As You Like It
There stripped himself, and here upon his arm
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 recovered him, bound up his wound,
And after some small space, being strong at heart,
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 faints._]
CELIA.
Why, how now, Ganymede, sweet Ganymede!
OLIVER.
Many will swoon when they do look on blood.
CELIA.
There is more in it. Cousin—Ganymede!
OLIVER.
Look, he recovers.
ROSALIND.
I would I were at home.
CELIA.
We’ll lead you thither.
I pray you, will you take him by the arm?
OLIVER.
Be of good cheer, youth. You a man? You lack a man’s heart.
ROSALIND.
I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would think this was well
counterfeited. I pray you tell your brother how well I counterfeited.
Heigh-ho.
OLIVER.
This was not counterfeit. There is too great testimony in your
complexion that it was a passion of earnest.
ROSALIND.
Counterfeit, I assure you.
OLIVER.
Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit to be a man.
ROSALIND.
So I do. But, i’ faith, I should have been a woman by right.
CELIA.
Come, you look paler and paler. Pray you draw homewards. Good sir, go
with us.
OLIVER.
That will I, for I must bear answer back
How you excuse my brother, Rosalind.
ROSALIND.
I shall devise something. But I pray you commend my counterfeiting to
him. Will you go?
[_Exeunt._]
ACT V
SCENE I. The Forest of Arden
Enter Touchstone and Audrey.
TOUCHSTONE.
We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey.
AUDREY.
Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old gentleman’s saying.
TOUCHSTONE.
A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile Martext. But Audrey,
there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to you.
AUDREY.
Ay, I know who ’tis. He hath no interest in me in the world.
Enter William.
Here comes the man you mean.
TOUCHSTONE.
It is meat and drink to me to see a clown. By my troth, we that have
good wits have much to answer for. We shall be flouting; we cannot
hold.
WILLIAM.
Good ev’n, Audrey.
AUDREY.
God ye good ev’n, William.
WILLIAM.
And good ev’n to you, sir.
TOUCHSTONE.
Good ev’n, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover thy head. Nay, prithee,
be covered. How old are you, friend?
WILLIAM.
Five-and-twenty, sir.
TOUCHSTONE.
A ripe age. Is thy name William?
WILLIAM.
William, sir.
TOUCHSTONE.
A fair name. Wast born i’ th’ forest here?
WILLIAM.
Ay, sir, I thank God.
TOUCHSTONE.
“Thank God.” A good answer. Art rich?
WILLIAM.
Faith, sir, so-so.
TOUCHSTONE.
“So-so” is good, very good, very excellent good. And yet it is not, it
is but so-so. Art thou wise?
WILLIAM.
Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit.
TOUCHSTONE.
Why, thou sayst 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 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?
WILLIAM.
I do, sir.
TOUCHSTONE.
Give me your hand. Art thou learned?
WILLIAM.
No, sir.
TOUCHSTONE.
Then learn this of me: to have is to have. For it is a figure in
rhetoric that drink, being poured out of 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 not _ipse_, for I am he.
WILLIAM.
Which he, sir?
TOUCHSTONE.
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 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, or in bastinado, or in steel.
I will bandy with thee in faction; will o’errun thee with policy. I
will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways! Therefore tremble and depart.
AUDREY.
Do, good William.
WILLIAM.
God rest you merry, sir.
[_Exit._]
Enter Corin.
CORIN.
Our master and mistress seek you. Come away, away.
TOUCHSTONE.
Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey! I attend, I attend.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE II. Another part of the Forest
Enter Orlando and Oliver.
ORLANDO.
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?
OLIVER.
Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the 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 will I
estate upon you, and here live and die a shepherd.
Enter Rosalind.
ORLANDO.
You have my consent. Let your wedding be tomorrow. Thither will I
invite the Duke and all’s contented followers. Go you and prepare
Aliena; for, look you, here comes my Rosalind.
ROSALIND.
God save you, brother.
OLIVER.
And you, fair sister.
[_Exit._]
ROSALIND.
O my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee wear thy heart in a
scarf!
ORLANDO.
It is my arm.
ROSALIND.
I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion.
ORLANDO.
Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady.
ROSALIND.
Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to swoon when he showed
me your handkercher?
ORLANDO.
Ay, and greater wonders than that.
ROSALIND.
O, I know where you are. Nay, ’tis true. There was never anything so
sudden but the fight of two rams, and Caesar’s thrasonical brag of “I
came, saw and overcame.” For your brother and my sister no sooner met
but 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 pair of stairs to marriage, which they will climb
incontinent, or else be incontinent before marriage. They are in the
very wrath of love, and they will together. Clubs cannot part them.
ORLANDO.
They shall be married tomorrow, and I will bid the Duke to the nuptial.
But O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another
man’s eyes! By so much the more shall I tomorrow be at the height of
heart-heaviness, by how much I shall think my brother happy in having
what he wishes for.
ROSALIND.
Why, then, tomorrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind?
ORLANDO.
I can live no longer by thinking.
ROSALIND.
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 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 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 not
impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, to set her
before your eyes tomorrow, human as she is, and without any danger.
ORLANDO.
Speak’st thou in sober meanings?
ROSALIND.
By my life, I do, which I tender dearly, though I say I am a magician.
Therefore put you in your best array, bid your friends; for if you will
be married tomorrow, you shall, and to Rosalind, if you will.
Enter Silvius and Phoebe.
Look, here comes a lover of mine and a lover of hers.
PHOEBE.
Youth, you have done me much ungentleness
To show the letter that I writ to you.
ROSALIND.
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.
PHOEBE.
Good shepherd, tell this youth what ’tis to love.
SILVIUS.
It is to be all made of sighs and tears,
And so am I for Phoebe.
PHOEBE.
And I for Ganymede.
ORLANDO.
And I for Rosalind.
ROSALIND.
And I for no woman.
SILVIUS.
It is to be all made of faith and service,
And so am I for Phoebe.
PHOEBE.
And I for Ganymede.
ORLANDO.
And I for Rosalind.
ROSALIND.
And I for no woman.
SILVIUS.
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,
All purity, all trial, all observance,
And so am I for Phoebe.
PHOEBE.
And so am I for Ganymede.
ORLANDO.
And so am I for Rosalind.
ROSALIND.
And so am I for no woman.
PHOEBE.
[_To Rosalind_.] If this be so, why blame you me to love you?
SILVIUS.
[_To Phoebe_.] If this be so, why blame you me to love you?
ORLANDO.
If this be so, why blame you me to love you?
ROSALIND.
Why do you speak too, “Why blame you me to love you?”
ORLANDO.
To her that is not here, nor doth not hear.
ROSALIND.
Pray you, no more of this, ’tis like the howling of Irish wolves
against the moon.
[_to Silvius_.] I will help you if I can.
[_to Phoebe_.] I would love you if I could.—Tomorrow meet me all
together.
[_to Phoebe_.] I will marry you, if ever I marry woman, and I’ll be
married tomorrow.
[_to Orlando_.] I will satisfy you if ever I satisfied man, and you
shall be married tomorrow.
[_to Silvius_.] I will content you, if what pleases you contents you,
and you shall be married tomorrow.
[_to Orlando_.] As you love Rosalind, meet.
[_to Silvius_.] As you love Phoebe, meet.—And as I love no woman, I’ll
meet. So fare you well. I have left you commands.
SILVIUS.
I’ll not fail, if I live.
PHOEBE.
Nor I.
ORLANDO.
Nor I.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE III. Another part of the Forest
Enter Touchstone and Audrey.
TOUCHSTONE.
Tomorrow is the joyful day, Audrey, tomorrow will we be married.
AUDREY.
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.
Enter two Pages.
Here come two of the banished Duke’s pages.
FIRST PAGE.
Well met, honest gentleman.
TOUCHSTONE.
By my troth, well met. Come sit, sit, and a song.
SECOND PAGE.
We are for you, sit i’ th’ middle.
FIRST PAGE.
Shall we clap into’t roundly, without hawking or spitting or saying we
are hoarse, which are the only prologues to a bad voice?
SECOND PAGE.
I’faith, i’faith, and both in a tune like two gipsies on a horse.
SONG
PAGES.
[_Sing_.]
It was a lover and his lass,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
That o’er the green cornfield 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,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
These pretty country folks would lie,
In the spring-time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding.
Sweet lovers love the spring.
This carol they began that hour,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
How that a life was but a flower,