ACT 4, SCENE 3: The forest.

Enter ROSALIND and CELIA.

ROSALIND: How say you now? Is it not past two
o'clock? and here much Orlando!

CELIA: I warrant you, with pure love and troubled
brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows and is gone
forth to sleep.                                                                                              [5]
Look, who comes here.

Enter SILVIUS.

SILVIUS: My errand is to you, fair youth;
My gentle Phebe bid me give you this:
I know not the contents; but, as I guess
By the stern brow and waspish action                                                   [10]
Which she did use as she was writing of it,
It bears an angry tenour: pardon me:
I am but as a guiltless messenger.

ROSALIND: Patience herself would startle at this letter
And play the swaggerer; bear this, bear all:                                          [15]
She says I am not fair, that I lack manners;
She calls me proud, and that she could not love me,
Were man as rare as ph¦nix. 'Od's my will!
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt:
Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well,                              [20]
This is a letter of your own device.

SILVIUS: No, I protest, I know not the contents:
Phebe did write it.

ROSALIND:                           Come, come, you are a fool
And turn'd into the extremity of love.
I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand,                                            [25]
A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands:
She has a huswife's hand; but that's no matter:
I say she never did invent this letter;
This is a man's invention and his hand.                                              [30]

SILVIUS: Sure, it is hers.

ROSALIND: Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style.
A style for challengers; why, she defies me,
Like Turk to Christian: women's gentle brain
Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention                               [35]
Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect
Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter?

SILVIUS: So please you, for I never heard it yet;
Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty.

ROSALIND: She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes.                         [40]

[Reads.]

Art thou god to shepherd turn'd,
That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?
Can a woman rail thus?

SILVIUS:                          Call you this railing?

ROSALIND: [Reads.] Why, thy godhead laid apart,
Warr'st thou with a woman's heart?                                                 [45]
Did you ever hear such railing?
Whiles the eye of man did woo me,
That could do no vengeance to me.
Meaning me a beast.
If the scorn of your bright eyne                                                            [50]
Have power to raise such love in mine,
Alack, in me what strange effect
Would they work in mild aspect!
Whiles you chid me, I did love;
How then might your prayers move!                                                [55]
He that brings this love to thee
Little knows this love in me:
And by him seal up thy mind;
Whether that thy youth and kind
Will the faithful offer take                                                                    [60]
Of me and all that I can make;
Or else by him my love deny,
And then I'll study how to die.

SILVIUS: Call you this chiding?

CELIA:                           Alas, poor shepherd!

ROSALIND: Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity.                              [65]
Wilt thou love such a woman? What, to make thee an
instrument and play false strains upon thee! not to
be endured! Well, go your way to her, for I see love
hath made thee a tame snake, and say this to her: that
if she loves me, I charge her to love thee; if she will not,                [70]
I will never have her unless thou entreat for her. If you
be a true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes
more company.

[Exit SILVIUS.]

Enter OLIVER.

OLIVER: Good morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you know,
Where in the purlieus of this forest stands                                         [75]
A sheep-cote fenced about with olive trees?

CELIA: West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom:
The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream
Left on your right hand brings you to the place.
But at this hour the house doth keep itself;                                         [80]
There's none within.

OLIVER: If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
Then should I know you by description;
Such garments and such years: 'The boy is fair,
Of female favour, and bestows himself                                                [85]
Like a ripe sister: the woman low
And browner than her brother.' Are not you
The owner of the house I did enquire for?

CELIA: It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are.

OLIVER: Orlando doth commend him to you both,                                     [90]
And to that youth he calls his Rosalind
He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he?

ROSALIND: I am: what must we understand by this?

OLIVER: Some of my shame; if you will know of me
What man I am, and how, and why, and where                                [95]
This handkercher was stain'd.

CELIA:                           I pray you, tell it.

OLIVER: When last the young Orlando parted from you
He left a promise to return again
Within an hour, and pacing through the forest,
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy,                                        [100]
Lo, what befell! he threw his eye aside,
And mark what object did present itself:
Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age
And high top bald with dry antiquity,
A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,                                   [105]
Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck
A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself,
Who with her head nimble in threats approach'd
The opening of his mouth; but suddenly,
Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself,                                                          [110]
And with indented glides did slip away
Into a bush: under which bush's shade
A lioness, with udders all drawn dry,
Lay crouching, head on ground, with catlike watch,
When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis                                [115]
The royal disposition of that beast
To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead:
This seen, Orlando did approach the man
And found it was his brother, his elder brother.

CELIA: O, I have heard him speak of that same brother;                              [120]
And he did render him the most unnatural
That lived amongst men.

OLIVER:                           And well he might so do,
For well I know he was unnatural.

ROSALIND: But, to Orlando: did he leave him there,
Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness?                                               [125]

OLIVER: Twice did he turn his back and purposed so;
But kindness, nobler ever than revenge,
And nature, stronger than his just occasion,
Made him give battle to the lioness,
Who quickly fell before him: in which hurtling                               [130]
From miserable slumber I awaked.

CELIA: Are you his brother?

ROSALIND:                           Was't you he rescued?

CELIA: Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him?

OLIVER: 'Twas I; but 'tis not I: I do not shame
To tell you what I was, since my conversion                                       [135]
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am.

ROSALIND: But, for the bloody napkin?

OLIVER:                           By and by.
When from the first to last betwixt us two
Tears our recountments had most kindly bathed,
As how I came into that desert place:--                                                [140]
In brief, he led me to the gentle duke,
Who gave me fresh array and entertainment,
Committing me unto my brother's love;
Who led me instantly unto his cave,
There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm                                  [145]
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 recover'd him, bound up his wound;
And, after some small space, being strong at heart,                           [150]
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.                                                [155]

[ROSALIND swoons.]

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.                                                                [160]

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,                       [165]
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.                                                             [170]

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,                                         [175]
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?                          [180]

[Exeunt.]


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