# Shakespeare - First Folio facsimile (1910)/As You Like It/Act 4 Scene 3

Scœna Tertia.
Enter Rosalind and Celia.
Ros.
How say you now, is it not past two a clock? And heere much Orlando.
Cel.
I warrant you, with pure loue, & troubled brain,
Enter Siluius.
To sleepe: looke who comes heere.
Sil.
My errand is to you, faire youth, My gentle Phebe, did bid me giue you this:
I know not the contents, but as I guesse
By the sterne brow, and waspish action
Which she did vse, as she was writing of it,
It beares an angry tenure; pardon me,
I am but as a guiltlesse messenger.
Ros.
Patience her selfe would startle at this letter,
And play the swaggerer, beare this, beare all:
Shee saies I am not faire, that I lacke manners,
She calls me proud, and that she could not loue me
Were man as rare as Phenix:'od's my will,
Her loue is not the Hare that I doe hunt,
Why writes she so to me? well Shepheard, well,
This is a Letter of your owne deuice.
Sil.
No, I protest, I know not the contents,
Phebe did write it.
Ros.
Come, come, you are a foole,
And turn'd into the extremity of loue.
I saw her hand, she has a leatherne hand,
A freestone coloured hand: I verily did thinke
That her old gloues were on, but twas her hands:
She has a huswiues hand, but that's no matter:
I say she neuer did inuent this letter,
This is a mans inuention, and his hand.
Sil.
Sure it is hers.
Ros.
Why, tis a boysterous and a cruell stile,
A stile for challengers: why, she defies me,
Like Turke to Christian: womens gentle braine
Could not drop forth such giant rude inuention,
Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect
Then in their countenance: will you heare the letter?
Sil.
So please you, for I neuer heard it yet:
Yet heard too much of Phebes crueltie.
Ros.
She Phebes me: marke how the tyrant writes. Read. Art thou god, to Shepherd turn'd?
That a maidens heart hath burn'd.
Can a woman raile thus?
Sil.
Call you this railing?
Ros.
Read. Why, thy godhead laid a part,
War'st thou with a womans heart?
Did you euer heare such railing?
Whiles the eye of man did wooe me,
That could do no vengeance to me.
Meaning me a beast.
If the scorne of your bright eine
Haue power to raise such loue in mine,
Alacke, in me, what strange effect
Would they worke in milde aspect?
Whiles you chid me, I did loue,
How then might your praiers moue?
He that brings this loue to thee,
Little knowes this Loue in me:
And by him seale vp thy minde,
Whether that thy youth and kinde
Will the faithfull offer take
Of me, and all that I can make,
Or else by him my loue denie,
And then Ile studie how to die.
Sil.
Call you this chiding?
Cel.
Alas poore Shepheard.
Ros.
Doe you pitty him? No, he deserues no pitty: wilt thou loue such a woman? what to make thee an instrument, and play false straines vpon thee? not to be endur'd. Well, goe your way to her; (for I see Loue hath made thee a tame snake) and say this to her; That if she loue me, I charge her to loue thee: if she will not, I will neuer haue her, vnlesse thou intreat for her: if you bee a true louer hence, and not a word; for here comes more company. Exit. Sil.
Enter Oliuer.
Good morrow, faire ones: pray you, (if you know) Where in the Purlews of this Forrest, stands
A sheep-coat, fenc'd about with Oliue-trees.
Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbor bottom
The ranke of Oziers, by the murmuring streame
Left on your right hand, brings you to the place:
But at this howre, the house doth keepe it selfe,
There's none within.
Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
Then should I know you by description,
Such garments, and such yeeres: the boy is faire,
Of femall fauour, and bestowes himselfe
Like a ripe sister: the woman low
And browner then her brother: are not you
The owner of the house I did enquire for?
Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are.
Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both,
And to that youth hee calls his Rosalind,
He sends this bloudy napkin; are you he?
Ros.
I am: what must we vnderstand by this?
Oli.
Some of my shame, if you will know of me
What man I am, and how, and why, and where
This handkercher was stain'd.
Cel.
I pray you tell it.
Oli.
When last the yong Orlando parted from you,
He left a promise to returne againe
Within an houre, and pacing through the Forrest,
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancie,
Loe what befell: he threw his eye aside,
And marke what obiect did present it selfe
Vnder an old Oake, whose bows were moss'd with age
And high top, bald with drie antiquitie:
A wretched ragged man, ore-growne with haire
Lay sleeping on his back; about his necke
A greene and guilded snake had wreath'd it selfe,
Who with her head, nimble in threats approach'd
The opening of his mouth: but sodainly
Seeing Orlando, it vnlink'd it selfe,
And with indented glides, did slip away
Into a bush, vnder which bushes shade
A Lyonnesse, with vdders all drawne drie,
Lay cowching head on ground, with catlike watch
When that the sleeping man should stirre; for 'tis
The royall disposition of that beast
To prey on nothing, that doth seeme as dead:
This seene, Orlando did approach the man,
And found it was his brother, his elder brother.
Cel.
O I haue heard him speake of that same brother,
And he did render him the most vnnaturall
That liu'd amongst men.
Oli.
And well he might so doe,
For well I know he was vnnaturall.
Ros.
But to Orlando: did he leaue him there
Food to the suck'd and hungry Lyonnesse?
Oli.
Twice did he turne his backe, and purpos'd so:
But kindnesse, nobler euer then reuenge,
And Nature stronger then his iust occasion,
Made him giue battell to the Lyonnesse:
Who quickly fell before him, in which hurtling
From miserable slumber I awaked.
Cel.
Are you his brother?
Ros.
Was't you he rescu'd?
Cel.
Was't you that did so oft contriue to kill him?
Oli. 'Twas I: but 'tis not I: I doe not shame
To tell you what I was, since my conuersion
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am.
Ros.
But for the bloody napkin?
Oli.
By and by:
When from the first to last betwixt vs two,
Teares our recountments had most kindely bath'd,
As how I came into that Desert place.
In briefe, he led me to the gentle Duke,
Who gaue me fresh aray, and entertainment,
Committing me vnto my brothers loue,
Who led me instantly vnto his Caue,
There stript himselfe, and heere vpon his arme
The Lyonnesse had torne some flesh away,
Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted,
And cride in fainting vpon Rosalinde.
Briefe, I recouer'd him, bound vp 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 giue this napkin
Died in this bloud, vnto the Shepheard youth,
That he in sport doth call his Rosalind.
Cel.
Why how now Ganimed, sweet Ganimed.
Oli.
Many will swoon when they do look on bloud.
Cel.
There is more in it; Cosen Ganimed.
Oli.
Looke, he recouers.
Ros.
I would I were at home.
Cel.
Wee'll lead you thither:
I pray you will you take him by the arme.
Oli.
Be of good cheere youth: you a man?
You lacke a mans heart.
Ros.
I doe so, I confesse it:
Ah, sirra, a body would thinke this was well counterfeited, I pray you tell your brother how well I counterfeited: heigh-ho.
Oli.
This was not counterfeit, there is too great testimony in your complexion, that it was a passion of earnest.
Ros.
Counterfeit, I assure you.
Oli.
Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit to be a man.
Ros.
So I doe: but yfaith, I should haue beene a woman by right.
Cel.
Come, you looke paler and paler: pray you draw homewards: good sir, goe with vs.
Oli.
That will I: for I must beare answere backe
How you excuse my brother, Rosalind.
Ros. I shall deuise something: but I pray you commend my counterfeiting to him: will you goe? Exeunt.
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