Cel.
Why should this desert silent9 note
be?
For it is unpeopled? No;
Tongues I'll hang on every tree,
That shall civil sayings show1 note.
Some, how brief the life of man
Runs his erring pilgrimage;
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,
Or at every sentence' end,
Will I Rosalinda write;
Teaching all that read, to know
This quintessence of every sprite
Heaven would in little show.
Therefore heaven nature charg'd2 note
That one body should be fill'd
-- 322 --
With all graces wide enlarg'd:
Nature presently distill'd
Helen's cheek, but not her heart;
Cleopatra's majesty;
Atalanta's better part3 note
note mean her virtue or virgin chastity,
with which nature had graced Rosalind, together with Helen's
beauty without her heart or lewdness, with Cleopatra's dignity
of behaviour, and with Lucretia's modesty, that scorned to
survive the loss of honour? Pliny's Nat. Hist. b. xxxv. c. 3.
mentions the portraits of Atalanta and Helen, utraque excellentissima
forma, sed altera ut virgo. That is, “both of them for
beauty, incomparable, and yet a man may discerne the one [Atalanta]
of them to be a maiden, for her modest and chaste countenance,”
as Dr. P. Holland translated the passage, of which probably
our poet had taken notice, for surely he had judgment in
painting.
Tollet.
I suppose Atalanta's better part is her wit, i. e. the swiftness of
her mind.
Farmer.
Shakespeare might have taken part of this enumeration of distinguished
females from John Grange's Golden Aphroditis, 1577.
“—who seemest in my sight faire Helen of Troy, Polixene,
Calliope, yea Atlanta hir selfe in beauty to surpasse, Pandora in
qualities, Penelope and Lucretia in chastenesse to deface.”
Again, ibid:
“Polixene fayre, Caliop, and
“Penelop may give place;
“Atlanta, and dame Lucres fayre
“She doth them both deface.”
Again, ibid: “Atlanta who sometyme bore the bell of beauties
price in that hyr native soyle.”
Johnson.
;
4 noteSad Lucretia's modesty.
-- 323 --
Thus Rosalind of many parts
By heavenly synod was devis'd;
Of many faces, eyes, and hearts,
To have the touches5 note dearest priz'd.
Heaven would that she these gifts should have,
And I to live and die her slave.
Ros.
O most gentle Jupiter!—what tedious homily
of love have you wearied your parishioners withal,
and never cry'd, Have patience, good people!
Cel.
How now! back-friends?—Shepherd, go off
a little:—Go with him, sirrah.
Clo.
Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable
retreat: though not with bag and baggage, yet with
scrip and scrippage.
[Exeunt Corin, and Clown.
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.
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 wondring how
thy name should be hang'd and carv'd upon these
trees?
Ros.
I was seven of the nine days out of wonder,
before you came; for look here what I found on a
palm-tree: 6 note
I was never so be-rhimed since Pythagoras'
-- 324 --
time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can
hardly remember.
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 pr'ythee, who?
Cel.
O lord, lord! it is a hard matter for friends
to meet7 note
; but mountains may be remov'd with earthquakes,
and so encounter. 9Q0366
Ros.
Nay, but who is it?
Cel.
Is it possible?
Ros.
Nay, I pry'thee 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 whooping!
Ros.
8 note
Good my complexion! dost thou think,
-- 325 --
though I am caparison'd like a man, I have a doublet
and hose in my disposition? 9 note
One inch of delay more
is a South-sea off discovery. I pr'ythee, tell me, who
is it? quickly, and speak apace: I would thou couldst
stammer, that thou might'st pour this concealed man
out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-mouth'd
bottle; either too much at once, or none at
all. I pr'ythee take the cork out of thy mouth, that
I may drink thy tidings.
Cel.
So you may put a man in your belly.
Ros.
Is he of God's making? What manner of
-- 326 --
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 me not the knowledge of his chin.
Cel.
It is young Orlando, that tripp'd 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.
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 saw'st him?
What said he? How look'd 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 Garagantua's 1 note
mouth
first: 'tis 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 wrestled?
Cel.
It is as easy to count atomies, as to resolve the
propositions of a lover:—but take a taste of my finding
-- 327 --
him, and relish it with good observance. I found
him under a tree, like a dropp'd acorn2 note
.
Ros.
It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it
drops forth such fruit.
Cel.
Give me audience, good madam.
Ros.
Proceed.
Cel.
There lay he, stretch'd along, like a wounded
knight.
Ros.
Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well
becomes the ground.
Cel.
Cry, holla! to thy tongue 9Q0367, I pr'thee; it curvets
unseasonably. He was furnish'd like a hunter.
Ros.
Oh ominous! he comes to kill my heart.
Cel.
I would sing my song without a burden: thou
bring'st me out of tune.
Ros.
Do you not know I am a woman? when I
think, I must speak. Sweet, say on.
Enter Orlando, and Jaques.
Cel.
You bring me out:—Soft! comes he not here?
Ros.
'Tis he; Slink by, and note him.
[Celia and Rosalind retire.
Jaq.
I thank you for your company; but, good
faith, I had as lief have been myself alone.
Orla.
And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I
thank you too for your society.
Jaq.
God be with you; let's meet as little as we can.
Orla.
I do desire we may be better strangers.
-- 328 --
Jaq.
I pray you, mar no more trees with writing
love-songs in their barks.
Orla.
I pray you, mar no more of my verses with
reading them ill-favouredly.
Jaq.
Rosalind is your love's name?
Orla.
Yes, just.
Jaq.
I do not like her name.
Orla.
There was no thought of pleasing you, when
she was christen'd.
Jaq.
What stature is she of?
Orla.
Just as high as my heart.
Jaq.
You are full of pretty answers: Have you
not been acquainted with goldsmiths wives, and
conn'd them out of rings?
Orla.
Not so: 3 note
but I answer you right painted
cloth, from whence you have studied your questions.
-- 329 --
Jaq.
You have a nimble wit; I think it was made
of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me; and
we two will rail against our mistress, the world, and
all our misery.
Orla.
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.
Orla.
'Tis a fault I would 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.
Orla.
He is drown'd in the brook; look but in,
and you shall see him.
Jaq.
There I shall see mine own figure.
Orla.
Which I take to be either a fool, or a cypher.
-- 330 --
Jaq.
I'll tarry no longer with you: farewel, good
signior love.
[Exit.
Orla.
I am glad of your departure: adieu, good
monsieur melancholy.
[Cel. and Ros. come forward.
Ros.
I will speak to him like a saucy lacquey, and
under that habit play the knave with him.—Do you
hear, forester?
Orla.
Very well; What would you?
Ros.
I pray you, what is't a clock?
Orla.
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
sighing every minute, and groaning every hour, would
detect the lazy foot of time, as well as a clock.
Orla.
And why not the swift foot of time? had
not that been as proper?
Ros.
By no means, sir: Time travels in divers paces
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.
Orla.
I pr'ythee, whom doth he trot withal?
Ros.
Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, between
the contract of her marriage and the day it is
solemniz'd: if the interim be but a se'nnight, time's
pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven years.
Orla.
Who ambles time withal?
Ros.
With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich man
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.
Orla.
Whom 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.
Orla.
Who stays it still withal?
-- 331 --
Ros.
With lawyers in the vacation: for they sleep
between term and term, and then they perceive not
how time moves.
Orla.
Where dwell you, pretty youth?
Ros.
With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the
skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.
Orla.
Are you a native of this place?
Ros.
As the coney, that you see dwell where she is
kindled.9Q0369
Orla.
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 religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who
was in his youth an 4 notein-land 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 touch'd with so many
giddy offences as he hath generally tax'd their whole
sex withal.
Orla.
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
monstrous, 'till his fellow fault came to match it.
Orla.
I pr'ythee, recount some of them.
Ros.
No; I will not cast away my physick, but on
those that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest,
that abuses our young plants with carving Rosalind on
their barks; 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.
Orla.
I am he that is so love-shak'd; I pray you,
tell me your remedy.
-- 332 --
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.
Orla.
What were his marks?
Ros.
A lean cheek; which you have not: a blue
eye, and sunken5 note; which you have not: an unquestionable
spirit6 note
; 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 be ungarter'd7 note
, 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-device8 note
in your accoutrements; as
loving yourself, than seeming the lover of any other.
-- 333 --
Orla.
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 which women still give the lye to
their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he
that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind
is so admired?
Orla.
I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of
Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he.
Ros.
But are you so much in love, as your rhimes
speak?
Orla.
Neither rhime 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 punish'd and
cured, is, that the lunacy is so ordinary, that the
whippers are in love too: Yet I profess curing it by
counsel.
Orla.
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 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 most part cattle
of this colour: would now like him, now loath 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 madness9 note;
which was, to forswear the full stream of the
-- 334 --
world, and to live in a nook merely monastick: And
thus I cur'd him; and this way will I take upon me
to wash your liver as clear as a sound sheep's heart,
that there shall not be one spot of love in't.
Orla.
I would not be cur'd, youth.
Ros.
I would cure you, if you would but call me
Rosalind, and come every day to my cote, and woo
me.
Orla.
Now, by the faith of my love, I will; tell
me where it is.
Ros.
Go with me to it, and I will shew it you: and,
by the way, you shall tell me where in the forest you
live: Will you go?
Orla.
With all my heart, good youth.
Ros.
Nay, nay, you must call me Rosalind:—Come,
sister, will you go?
[Exeunt.
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].
