SCENE I.
Oliver's Orchard.
Enter Orlando and Adam.
Orlando.
As I remember, Adam, it was upon this
fashion bequeathed me: By will, but a poor thousand
crowns3 note
; and, as thou say'st, charged my brother,
-- 264 --
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 at home, unkept4 note
;
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, gain
nothing under him but growth; for the which his
animals on his dunghills are as much bound to him as
-- 265 --
I. Besides this nothing that he so plentifully gives
me, the something that nature gave me, 5 note
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 God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours,
with idleness.
Oli.
Marry, sir, be better employ'd, and be nought
a while6 note
.
-- 266 --
Orla.
Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with
them? What prodigal portion have I spent, that I
should come to such penury?
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
-- 267 --
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 reverence7 note.
Oli.
What, boy!
Orla.
Come, come, elder brother, you are too
young in this.
Oli.
Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?
Orla.
I am no villain8 note: I am the youngest son of
sir Rowland de Boys; he was my father; 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 pulled out
thy tongue for saying so; thou hast rail'd on thyself.
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 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
-- 268 --
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.
Oli.
Get you with him, you old dog.
Adam.
Is old dog my reward? Most true, I have
lost my teeth in your service.—God be with my old
master, he would not have spoke such a word.
[Exeunt Orlando and Adam.
Oli.
Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me?
I will physick your rankness, and yet give 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.—[Exit Dennis.] 'Twill be a
good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is.
Enter Charles.
Cha.
Good-morrow to your worship.
Oli.
Good monsieur Charles!—what's the new
news at the new court?
Cha.
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
-- 269 --
duke, therefore he gives them good leave to wander.
Oli.
Can you tell, if Rosalind, the old duke's
daughter9 note
, be banish'd with her father?
Cha.
O, no; for the new duke's daughter, her
cousin, so loves her,—being ever from their cradles
bred together,—that she would have followed her
exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at the
court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his own
daughter; and never two ladies loved as they do.
Oli.
Where will the old duke live?
Cha.
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?
Cha.
Marry, do I, sir; and I came 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 broken 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: therefore, out
of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you
withal; that either you might stay him from his intendment,
or brook such disgrace well as he shall
run into; in that it is a thing of his own search, and
altogether against my will.
-- 270 --
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 underhand means laboured to dissuade him
from it; but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles,—it
is the stubbornest young fellow of France; full of
ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good
parts, a secret and villainous 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 villainous 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 must look pale
and wonder.
Cha.
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, God keep your worship!
[Exit.
Oli.
Farewel good Charles.—Now will I stir this
gamester: I hope, I shall see an end of him; for my
soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than
he. Yet he's gentle; never school'd, and yet learned;
full of noble device; of all sorts enchantingly beloved;
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 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.
-- 271 --
Samuel Johnson [1778], The plays of William Shakspeare. In ten volumes. With the corrections and illustrations of various commentators; to which are added notes by Samuel Johnson and George Steevens. The second edition, Revised and Augmented (Printed for C. Bathurst [and] W. Strahan [etc.], London) [word count] [S10901].