Duke F. ^note
Not see ^note him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be:
But were I not the better part made mercy,
I should not seek ^note an absent argument
Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it:
Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is;
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,
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;
And let my officers of such a nature
Make an extent upon his house and lands:
Do this expediently and turn him going. [Exeunt. Scene II. The Forest. Enter Orlando, with a paper ^note.

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
  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. ^noteEnter 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 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 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 ^note pasture makes 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 ^note breeding or comes of a very dull kindred.

Touch.

Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court, shepherd?

Cor.

No, truly.

Touch.

Then thou art damned.

Cor.

Nay, I hope. ^note

Touch.

Truly, thou art damned like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side.

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.

Cor.

Not a whit, Touchstone ^note: 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.

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 ^note as wholesome as the sweat of 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 ^note instance, come.

Cor.

And they are often tarred over with the surgery of our sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's ^note hands are perfumed with civet.

Touch.

Most shallow man! thou worms-meat, in respect of a good piece of flesh indeed! ^note Learn of the wise, and perpend: civet is of a baser birth than tar, the very uncleanly 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 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 by the copulation of cattle; to be bawd ^note 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.

Cor.

Here comes young Master ^note Ganymede, my new mistress's brother.

Ros.
From the east to western ^note Ind,
No jewel is like Rosalind.
Her worth, being mounted on the wind,
Through all the world bears Rosalind.
All the pictures fairest lined ^note
Are but black to Rosalind.
Let no face ^note be kept in mind
But the fair of ^note Rosalind.

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 ^note market.

Ros.

Out, fool!

Touch.

For a taste:

If a hart do lack a hind,
Let him seek out Rosalind.
If the cat will after kind,
So be sure will Rosalind.
Winter ^note garments must be lined,
So must slender Rosalind.
They that reap must sheaf and bind;
Then to cart with Rosalind.
Sweetest nut ^note hath sourest rind,
Such a nut is Rosalind.
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.

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.

Touch.

You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest ^note judge.

Ros.
Peace!
Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside.

Cel. [reads ^note]
  Why should this a desert ^note be?
    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,
  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
  The ^note quintessence of every sprite
    Heaven would in little show.
  Therefore Heaven Nature charged ^note
    That one body should be fill'd
  With all graces wide-enlarged:
    Nature presently distill'd
  Helen's cheek ^note, but not her ^note heart,
    Cleopatra's majesty,
  Atalanta's better part,
    Sad Lucretia's modesty.

  Thus Rosalind of many parts
    By heavenly synod was devised;
  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 ^note! what tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried ^note ‘Have patience, good people’!

Cel.

How now! back, friends ^note! Shepherd, go off a little. Go with him, sirrah.

Touch.

Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage.

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 wondering how thy name should be hanged and carved upon these trees?

Ros.

I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder ^note before you came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree ^note. I was never so be-rhymed since Pythagoras' ^note 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 ^note a chain, that you once wore, about his neck. Change you ^note colour?

Ros.

I prithee, who?

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?

Ros.

Nay, I prithee now with most petitionary vehemence, tell ^note me who it is.

Cel.

O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all hooping ^note!

Ros.

Good my ^note complexion ^note! dost thou think, though I am caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and hose ^note in my disposition? One inch of delay more is a South-sea of discovery; ^note I prithee, tell me who is it ^note quickly, and speak apace. I would thou couldst stammer, that thou mightst 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.

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 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 ^note.

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 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 ^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 ^note 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 ^note?

Cel.

It is as easy to count atomies ^note as to resolve the propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with good ^note observance. I found him under a tree ^note, like a dropped acorn.

Ros.

It may well be called Jove's tree, when it drops forth such ^note fruit.

Cel.

Give me audience, good madam.

Ros.

Proceed.

Cel.

There lay he, stretched 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 ^note, I prithee; it curvets unseasonably ^note. He was furnished like a hunter.

Ros.

O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart ^note.

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.

Cel.
You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here ^note? ^note[Enter ^note 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,
I thank you too for your society.

Jaq.
God buy ^note 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.

Orl.

I pray you, mar no more ^note 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.

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 been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conned them out of rings?

Orl.

Not so; but I answer you ^note right ^note painted cloth, from whence you have studied your ^note questions.

Jaq.

You have a nimble wit: I think 'twas 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.

Orl.

I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom I know most ^note faults.

Jaq.

The worst fault you have is to be in love.

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 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.

Orl.

I am glad of your departure: adieu, good Monsieur Melancholy.

Ros. [Aside to Celia]

I will speak to him like a saucy lackey, and under that habit play the knave with him. Do ^noteyou hear, forester?

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 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 ^note 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 ^note doth he trot ^note withal?

Ros.

Marry, he trots hard ^note with a young maid between 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 ^note that it seems the length of seven year ^note.

Orl.

Who ambles Time ^note 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 ^note withal.

Orl.

Who ^note 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 ^note stays it ^note still withal?

Ros.

With lawyers in the vacation; for they sleep between 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.

Orl.

Are you native of this place?

Ros.

As the cony that you see dwell where she is kindled ^note.

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 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 ^note against it, and ^note I thank God I am not a woman, to be touched with so many giddy offences as he hath generally 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 ^note fault seeming monstrous ^note 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 ^note; hangs odes upon hawthorns and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying ^note 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 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 ^note not prisoner.

Orl.

What were his marks?

Ros.

A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue ^note 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 ^note is a younger brother's revenue: then your hose should 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 accountrements ^note as loving yourself than seeming the lover of any other.

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 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.

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 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 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 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 ^note humour of madness ^note; which was, to forswear the full stream of the world and to live in a nook merely monastic. And thus I cured him; and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean ^note as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't.

Orl.

I would not be cured, youth.

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 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?

^note Scene III. [Footnote: The forest. Enter Touchstone and Audrey; Jaques behind. ^note

Touch.

Come apace, good Audrey: I will fetch up your goats, Audrey. And how ^note, Audrey? am I the man yet? doth my simple feature content you?

Aud.

Your features! Lord warrant us! what features ^note?

Touch.

I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most 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, it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning ^note 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?

Touch.

No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry, and what they swear in poetry may ^note be said as lovers they do feign ^note.

Aud.

Do you wish then that the gods had made me poetical?

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 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 ^note slut were to put good meat into an unclean dish.

Aud.

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

Touch.

Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness! sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will marry thee, and to that end I have been with Sir Oliver 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!

Touch.

Amen. A man may ^note, 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 ^note. But what though? Courage! As horns are odious, they are necessary. It is said, ‘many a man knows no end of his goods:’ right; 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? ^note 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 ^note worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a married man more honourable than the bare brow of a bachelor; and by how much 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 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.

Jaq.

Proceed, proceed: I'll give her.

Touch.

Good even, good Master What-ye-call't ^note: how

do you, sir? You are very well met: God 'ild ^note you for your last company: I am very glad to see you: even a toy in hand here, sir: nay, pray be covered.

Jaq.

Will you be married, motley?

Touch.

As the ox hath his bow ^note, sir, the horse his curb and the falcon her ^note 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 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.

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.