ACT 3, SCENE 2: The forest.

Enter ORLANDO, with a paper.

ORLANDO: 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                                           [5]
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.                                           [10]

[Exit.]

Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE.

CORIN: And how like you this shepherd's life, Master
Touchstone?

TOUCHSTONE: 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                           [15]
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 is it a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well;
but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much                              [20]
against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee,
shepherd?

CORIN: 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                             [25]
friends; that the property of rain is to wet and fire to
burn; that good 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 breeding or comes of a very dull kindred.                             [30]

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

CORIN: No, truly.

TOUCHSTONE: Then thou art damned.

CORIN: Nay, I hope.                                                                                              [35]

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

CORIN: For not being at court? Your reason.

TOUCHSTONE: Why, if thou never wast at court, thou
never sawest good manners; if thou never sawest good                  [40]
manners, then thy manners must be wicked; and
wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art in a
parlous state, shepherd.

CORIN: Not a whit, Touchstone: those that are good
manners at the court are as ridiculous in the country                      [45]
as the behavior 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.

TOUCHSTONE: Instance, briefly; come, instance.                                         [50]

CORIN: Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their
fells, you know, are greasy.

TOUCHSTONE: Why, do not your courtier's hands
sweat? and is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome
as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow. A better                           [55]
instance, I say; come.

CORIN: Besides, our hands are hard.

TOUCHSTONE: Your lips will feel them the sooner.
Shallow again. A more sounder instance, come.

CORIN: And they are often tarred over with the surgery                            [60]
of our sheep: and would you have us kiss tar? The
courtier's hands are perfumed with civet.

TOUCHSTONE: Most shallow man! thou worms-
meat, in respect of a good piece of flesh indeed!
Learn of the wise, and perpend: civet is of a baser                             [65]
birth than tar, the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend
the instance, shepherd.

CORIN: You have too courtly a wit for me: I'll rest.

TOUCHSTONE: Wilt thou rest damned? God help
thee, shallow man! God make incision in thee! thou                      [70]
art raw.

CORIN: 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                         [75]
and my lambs suck.

TOUCHSTONE: 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
to a bell-wether, and to betray a she-lamb of a twelve-                      [80]
month 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.

CORIN: Here comes young Master Ganymede, my                                       [85]
new mistress's brother.

Enter ROSALIND, with a paper, reading.

ROSALIND: From the east to western Ind,
No jewel is like Rosalind.
Her worth, being mounted on the wind,
Through all the world bears Rosalind.                                              [90]
All the pictures fairest lined
Are but black to Rosalind.
Let no fair be kept in mind
But the fair of Rosalind.

TOUCHSTONE: I'll rhyme you so eight years together,                               [95]
dinners and suppers and sleeping-hours excepted: it is
the right butter-women's rank to market.

ROSALIND: Out, fool!

TOUCHSTONE: For a taste:
If a hart do lack a hind,                                                                          [100]
Let him seek out Rosalind.
If the cat will after kind,
So be sure will Rosalind.
Winter garments must be lined,
So must slender Rosalind.                                                                    [105]
They that reap must sheaf and bind;
Then to cart with Rosalind.
Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,
Such a nut is Rosalind.
He that sweetest rose will find                                                             [110]
Must find love's prick and Rosalind.
This is the very false gallop of verses: why do you
infect yourself with them?

ROSALIND: Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a
tree.                                                                                                                [115]

TOUCHSTONE: Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.

ROSALIND: 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.                                                     [120]

TOUCHSTONE: You have said; but whether wisely or
no, let the forest judge.

Enter CELIA, with a writing.

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

CELIA: [Reads. Why should this a desert be?                                                 [125]
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,                                                                  [130]
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,                                                                   [135]
Or at every sentence end,
Will I Rosalinda write,
Teaching all that read to know
The quintessence of every sprite
Heaven would in little show.                                                              [140]
Therefore Heaven Nature charged
That one body should be fill'd
With all graces wide-enlarged:
Nature presently distill'd
Helen's cheek, but not her heart,                                                            [145]
Cleopatra's majesty,
Atalanta's better part,
Sad Lucretia's modesty.
Thus Rosalind of many parts
By heavenly synod was devised,                                                         [150]
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.

ROSALIND: O most gentle pulpiter! what tedious                                       [155]
homily of love have you wearied your parishioners
withal, and never cried ŒHave patience, good people!'

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

TOUCHSTONE: Come, shepherd, let us make an                                         [160]
honourable retreat; though not with bag and baggage,
yet with scrip and scrippage.

[Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE.]

CELIA: Didst thou hear these verses?

ROSALIND: O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for
some of them had in them more feet than the verses                      [165]
would bear.

CELIA: That's no matter: the feet might bear the
verses.

ROSALIND: Ay, but the feet were lame and could not
bear themselves without the verse and therefore stood                   [170]
lamely in the verse.

CELIA: But didst thou hear without wondering how
thy name should be hanged and carved upon these
trees?

ROSALIND: I was seven of the nine days out of the                                     [175]
wonder before you came; for look here what I found
on a palm-tree. I was never so berhymed since
Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can
hardly remember.

CELIA: Trow you who hath done this?                                                            [180]

ROSALIND: Is it a man?

CELIA: And a chain, that you once wore, about his
neck. Change you colour?

ROSALIND: I prithee, who?

CELIA: O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to                                 [185]
meet; but mountains may be removed with earth-
quakes and so encounter.

ROSALIND: Nay, but who is it?

CELIA: Is it possible?

ROSALIND: Nay, I prithee now with most                                                     [190]
petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is.

CELIA: O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful
wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that,
out of all hooping!

ROSALIND: Good my complexion! dost thou think,                                  [195]
though I am caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet
and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more
is a South-sea of discovery; I prithee, tell me who is it
quickly, and speak apace. I would thou couldst
stammer, that thou mightst pour this concealed man                      [200]
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.

CELIA: So you may put a man in your belly.                                                   [205]

ROSALIND: Is he of God's making? What manner of
man? Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a
beard?

CELIA: Nay, he hath but a little beard.

ROSALIND: Why, God will send more, if the man will                              [210]
be thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, if
thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin.

CELIA: It is young Orlando, that tripped up the
wrestler's heels and your heart both in an instant.

ROSALIND: Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak,                                   [215]
sad brow and true maid.

CELIA: I'faith, coz, štis he.

ROSALIND: Orlando?

CELIA: Orlando.

ROSALIND: Alas the day! what shall I do with my                                      [220]
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.                        [225]

CELIA: You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth
first: 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this agešs
size. To say ay and no to these particulars is more
than to answer in a catechism.

ROSALIND: But doth he know that I am in this forest                                [230]
and in man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did
the day he wrestled?

CELIA: It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the
propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my finding
him, and relish it with good observance. I found him                     [235]
under a tree, like a dropped acorn.

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

CELIA: Give me audience, good madam.

ROSALIND: Proceed.                                                                                            [240]

CELIA: There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded
knight.

ROSALIND: Though it be pity to see such a sight, it
well becomes the ground.

CELIA: Cry Œholla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets                                    [245]
unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter.

ROSALIND: O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.

CELIA: I would sing my song without a burden: thou
bringest me out of tune.

ROSALIND: Do you not know I am a woman? when                                  [250]
I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on.

CELIA: You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here?

Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES.

ROSALIND: 'Tis he: slink by, and note him.

JAQUES: I thank you for your company; but, good
faith, I had as lief have been myself alone.                                          [255]

ORLANDO: And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I
thank you too for your society.

JAQUES: God be wi' you: letšs meet as little as we can.

ORLANDO: I do desire we may be better strangers.

JAQUES: I pray you, mar no more trees with writing                                   [260]
love-songs in their barks.

ORLANDO: I pray you, mar no more of my verses with
reading them ill-favouredly.

JAQUES: Rosalind is your love's name?

ORLANDO: Yes, just.                                                                                            [265]

JAQUES: I do not like her name.

ORLANDO: There was no thought of pleasing you
when she was christened.

JAQUES: What stature is she of?

ORLANDO: Just as high as my heart.                                                                [270]

JAQUES: You are full of pretty answers. Have you not
been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conned
them out of rings?

ORLANDO: Not so; but I answer you right painted
cloth, from whence you have studied your questions.                     [275]

JAQUES: 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.

ORLANDO: I will chide no breather in the world but                                  [280]
myself, against whom I know most faults.

JAQUES: The worst fault you have is to be in love.

ORLANDO: 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best
virtue. I am weary of you.

JAQUES: By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I                                  [285]
found you.

ORLANDO: He is drowned in the brook: look but in,
and you shall see him.

JAQUES: There I shall see mine own figure.

ORLANDO: Which I take to be either a fool or a                                           [290]
cipher.

JAQUES: I'll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good
Signior Love.

ORLANDO: I am glad of your departure: adieu, good
Monsieur Melancholy.                                                                             [295]

[Exit JAQUES.]

ROSALIND: [Aside to CELIA] I will speak to him, like a saucy lackey and
under that habit play the knave with him. Do you
hear, forester?

ORLANDO: Very well: what would you?

ROSALIND: I pray you, what is't ošclock?                                                        [300]

ORLANDO: You should ask me what time o' day:
there's no clock in the forest.

ROSALIND: 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.                        [305]

ORLANDO: And why not the swift foot of Time? had
not that been as proper?

ROSALIND: 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                             [310]
gallops withal and who he stands still withal.

ORLANDO: I prithee, who doth he trot withal?

ROSALIND: Marry, he trots hard with a young maid
between the contract of her marriage and the day it
is solemnized: if the interim be but a se'nnight,                                 [315]
Time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven
year.

ORLANDO: Who ambles Time withal?

ROSALIND: With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich
man that hath not the gout, for the one sleeps easily                        [320]
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.                                                                                                           [325]

ORLANDO: Who doth he gallop withal?

ROSALIND: With a thief to the gallows, for though he
go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon
there.

ORLANDO: Who stays it still withal?                                                              [330]

ROSALIND: With lawyers in the vacation, for they
sleep between term and term and then they perceive
not how Time moves.

ORLANDO: Where dwell you, pretty youth?

ROSALIND: With this shepherdess, my sister; here in                                [335]
the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.

ORLANDO: Are you native of this place?

ROSALIND: As the cony that you see dwell where she is
kindled.

ORLANDO: Your accent is something finer than you                                  [340]
could purchase in so removed a dwelling.

ROSALIND: 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                          [345]
heard him read many lectures against it, and 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.

ORLANDO: Can you remember any of the principal                                    [350]
evils that he laid to the charge of women?

ROSALIND: 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.                                                                                                       [355]

ORLANDO: I prithee, recount some of them.

ROSALIND: 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 ŒRosalind'
on their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns and                               [360]
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.

ORLANDO: I am he that is so love-shaked: I pray you                                [365]
tell me your remedy.

ROSALIND: 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.

ORLANDO: What were his marks?                                                                  [370]

ROSALIND: A lean cheek, which you have not, a blue
eye and sunken, which you have not, an unquestion-
able spirit, 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                          [375]
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 accoutrements as loving                       [380]
yourself than seeming the lover of any other.

ORLANDO: Fair youth, I would I could make thee
believe I love.

ROSALIND: Me believe it! you may as soon make her
that you love believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter                      [385]
to do than to confess she does: that is one of the points
in the which women still give the lie to their con-
sciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the
verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired?

ORLANDO: I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand                                 [390]
of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he.

ROSALIND: But are you so much in love as your
rhymes speak?

ORLANDO: Neither rhyme nor reason can express how
much.                                                                                                            [395]

ROSALIND: 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.                             [400]

ORLANDO: Did you ever cure any so?

ROSALIND: 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,                           [405]
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                         [410]
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 madness; which
was, to forswear the full stream of the world, and to
live in a nook merely monastic. And thus I cured him;                  [415]
and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver
as clean as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be
one spot of love in't.

ORLANDO: I would not be cured, youth.

ROSALIND: I would cure you, if you would but call                                    [420]
me Rosalind and come every day to my cote and
woo me.

ORLANDO: Now, by the faith of my love, I will: tell
me where it is.

ROSALIND: Go with me to it and I'll show it you:                                        [425]
and by the way you shall tell me where in the forest
you live. Will you go?

ORLANDO: With all my heart, good youth.

ROSALIND: Nay you must call me Rosalind. Come,
sister, will you go?                                                                                     [430]

[Exeunt.]


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