ACT IV SCENE I | The forest. | |
[Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES] |
JAQUES | I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted |
| with thee. |
ROSALIND | They say you are a melancholy fellow. |
JAQUES | I am so; I do love it better than laughing. |
ROSALIND | Those that are in extremity of either are abominable |
| fellows and betray themselves to every modern |
| censure worse than drunkards. | 7 |
JAQUES | Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. |
ROSALIND | Why then, 'tis good to be a post. |
JAQUES | I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is |
| emulation, nor the musician's, which is fantastical, |
| nor the courtier's, which is proud, nor the |
| soldier's, which is ambitious, nor the lawyer's, |
| which is politic, nor the lady's, which is nice, nor |
| the lover's, which is all these: but it is a |
| melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, |
| extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry's |
| contemplation of my travels, in which my often |
| rumination wraps me m a most humorous sadness. | 18 |
ROSALIND | A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to |
| be sad: I fear you have sold your own lands to see |
| other men's; then, to have seen much and to have |
| nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands. |
JAQUES | Yes, I have gained my experience. |
ROSALIND | And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have |
| a fool to make me merry than experience to make me |
| sad; and to travel for it too! |
[Enter ORLANDO] |
ORLANDO | Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind! |
JAQUES | Nay, then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse. | 29 |
[Exit] |
ROSALIND | Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: look you lisp and |
| wear strange suits, disable all the benefits of your |
| own country, be out of love with your nativity and |
| almost chide God for making you that countenance you |
| are, or I will scarce think you have swam in a |
| gondola. Why, how now, Orlando! where have you been |
| all this while? You a lover! An you serve me such |
| another trick, never come in my sight more. |
ORLANDO | My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise. |
ROSALIND | Break an hour's promise in love! He that will |
| divide a minute into a thousand parts and break but |
| a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the |
| affairs of love, it may be said of him that Cupid |
| hath clapped him o' the shoulder, but I'll warrant |
| him heart-whole. |
ORLANDO | Pardon me, dear Rosalind. | 45 |
ROSALIND | Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight: I |
| had as lief be wooed of a snail. |
ORLANDO | Of a snail? |
ROSALIND | Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he |
| carries his house on his head; a better jointure, |
| I think, than you make a woman: besides he brings |
| his destiny with him. |
ORLANDO | What's that? |
ROSALIND | Why, horns, which such as you are fain to be |
| beholding to your wives for: but he comes armed in |
| his fortune and prevents the slander of his wife. |
ORLANDO | Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous. |
ROSALIND | And I am your Rosalind. |
CELIA | It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a |
| Rosalind of a better leer than you. |
ROSALIND | Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday |
| humour and like enough to consent. What would you |
| say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind? |
ORLANDO | I would kiss before I spoke. | 57 |
ROSALIND | Nay, you were better speak first, and when you were |
| gravelled for lack of matter, you might take |
| occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are
|
| out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking--God |
| warn us!--matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss. |
ORLANDO | How if the kiss be denied? |
ROSALIND | Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter. |
ORLANDO | Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress? |
ROSALIND | Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, or |
| I should think my honesty ranker than my wit. |
ORLANDO | What, of my suit? |
ROSALIND | Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. |
| Am not I your Rosalind? |
ORLANDO | I take some joy to say you are, because I would be |
| talking of her. |
ROSALIND | Well in her person I say I will not have you. |
ORLANDO | Then in mine own person I die. | 69 |
ROSALIND | No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is |
| almost six thousand years old, and in all this time |
| there was not any man died in his own person, |
| videlicit, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains |
| dashed out with a Grecian club; yet he did what he |
| could to die before, and he is one of the patterns |
| of love. Leander, he would have lived many a fair |
| year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been |
| for a hot midsummer night; for, good youth, he went |
| but forth to wash him in the Hellespont and being |
| taken with the cramp was drowned and the foolish |
| coroners of that age found it was 'Hero of Sestos.' |
| But these are all lies: men have died from time to |
| time and worms have eaten them, but not for love. |
ORLANDO | I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind, |
| for, I protest, her frown might kill me. | 84 |
ROSALIND | By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now |
| I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on |
| disposition, and ask me what you will. I will grant |
| it. |
ORLANDO | Then love me, Rosalind. |
ROSALIND | Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all. |
ORLANDO | And wilt thou have me? |
ROSALIND | Ay, and twenty such. |
ORLANDO | What sayest thou? |
ROSALIND | Are you not good? |
ORLANDO | I hope so. | 95 |
ROSALIND | Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing? |
| Come, sister, you shall be the priest and marry us. |
| Give me your hand, Orlando. What do you say, sister? |
ORLANDO | Pray thee, marry us. |
CELIA | I cannot say the words. |
ROSALIND | You must begin, 'Will you, Orlando--' |
CELIA | Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind? |
ORLANDO | I will. | 105 |
ROSALIND | Ay, but when? |
ORLANDO | Why now; as fast as she can marry us. |
ROSALIND | Then you must say 'I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.' |
ORLANDO | I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. |
ROSALIND | I might ask you for your commission; but I do take |
| thee, Orlando, for my husband: there's a girl goes |
| before the priest; and certainly a woman's thought |
| runs before her actions. |
ORLANDO | So do all thoughts; they are winged. | 115 |
ROSALIND | Now tell me how long you would have her after you |
| have possessed her. |
ORLANDO | For ever and a day. |
ROSALIND | Say 'a day,' without the 'ever.' No, no, Orlando; |
| men are April when they woo, December when they wed: |
| maids are May when they are maids, but the sky |
| changes when they are wives. I will be more jealous |
| of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen, |
| more clamorous than a parrot against rain, more |
| new-fangled than an ape, more giddy in my desires |
| than a monkey: I will weep for nothing, like Diana |
| in the fountain, and I will do that when you are |
| disposed to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and |
| that when thou art inclined to sleep. |
ORLANDO | But will my Rosalind do so? | 130 |
ROSALIND | By my life, she will do as I do. |
ORLANDO | O, but she is wise. |
ROSALIND | Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the |
| wiser, the waywarder: make the doors upon a woman's |
| wit and it will out at the casement; shut that and |
| 'twill out at the key-hole; stop that, 'twill fly |
| with the smoke out at the chimney. |
ORLANDO | A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say |
| 'Wit, whither wilt?' |
ROSALIND | Nay, you might keep that cheque for it till you met |
| your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed. |
ORLANDO | And what wit could wit have to excuse that? |
ROSALIND | Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You shall |
| never take her without her answer, unless you take |
| her without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot |
| make her fault her husband's occasion, let her |
| never nurse her child herself, for she will breed |
| it like a fool! |
ORLANDO | For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. | 140 |
ROSALIND | Alas! dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. |
ORLANDO | I must attend the duke at dinner: by two o'clock I |
| will be with thee again. |
ROSALIND | Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew what you |
| would prove: my friends told me as much, and I |
| thought no less: that flattering tongue of yours |
| won me: 'tis but one cast away, and so, come, |
| death! Two o'clock is your hour? |
ORLANDO | Ay, sweet Rosalind. |
ROSALIND | By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend | 150 |
| me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, |
| if you break one jot of your promise or come one |
| minute behind your hour, I will think you the most |
| pathetical break-promise and the most hollow lover |
| and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind that |
| may be chosen out of the gross band of the |
| unfaithful: therefore beware my censure and keep |
| your promise. |
ORLANDO | With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my |
| Rosalind: so adieu. |
ROSALIND | Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such |
| offenders, and let Time try: adieu. |
[Exit ORLANDO] |
CELIA | You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate: |
| we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your |
| head, and show the world what the bird hath done to |
| her own nest. | 165 |
ROSALIND | O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou |
| didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But |
| it cannot be sounded: my affection hath an unknown |
| bottom, like the bay of Portugal. |
CELIA | Or rather, bottomless, that as fast as you pour |
| affection in, it runs out. |
ROSALIND | No, that same wicked bastard of Venus that was begot |
| of thought, conceived of spleen and born of madness, |
| that blind rascally boy that abuses every one's eyes | 174 |
| because his own are out, let him be judge how deep I |
| am in love. I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out |
| of the sight of Orlando: I'll go find a shadow and |
| sigh till he come. |
CELIA | And I'll sleep. |
[Exeunt] |