# As You Like It (1919) Yale/Text/Act III

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ACT THIRD
Scene One
[A Room in the Palace]
Enter Duke [Frederick], Lords, and Oliver.
Duke F. Not seen him since! Sir, sir, that cannot be: But were I not the better part made mercy, I should not seek an absent argument Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it: 4 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. 8 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. 12
Oli. O that your highness knew my heart in this! I never lov'd my brother in my life.
Duke F. More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors; And let my officers of such a nature 16 Make an extent upon his house and lands. Do this expediently and turn him going. Exeunt.
Scene Two
[The Forest of Arden]
Enter Orlando [with a paper].
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. 4 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 everywhere. 8 Run, run, Orlando: carve on every tree The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she. Exit.
Enter Corin and Touchstone.
Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone? 12
Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life; but in respect that it is a shep- herd'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 17 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? 23
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 pasture 28 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 com- plain of good breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred.
Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court, shepherd?
Cor. No, truly. 36
Touch. Then thou art damned.
Cor. Nay, I hope.
Touch. Truly, thou art damned, like an ill- roasted egg, all on one side. 40
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 wick- ed; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd. 46
Cor. Not a whit, Touchstone: 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. 56
​Touch. 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 instance, I say; come. 60
Cor. Besides, our hands are hard.
Touch. Your lips will feel them the sooner: shallow again. A more sounder 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 hands are perfumed with civet. 67
Touch. 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 birth than tar, the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd. 72
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. 77
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, con- tent with my harm; and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck. 82
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 to a bell-wether, and to be- ​tray a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to a crooked- 87 pated, old, cuckoldy ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou be'st not damned for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds: I cannot see else how thou shouldst 'scape.
Cor. Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother. 93
Enter Rosalind [reading a paper].
Ros. 'From the east to western Ind, No jewel is like Rosalind. Her worth, being mounted on the wind, 96 Through all the world bears Rosalind. All the pictures fairest lin'd Are but black to Rosalind. Let no face be kept in mind, 100 But the fair of Rosalind.'
Touch. I'll rime you so, eight years together, dinners and suppers and sleeping hours ex- cepted: it is the right butter-women's rank to market. 105
Ros. Out, fool!
Touch. For a taste:— 'If a hart do lack a hind, 108 Let him seek out Rosalind. If the cat will after kind, So be sure will Rosalind. Winter garments must be lin'd, 112 So must slender Rosalind. They that reap must sheaf and bind, ​Then to cart with Rosalind. Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, lie 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? 121
Ros. Peace! you dull fool: I found them on a tree.
Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. 124
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. 129
Touch. You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest judge.
Enter Celia with a writing.
Ros. Peace! 132 Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside.
Cel. 'Why should this a desert be? For it is unpeopled? No; Tongues I'll hang on every tree, 136 That shall civil sayings show. Some, how brief the life of man Runs his erring pilgrimage, That the stretching of a span 140 Buckles in his sum of age; Some, of violated vows 'Twixt the souls of friend and friend: ​But upon the fairest boughs, 144 Or at every sentence' end, Will I Rosalinda write; Teaching all that read to know The quintessence of every sprite 148 Heaven would in little show. Therefore Heaven Nature charg'd That one body should be fill'd With all graces wide enlarg'd: 152 Nature presently distill'd Helen's cheek, but not her heart, Cleopatra's majesty, Atalanta's better part, 156 Sad Lucretia's modesty. Thus Rosalind of many parts By heavenly synod was devis'd Of many faces, eyes, and hearts, 160 To have the touches dearest priz'd. Heaven would that she these gifts should have, And I to live and die her slave.'
Ros. O most gentle Jupiter! what tedious 164 homily of love have you wearied your parishion- ers withal, and never cried, 'Have patience, good people!'
Cel. How now! back, friends! Shepherd, go off a little: go with him, sirrah. 169
Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an ho- nourable retreat; though not with bag and bag- gage, yet with scrip and scrippage. 172
[Exeunt Corin and Touchstone.]
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. 176
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. 181
Cel. But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name should be hanged and carved upon these trees? 184
Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree: I was never so be-rimed since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember. 189
Cel. Trow you who hath done this?
Ros. Is it a man?
Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck. Change you colour? 193
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. 197
Ros. Nay, but who is it?
Cel. Is it possible?
Ros. Nay, I prithee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is. 201
Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most won- derful wonderful! and yet again wonderful! and after that, out of all whooping! 204
​Ros. Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am caparison'd 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 out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-mouth'd 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. 216
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. 220
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. 224
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. 228
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 233 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. 238
Cel.. You must borrow me Gargantua's 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 a catechism. 242
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? 245
Cel. 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 under a tree, like a dropped acorn.
Ros. It may well be called Jove's tree, when it drops forth such fruit. 252
Cel. Give me audience, good madam.
Ros. Proceed.
Cel. There lay he, stretch'd along like a wounded knight. 256
Ros. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground.
Cel. Cry 'holla!' to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets unseasonably. He was furnish'd like a hunter. 261
Ros. O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.
​Cel. I would sing my song without a burthen: thou bringest me out of tune. 264
Ros. Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on.
Enter Orlando and Jaques.
Cel. You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here? 268
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's sake, I thank you too for your society. 273
Jaq. God be wi' 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 moe of my verses with reading them ill-favouredly. 280
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. 285
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, 289 and conn'd them out of rings?
​Orl. Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence you have studied your ques- tions. 293
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 mis- tress the world, and all our misery. 297
Orl. I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom I know most 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. 305
Orl. He is drowned in the brook: look but in, and you shall see him.
Jaq. There I shall see mine own figure. 308
Orl. Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.
Jaq. I'll tarry no longer with you. Farewell, good Signior Love. 312
Orl. I am glad of your departure. Adieu, good Monsieur Melancholy. [Exit Jaques.]
Ros. I will speak to him like a saucy lackey, and under that habit play the knave with him. Do you hear, forester? 317
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. 321
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. 325
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 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. 332
Orl. I prithee, who doth he trot withal?
Ros. 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, Time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven year. 338
Orl. Who ambles Time 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 waste- ful learning, the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury. These Time ambles withal.
Orl. Who doth he gallop withal? 348
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 stays it still withal? 352
Ros. With lawyers in the vacation; for they sleep between term and term, and then they per- ceive not how Time moves.
Orl. Where dwell you, pretty youth? 356
​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? 360
Ros. As the cony, that you see dwell where she is kindled.
Orl. Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling. 364
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 368 fell in love. I have 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. 373
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 fault seeming monstrous till his fellow fault came to match it.
Orl. I prithee, recount some of them. 380
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; hangs odes upon hawthorns, and 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. 389
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 not prisoner.
Orl. What were his marks? 396
Ros. A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue 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 is a younger brother's revenue. Then, your hose should be ungartered, your bonnet 403 unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and everything about you demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such man: you are rather point-device in your accoutre- ments as loving yourself than seeming the lover of any other. 409
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? 418
Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfor- tunate he.
Ros. But are you so much in love as your rimes speak?
Orl. Neither rime nor reason can express how much. 425
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? 432
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 effemi- nate, changeable, longing and liking; proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of 438 tears, full of smiles, for every passion something, and for no passion truly anything, 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 445 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; 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.
Orl. I would not be cured, youth. 452
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. 457
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. 461
Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you go? Exeunt.
Scene Three
[Another Part of the Forest]
Enter Touchstone, Audrey, and Jaques.
Touch. Come apace, good Audrey: I will fetch up your goats, Audrey. And how, Audrey? am I the man yet? doth my simple feature con- tent you? 4
Aud. Your features! Lord warrant us! what features?
Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths. 9
Jaq. [Aside.] O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove in a thatch'd house!
​Touch. When a man's verses cannot be under- stood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the forward child Understanding, it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room. Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical. 17
Aud. I do not know what 'poetical' is. Is it honest in deed and word? Is it a true thing? 20
Touch. No, truly, for the truest poetry is the most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry, and what they swear in poetry may be said as lovers they do feign. 24
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. 29
Aud. Would you not have me honest?
Touch. No, truly, unless thou wert hard- favour'd; for honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar. 33
Jaq. [Aside.] A material fool.
Aud. Well, I am not fair, and therefore I pray the gods make me honest. 36
Touch. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut were to put good meat into an un- clean dish.
Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul. 41
Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foul- ness! 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! 49
Touch. Amen. A man may, 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. But what though? Courage! As horns are odious, they are necessary. It is said, 'many a man knows no end of his goods': 55 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? No, no; the noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the 60 single man therefore blessed? No: as a walled town is more 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.
Enter Sir Oliver Martext.
Here comes Sir Oliver.—Sir Oliver Martext, 67 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? 72
​Touch. I will not take her on gift of any man.
Sir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the mar- riage is not lawful. 76
Jaq. [Coming forward.] Proceed, proceed: I'll give her.
Touch. Good even, good Master What-ye- call't: how do you, sir? You are very well met: God 'ild 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? 84
Touch. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb, and the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling. 88
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. 95
Touch. [Aside.] I am not in the mind but I were better to be married of him than of an- other: 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. 100
Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.
Touch. Come, sweet Audrey: We must be married, or we must live in bawdry. Farewell, good Master Oliver: not 104
'O sweet Oliver! O brave Oliver! Leave me not behind thee:'
but,— 108
'Wind away, Begone, I say, I will not to wedding with thee.'
[Exeunt Jaques, Touchstone, and Audrey.]
Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter: ne'er a fantastical knave of them all shall flout me out of my call- ing. [Exit.]
Scene Four
[Another Part of the Forest]
Enter Rosalind and Celia.
Ros. Never talk to me: I will weep.
Cel. Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider that tears do not become a man.
Ros. But have I not cause to weep? 4
Cel. As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep.
Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling colour.
Cel. Something browner than Judas's; marry, his kisses are Judas's own children. 9
Ros. I' faith, his hair is of a good colour.
Cel. An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the only colour. 12
Ros. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy bread.
Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of ​Diana: a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them. 17
Ros. But why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes not?
Cel. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.
Ros. Do you think so? 21
Cel. Yes: I think he is not a pick-purse nor a horse-stealer; but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a covered goblet or a worm-eaten nut. 25
Ros. Not true in love?
Cel. Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in. 28
Ros. You have heard him swear downright he was.
Cel. 'Was' is not 'is': besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the confirmers of false reckonings. He attends here in the forest on the duke your father. 35
Ros. I met the duke yesterday and had much question with him. He asked me of what parentage I was; I told him, of as good as he; so he laughed, and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando? 40
Cel. O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover; as a puisny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose. But all's brave that youth mounts and folly guides. Who comes here?
Enter Corin.
Cor. Mistress and master, you have oft inquir'd 48 After the shepherd that complain'd of love, Who you saw sitting by me on the turf, Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess That was his mistress.
Cel.Well, and what of him? 52
Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd, Between the pale complexion of true love And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain, Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you, 56 If you will mark it.
Ros.O! come, let us remove: The sight of lovers feedeth those in love. Bring us to this sight, and you shall say I'll prove a busy actor in their play. Exeunt.
Scene Five
[Another Part of the Forest]
Enter Silvius and Phebe.
Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe: Say that you love me not, but say not so In bitterness. The common executioner, Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard, 4 Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck But first begs pardon: will you sterner be Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?
Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Corin [behind].
Phe. I would not be thy executioner: 8 I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. ​Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye: 'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things, 12 Who shut their coward gates on atomies, Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers! Now I do frown on thee with all my heart; And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee; 16 Now counterfeit to swound; why now fall down; Or, if thou canst not, O! for shame, for shame, Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers. Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee; 20 Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush, The cicatrice and capable impressure Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes, 24 Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not, Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes That can do hurt.
Sil.O dear Phebe, If ever,—as that ever may be near,— 28 You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, Then shall you know the wounds invisible That love's keen arrows make.
Phe.But, till that time Come not thou near me; and, when that time comes, 32 Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not; As, till that time I shall not pity thee.
Ros. [Advancing.] And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother, That you insult, exult, and all at once, 36 ​Over the wretched? What though you have beauty,— As by my faith, I see no more in you Than without candle may go dark to bed,— Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? 40 Why, what means this? Why do you look on me? I see no more in you than in the ordinary Of nature's sale-work. Od's my little life! I think she means to tangle my eyes too. 44 No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it: 'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair, Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream, That can entame my spirits to your worship. 48 You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her, Like foggy south puffing with wind and rain? You are a thousand times a properer man Than she a woman: 'tis such fools as you 52 That make the world full of ill-favour'd children: 'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her:
And out of you she sees herself more proper Than any of her lineaments can show her. 56 But, mistress, know yourself: down on your knees, And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love: For I must tell you friendly in your ear, Sell when you can; you are not for all markets. 60 Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer: Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. So take her to thee, shepherd. Fare you well.
Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together: 64 ​I had rather hear you chide than this man woo.
Ros. He's fallen in love with her foulness, and she'll fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce her with bitter words. Why look you so upon me? 70
Phe. For no ill will I bear you.
Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me, For I am falser than vows made in wine: Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house, 74 'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by. Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard. Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better, And be not proud: though all the world could see, 78 None could be so abus'd in sight as he. Come, to our flock.
[Exeunt Rosalind, Celia, and Corin.]
Phe. Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might: 'Who ever lov'd that lov'd not at first sight?' 82
Sil. Sweet Phebe,—
Phe.Ha! what sayst thou, Silvius?
Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me.
Phe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.
Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be: 86 If you do sorrow at my grief in love, By giving love your sorrow and my grief Were both extermin'd.
Phe. Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly?
Sil. I would have you.
Phe.Why, that were covetousness. Silvius, the time was that I hated thee; 92 ​And yet it is not that I bear thee love: But since that thou canst talk of love so well, Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, I will endure, and I'll employ thee too; 96 But do not look for further recompense Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd.
Sil. So holy and so perfect is my love, And I in such a poverty of grace, 100 That I shall think it a most plenteous crop To glean the broken ears after the man That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon. 104
Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me erewhile?
Sil. Not very well, but I have met him oft; And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds That the old carlot once was master of. 108
Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him. 'Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well; But what care I for words? yet words do well, When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. 112 It is a pretty youth: not very pretty: But, sure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes him: He'll make a proper man: the best thing in him Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue 116 Did make offence his eye did heal it up. He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall: His leg is but so so; and yet 'tis well: There was a pretty redness in his lip, 120 A little riper and more lusty red Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference ​Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask. There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him 124 In parcels as I did, would have gone near To fall in love with him; but, for my part, I love him not nor hate him not; and yet Have more cause to hate him than to love him: 128 For what had he to do to chide at me? He said mine eyes were black and my hair black; And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me. I marvel why I answer'd not again: 132 But that's all one; omittance is no quittance. I'll write to him a very taunting letter, And thou shalt bear it: wilt thou, Silvius?
Sil. Phebe, with all my heart.
Phe.I'll write it straight; 136 The matter's in my head and in my heart: I will be bitter with him and passing short. Go with me, Silvius. Exeunt.
Footnotes to Act III
Scene One
​2 made mercy: made of mercy 3 argument: subject 6 candle; cf. n. 7 turn: return 11 quit: acquit 17 extent; cf. n. 18 expediently: expeditiously
Scene Two
​2 thrice-crowned; cf. n. 3 sphere: orbit 4 huntress' name; cf. n. full: whole doth sway: hath under control 6 character: inscribe 10 unexpressive: inexpressible 15 naught: good for nothing 20 spare: frugal humour: whim ​27 property: particular quality, peculiarity 31 complain of: bewail the lack of 44 manners: here in sense of 'morals' 46 parlous: contraction of 'perilous' 50 mockable: deserving ridicule 56 fells: fleeces ​67 civet: perfume derived from the civet cat 68 worms-meat; cf. n. 69 in respect of: in comparison with 70 perpend: consider 71 flux: discharge 76 incision: i.e., to cure thee of thy simpleness; cf. n. 77 raw: untrained 79 owe . . . hate: have hate toward no man 85 offer: presume 86 bell-wether: leading sheep of a flock on whose neck a bell is hung ​87 crooked-pated: crooked-headed; i.e., in reference to the ram's horns 88 cuckoldy; cf. n. out . . . match: quite unsuitable for her 98 lin'd: drawn 104 butter-women's rank; cf. n. 107 taste: i.e., sample of skill 110 after kind: follow the dictates of nature ​115 cart: a pun on farmer's cart which bore the harvest to market and the sheriff's cart on which female offenders were publicly disgraced 121 infect: contaminate (?) 125 graff: graft 126 medlar: a fruit, with quibble on 'meddler' 137 civil sayings; cf. n. 139 erring: wandering 140 span; cf. n. 141 Buckles in: limits ​148 quintessence; cf. n. 149 in little: in miniature (?); cf. n. 156 Atalanta's better part: i.e., her athletic grace; cf. n. 159 heavenly synod: assembly of the gods 161 touches: features 164 Jupiter; cf. n. 166 withal: with 172 scrip: a shepherd's pouch scrippage: its contents ​185 seven . . . nine; cf. n. 187 palm-tree; cf. n. 188 Pythagoras' . . . rat; cf. n. 190 Trow: know 195 hard . . . meet; cf. n. 204 out . . . whooping: beyond all shouting of astonishment ​205 Good my complexion; cf. n. 207 doublet and hose: i.e., typical male attire; cf. n. One . . . discovery; cf. n. 217 God's making; cf. n. 222 stay: wait for 228 sad . . . maid: i.e., in earnest and as you are a true maiden 229 I' faith: on my faith ​235 Wherein went he: i.e., how was he dressed makes: does 239 Gargantua's mouth; cf. n. 241 ay . . . catechism; cf. n. 244 freshly: bloomingly 246 atomies: atoms, motes 247 resolve: answer logically propositions: questions 248 relish: appreciate good observance: respectful attention 251 Jove's tree; cf. n. 253 audience: hearing, attention 258 becomes: adorns 259 'holla': stop 260 curvets unseasonably: prances ill-timedly furnish'd: dressed 262 heart: with quibble on 'hart' ​263 burthen: refrain, bass, or undersong 264 bringest: puttest 269 by: aside 271 myself alone: all by myself 279 moe: more 280 ill-favouredly: badly 282 just: exactly that 289 goldsmiths' wives . . . rings; cf. n. 290 conn'd: learned by heart ​291 painted cloth; cf. n. 298 breather: living creature 316 habit: garb ​334 hard: uneasily 337 se'nnight: seven-night, week 344 wasteful: consuming 354 term: period of court sessions ​361 cony: rabbit 362 kindled: brought forth 364 purchase: acquire removed: remote, secluded 366 religious: i.e., belonging to a religious order (?) 368 courtship: courtliness of manners, with quibble on 'wooing' 370 lectures: admonitions 387 fancy-monger: dealer in love ​389 quotidian: an intermittent daily fever; cf. n. 394 cage of rushes: i.e., ineffectual prison 398 blue eye: i.e., with a dark circle about the eye 399 unquestionable: unwilling to talk 401 having: possessions 403 ungartered . . . untied: i.e., the signs of a disconsolate lover 404 unbanded: without a hatband 407 point-device: extremely precise ​427 dark . . . whip; cf. n. 431 profess: claim to have knowledge of 434 set him: i.e., as a task 436 moonish: variable 438 fantastical: capricious apish: imitative 443 entertain: receive forswear: renounce 445 living . . . madness: humor of actual madness ​449 liver; cf. n.
Scene Three
​5 features; cf. n. 8 capricious . . . Goths; cf. n. 10 ill-inhabited: ill-lodged 11 Jove in a thatch'd house; cf. n. ​14 strikes . . . room; cf. n. 22 feigning: imaginative 24 feign: relate in fiction, or lying 34 material: full of sense 41 foul: ill-looking ​49 gods . . . joy; cf. n. 51 stagger: hesitate 53 horn-beasts: i.e., deer 60 rascal: young or inferior deer of a herd 65 defence: skill in swordplay ​81 God 'ild: God reward 82 toy: trifling matter 85 bow: yoke 103 bawdry: immorality ​105 O sweet Oliver; cf. n. 109 Wind away: go away
Scene Four
​7 dissembling: false; cf. n. 8 Judas's; cf. n. 11 your chestnut; cf. n. 15 cast: cast off, possibly a quibble for 'chaste' ​16 winter's sisterhood; cf. n. 24 concave: hollow 41 brave: fine 43 traverse: across; cf. n. 44 puisny: paltry
Scene Five
​5 Falls: lets fall 7 dies and lives; cf. n. ​11 sure: surely 17 swound: swoon 23 cicatrice: scar, here 'mark' capable impressure: sensible (i.e., receivable) impression 29 fancy: love ​39 dark: without light; cf. n. 43 sale-work: ready-made work, (hence) work not of the best quality Od's: God save 44 tangle: entangle 45 after it: i.e., to accomplish this 47 bugle: black; cf. n. 48 entame: subdue 50 south: south wind 51 properer: better looking 61 Cry . . . mercy: beg for mercy 62 Foul . . . scoffer; cf. n. 64 together: on end ​75 tuft: clump 79 abus'd in sight: deceived by eyesight 81 Dead shepherd; cf. n. 89 extermin'd: exterminated ​93 yet . . . not: i.e., the time is not yet 100 grace: good esteem, favor 108 carlot: peasant 110 peevish: captious 121 lusty: vigorous ​123 constant: uniform mingled damask: mixed red and white; cf. n. 125 In parcels: in detail 131 am remember'd: recall 133 omittance is no quittance: omission is no discharge (proverbial) 138 passing short: extremely curt