 94 --
Ros.
But, cousin, what if we essayed to steal
The clownish fool out of your father's court;
Would he not be a comfort to our travel?
Cel.
He'll go along o'er the wide world with me.
Leave me alone to woo him. Let's away,
And get our jewels and our wealth together;
Devise the fittest time, and safest way
To hide us from pursuit that will be made,
After my flight. Now go we in content,
To liberty, and not to banishment.* note
[Exeunt.
End of the First Act.
John Bell [1774], Bell's Edition of Shakespeare's Plays, As they are now performed at the Theatres Royal in London; Regulated from the Prompt Books of each House By Permission; with Notes Critical and Illustrative; By the Authors of the Dramatic Censor (Printed for John Bell... and C. Etherington [etc.], York) [word count] [S10401].
