AS YOU LIKE IT

Act 3 Scene 2

(Enter Orlando with a paper)
l1l	Orlando	 Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love#
l2l		And thou thrice-crownèd queen of night, survey
l3l		With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above,
l4l		Thy huntress’ name that my full life doth sway.
l5l		O Rosalind, these trees shall be my books,
l6l		And in their barks my thoughts I’ll character
l7l		That every eye which in this forest looks
l8l		Shall see thy virtue witnessed everywhere.
l9l		Run, run, Orlando# carve on every tree
l10l		The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she.
		(Exit)
l11l		(Enter Corin and Touchstone the clown)
		Corin	 And how like you this shepherd’s life, Master
l12l		Touchstone?
l13l	Touchstone	Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a
l14l		good life# but in respect that it is a shepherd’s life, it
l15l		is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very
l16l		well# but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile
l17l		life. Now in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me
l18l		well# but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious.
l19l		As it is a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well#
l20l		but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much
l21l		against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee,
l22l		shepherd?
l23l	Corin	No more but that I know the more one sickens,
l24l		the worse at ease he is, and that he that wants money,
l25l		means, and content is without three good friends# that
l26l		the property of rain is to wet, and fire to burn# that
l27l		good pasture makes fat sheep# and that a great cause
l28l		of the night is lack of the sun# that he that hath learned
l29l		no wit by nature nor art may complain of good breeding
l30l		or comes of a very dull kindred.
l31l	Touchstone	Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast
l32l		ever in court, shepherd?
l33l	Corin	No, truly.
l34l	Touchstone	Then thou art damned.
l35l	Corin	Nay, I hope.
l36l	Touchstone	Truly thou art damned, like an ill-roasted
l37l		egg, all on one side.
l38l	Corin	For not being at court? Your reason?
l39l	Touchstone	Why, if thou never wast at court thou never
l40l		sawest good manners. If thou never sawest good
l41l		manners, then thy manners must be wicked, and
l42l		wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art in a
l43l		parlous state, shepherd.
l44l	Corin	Not a whit, Touchstone. Those that are good
l45l		manners at the court are as ridiculous in the country
l46l		as the behaviour of the country is most mockable at
l47l		the court. You told me you salute not at the court but
l48l		you kiss your hands. That courtesy would be uncleanly
l49l		if courtiers were shepherds.
l50l	Touchstone	Instance, briefly# come, instance.
l51l	Corin	Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their
l52l		fells, you know, are greasy.
l53l	Touchstone	Why, do not your courtier’s hands sweat?
l54l		And is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the
l55l		sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance,
l56l		I say. Come.
l57l	Corin	Besides, our hands are hard.
l58l	Touchstone	Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow
l59l		again. A more sounder instance. Come.
l60l	Corin	And they are often tarred over with the surgery of
l61l		our sheep# and would you have us kiss tar? The
l62l		courtier’s hands are perfumed with civet.
l63l	Touchstone	Most shallow, man. Thou worms’ meat in
l64l		respect of a good piece of flesh indeed, learn of the
l65l		wise, and perpend: civet is of a baser birth than tar,
l66l		the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance,
l67l		shepherd.
l68l	Corin	You have too courtly a wit for me. I’ll rest.
l69l	Touchstone	Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee,
l70l		shallow man. God make incision in thee, thou art raw.
l71l	Corin	Sir, I am a true labourer. I earn that I eat, get that
l72l		I wear# owe no man hate, envy no man’s happiness#
l73l		glad of other men’s good, content with my harm# and
l74l		the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes graze and
l75l		my lambs suck.
l76l	Touchstone	That is another simple sin in you, to bring
l77l		the ewes and the rams together, and to offer to get
l78l		your living by the copulation of cattle# to be bawd to
l79l		a bell-wether, and to betray a she-lamb of a twelvemonth
l80l		to a crooked-pated old cuckoldly ram, out of all
l81l		reasonable match. If thou beest not damned for this,
l82l		the devil himself will have no shepherds. I cannot see
l83l		else how thou shouldst scape.
l84l	Corin	Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new
l85l		mistress’s brother.
		(Enter Rosalind as Ganymede)
l86l	Rosalind	(reads)
		> “From the east to western Ind
l87l		No jewel is like Rosalind.
l88l		Her worth being mounted on the wind
l89l		Through all the world bears Rosalind.
l90l		All the pictures fairest lined
l91l		Are but black to Rosalind.
l92l		Let no face be kept in mind
l93l		But the fair of Rosalind.”
l94l	Touchstone	 I’ll rhyme you so eight years together,
l95l		dinners, and suppers, and sleeping-hours excepted. It
l96l		is the right butter-women’s rank to market.
l97l	Rosalind	Out, fool.
l98l	Touchstone	For a taste:
l99l		> If a hart do lack a hind,
l100l		Let him seek out Rosalind.
l101l		If the cat will after kind,
l102l		So, be sure, will Rosalind.
l103l		Wintered garments must be lined,
l104l		So must slender Rosalind.
l105l		They that reap must sheaf and bind,
l106l		Then to cart with Rosalind.
l107l		“Sweetest nut hath sourest rind”,
l108l		Such a nut is Rosalind.
l109l		He that sweetest rose will find
l110l		Must find love’s prick, and Rosalind.
l111l		This is the very false gallop of verses. Why do you
l112l		infect yourself with them?
l113l	Rosalind	Peace, you dull fool, I found them on a tree.
l114l	Touchstone	Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.
l115l	Rosalind	I’ll graft it with you, and then I shall graft it
l116l		with a medlar# then it will be the earliest fruit i’ th’
l117l		country, for you’ll be rotten ere you be half-ripe, and
l118l		that’s the right virtue of the medlar.
l119l	Touchstone	You have said# but whether wisely or no, let
l120l		the forest judge.
		(Enter Celia, as Aliena, with a writing)
l121l	Rosalind	 Peace, here comes my sister, reading. Stand aside.
l122l	Celia	(reads)
		> “Why should this a desert be?
l123l		For it is unpeopled? No.
l124l		Tongues I’ll hang on every tree,
l125l		That shall civil sayings show.
l126l		Some, how brief the life of man
l127l		Runs his erring pilgrimage,
l128l		That the stretching of a span
l129l		Buckles in his sum of age.
l130l		Some of violated vows
l131l		’Twixt the souls of friend and friend.
l132l		But upon the fairest boughs,
l133l		Or at every sentence end,
l134l		Will I “Rosalinda” write,
l135l		Teaching all that read to know
l136l		The quintessence of every sprite
l137l		Heaven would in little show.
l138l		Therefore heaven nature charged
l139l		That one body should be filled
l140l		With all graces wide-enlarged.
l141l		Nature presently distilled
l142l		Helen’s cheek, but not her heart,
l143l		Cleopatra’s majesty,
l144l		Atalanta’s better part,
l145l		Sad Lucretia’s modesty.
l146l		Thus Rosalind of many parts
l147l		By heavenly synod was devised
l148l		Of many faces, eyes, and hearts
l149l		To have the touches dearest prized.
l150l		Heaven would that she these gifts should have
l151l		And I to live and die her slave.”
l152l	Rosalind	 O most gentle Jupiter! What tedious homily of
l153l		love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and
l154l		never cried “Have patience, good people.”
l155l	Celia	How now, back, friends. Shepherd, go off a little.
l156l		Go with him, sirrah.
l157l	Touchstone	Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable
l158l		retreat, though not with bag and baggage, yet with
l159l		scrip and scrippage.
		(Exit with Corin)
l160l	Celia	 Didst thou hear these verses?
l161l	Rosalind	O yes, I heard them all, and more, too, for
l162l		some of them had in them more feet than the verses
l163l		would bear.
l164l	Celia	That’s no matter# the feet might bear the verses.
l165l	Rosalind	Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear
l166l		themselves without the verse, and therefore stood
l167l		lamely in the verse.
l168l	Celia	But didst thou hear without wondering how thy
l169l		name should be hanged and carved upon these trees?
l170l	Rosalind	I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder
l171l		before you came# for look here what I found on a palm-
l172l		tree#
		(showing Celia the verses)
		 I was never so berhymed
l173l		since Pythagoras’ time that I was an Irish rat, which
l174l		I can hardly remember.
l175l	Celia	Trow you who hath done this?
l176l	Rosalind	Is it a man?
l177l	Celia	And a chain that you once wore about his neck.
l178l		Change you colour?
l179l	Rosalind	I prithee, who?
l180l	Celia	O Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for friends to meet.
l181l		But mountains may be removed with earthquakes, and
l182l		so encounter.
l183l	Rosalind	Nay, but who is it?
l184l	Celia	Is it possible?
l185l	Rosalind	Nay, I prithee now with most petitionary
l186l		vehemence, tell me who it is.
l187l	Celia	O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful-
l188l		wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that out
l189l		of all whooping!
l190l	Rosalind	Good my complexion! Dost thou think, though
l191l		I am caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and
l192l		hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more is a
l193l		South Sea of discovery. I prithee tell me who is it
l194l		quickly, and speak apace. I would thou couldst
l195l		stammer, that thou mightst pour this concealed man
l196l		out of thy mouth as wine comes out of a narrow-
l197l		mouthed bottle—either too much at once, or none at
l198l		all. I prithee, take the cork out of thy mouth, that I
l199l		may drink thy tidings.
l200l	Celia	So you may put a man in your belly.
l201l	Rosalind	Is he of God’s making? What manner of man?
l202l		Is his head worth a hat? Or his chin worth a beard?
l203l	Celia	Nay, he hath but a little beard.
l204l	Rosalind	Why, God will send more, if the man will be
l205l		thankful. Let me stay the growth of his beard, if thou
l206l		delay me not the knowledge of his chin.
l207l	Celia	It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler’s
l208l		heels and your heart both in an instant.
l209l	Rosalind	Nay, but the devil take mocking. Speak sad
l210l		brow and true maid.
l211l	Celia	I’ faith, coz, ’tis he.
l212l	Rosalind	Orlando?
l213l	Celia	Orlando.
l214l	Rosalind	Alas the day, what shall I do with my doublet
l215l		and hose! What did he when thou sawest him? What
l216l		said he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What
l217l		makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he?
l218l		How parted he with thee? And when shalt thou see
l219l		him again? Answer me in one word.
l220l	Celia	You must borrow me Gargantua’s mouth first, ’tis
l221l		a word too great for any mouth of this age’s size. To
l222l		say ay and no to these particulars is more than to
l223l		answer in a catechism.
l224l	Rosalind	But doth he know that I am in this forest, and
l225l		in man’s apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the
l226l		day he wrestled?
l227l	Celia	It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the
l228l		propositions of a lover# but take a taste of my finding
l229l		him, and relish it with good observance. I found him
l230l		under a tree, like a dropped acorn—
l231l	Rosalind	It may well be called Jove’s tree when it drops
l232l		forth such fruit.
l233l	Celia	Give me audience, good madam.
l234l	Rosalind	Proceed.
l235l	Celia	There lay he, stretched along like a wounded
l236l		knight—
l237l	Rosalind	Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well
l238l		becomes the ground.
l239l	Celia	Cry “holla” to thy tongue, I prithee: it curvets
l240l		unseasonably.—He was furnished like a hunter—
l241l	Rosalind	O ominous—he comes to kill my heart.
l242l	Celia	I would sing my song without a burden# thou
l243l		bringest me out of tune.
l244l	Rosalind	Do you not know I am a woman? When I
l245l		think, I must speak.—Sweet, say on.
		(Enter Orlando and Jaques)
l246l	Celia	 You bring me out. Soft, comes he not here?
l247l	Rosalind	’Tis he. Slink by, and note him.
		(Rosalind and Celia stand aside)
l248l	Jaques	(to Orlando)
		 I thank you for your company, but,
l249l		good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone.
l250l	Orlando	And so had I. But yet for fashion’ sake, I thank
l251l		you too for your society.
l252l	Jaques	God b’ wi’ you# let’s meet as little as we can.
l253l	Orlando	I do desire we may be better strangers.
l254l	Jaques	I pray you mar no more trees with writing love-
l255l		songs in their barks.
l256l	Orlando	I pray you mar no more of my verses with
l257l		reading them ill-favouredly.
l258l	Jaques	Rosalind is your love’s name?
l259l	Orlando	Yes, just.
l260l	Jaques	I do not like her name.
l261l	Orlando	There was no thought of pleasing you when
l262l		she was christened.
l263l	Jaques	What stature is she of?
l264l	Orlando	Just as high as my heart.
l265l	Jaques	You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been
l266l		acquainted with goldsmiths’ wives, and conned them
l267l		out of rings?
l268l	Orlando	Not so# but I answer you right painted cloth,
l269l		from whence you have studied your questions.
l270l	Jaques	You have a nimble wit# I think ’twas made of
l271l		Atalanta’s heels. Will you sit down with me, and we
l272l		two will rail against our mistress the world, and all
l273l		our misery?
l274l	Orlando	I will chide no breather in the world but myself,
l275l		against whom I know most faults.
l276l	Jaques	The worst fault you have is to be in love.
l277l	Orlando	’Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue.
l278l		I am weary of you.
l279l	Jaques	By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found
l280l		you.
l281l	Orlando	He is drowned in the brook. Look but in, and
l282l		you shall see him.
l283l	Jaques	There I shall see mine own figure.
l284l	Orlando	Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.
l285l	Jaques	I’ll tarry no longer with you. Farewell, good Signor
l286l		Love.
l287l	Orlando	I am glad of your departure. Adieu, good
l288l		Monsieur Melancholy.
		(Exit Jaques)
l289l	Rosalind	(to Celia)
		 I will speak to him like a saucy lackey,
l290l		and under that habit play the knave with him.
		(To)
l291l		Orlando) Do you hear, forester?
l292l	Orlando	Very well. What would you?
l293l	Rosalind	I pray you, what is ’t o’clock?
l294l	Orlando	You should ask me what time o’ day. There’s
l295l		no clock in the forest.
l296l	Rosalind	Then there is no true lover in the forest, else
l297l		sighing every minute and groaning every hour would
l298l		detect the lazy foot of time as well as a clock.
l299l	Orlando	And why not the swift foot of time? Had not
l300l		that been as proper?
l301l	Rosalind	By no means, sir. Time travels in divers paces
l302l		with divers persons. I’ll tell you who time ambles
l303l		withal, who time trots withal, who time gallops withal,
l304l		and who he stands still withal.
l305l	Orlando	I prithee, who doth he trot withal?
l306l	Rosalind	Marry, he trots hard with a young maid
l307l		between the contract of her marriage and the day it is
l308l		solemnized. If the interim be but a se’nnight, time’s
l309l		pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven year.
l310l	Orlando	Who ambles time withal?
l311l	Rosalind	With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich man
l312l		that hath not the gout# for the one sleeps easily because
l313l		he cannot study, and the other lives merrily because
l314l		he feels no pain, the one lacking the burden of lean
l315l		and wasteful learning, the other knowing no burden
l316l		of heavy tedious penury. These time ambles withal.
l317l	Orlando	Who doth he gallop withal?
l318l	Rosalind	With a thief to the gallows# for though he go
l319l		as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon
l320l		there.
l321l	Orlando	Who stays it still withal?
l322l	Rosalind	With lawyers in the vacation# for they sleep
l323l		between term and term, and then they perceive not
l324l		how time moves.
l325l	Orlando	Where dwell you, pretty youth?
l326l	Rosalind	With this shepherdess, my sister, here in the
l327l		skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.
l328l	Orlando	Are you native of this place?
l329l	Rosalind	As the coney that you see dwell where she is
l330l		kindled.
l331l	Orlando	Your accent is something finer than you could
l332l		purchase in so removed a dwelling.
l333l	Rosalind	I have been told so of many# but indeed an old
l334l		religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was
l335l		in his youth an inland man# one that knew courtship
l336l		too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard him
l337l		read many lectures against it, and I thank God I am
l338l		not a woman, to be touched with so many giddy
l339l		offences as he hath generally taxed their whole sex
l340l		withal.
l341l	Orlando	Can you remember any of the principal evils
l342l		that he laid to the charge of women?
l343l	Rosalind	There were none principal# they were all like
l344l		one another as halfpence are, every one fault seeming
l345l		monstrous till his fellow-fault came to match it.
l346l	Orlando	I prithee, recount some of them.
l347l	Rosalind	No. I will not cast away my physic but on those
l348l		that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest that
l349l		abuses our young plants with carving Rosalind on their
l350l		barks# hangs odes upon hawthorns and elegies on
l351l		brambles# all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind.
l352l		If I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him
l353l		some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian
l354l		of love upon him.
l355l	Orlando	I am he that is so love-shaked. I pray you, tell
l356l		me your remedy.
l357l	Rosalind	There is none of my uncle’s marks upon you.
l358l		He taught me how to know a man in love, in which
l359l		cage of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner.
l360l	Orlando	What were his marks?
l361l	Rosalind	A lean cheek, which you have not# a blue eye
l362l		and sunken, which you have not# an unquestionable
l363l		spirit, which you have not# a beard neglected, which
l364l		you have not—but I pardon you for that, for simply
l365l		your having in beard is a younger brother’s revenue.
l366l		Then your hose should be ungartered, your bonnet
l367l		unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied,
l368l		and everything about you demonstrating a careless
l369l		desolation. But you are no such man. You are rather
l370l		point-device in your accoutrements, as loving yourself
l371l		than seeming the lover of any other.
l372l	Orlando	Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I
l373l		love.
l374l	Rosalind	Me believe it? You may as soon make her that
l375l		you love believe it, which I warrant she is apter to do
l376l		than to confess she does. That is one of the points in
l377l		the which women still give the lie to their consciences.
l378l		But in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses
l379l		on the trees wherein Rosalind is so admired?
l380l	Orlando	I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of
l381l		Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he.
l382l	Rosalind	But are you so much in love as your rhymes
l383l		speak?
l384l	Orlando	Neither rhyme nor reason can express how
l385l		much.
l386l	Rosalind	Love is merely a madness, and I tell you,
l387l		deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen
l388l		do# and the reason why they are not so punished and
l389l		cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers
l390l		are in love too. Yet I profess curing it by counsel.
l391l	Orlando	Did you ever cure any so?
l392l	Rosalind	Yes, one# and in this manner. He was to
l393l		imagine me his love, his mistress# and I set him every
l394l		day to woo me. At which time would I, being but a
l395l		moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable,
l396l		longing and liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow,
l397l		inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles# for every passion
l398l		something, and for no passion truly anything, as boys
l399l		and women are for the most part cattle of this colour—
l400l		would now like him, now loathe him# then entertain
l401l		him, then forswear him# now weep for him, then spit
l402l		at him, that I drave my suitor from his mad humour
l403l		of love to a living humour of madness, which was to
l404l		forswear the full stream of the world and to live in a
l405l		nook merely monastic. And thus I cured him, and this
l406l		way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean
l407l		as a sound sheep’s heart, that there shall not be one
l408l		spot of love in ’t.
l409l	Orlando	I would not be cured, youth.
l410l	Rosalind	I would cure you if you would but call me
l411l		Rosalind and come every day to my cot, and woo me.
l412l	Orlando	Now by the faith of my love, I will. Tell me
l413l		where it is.
l414l	Rosalind	Go with me to it, and I’ll show it you. And by
l415l		the way you shall tell me where in the forest you live.
l416l		Will you go?
l417l	Orlando	With all my heart, good youth.
l418l	Rosalind	Nay, you must call me Rosalind.—Come, sister.
l419l		Will you go?
		(Exeunt)