Chapter XXXIV: Act IV: SCENE I. The forest

_Enter_ ROSALIND, CELIA, _and_ JAQUES.

_Jaq._ I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee.

_Ros._ They say you are a melancholy fellow.

_Jaq._ I am so; I do love it better than laughing.

_Ros._ Those that are in extremity of either are abominable 5 fellows, and betray themselves to every modern censure worse than drunkards.

_Jaq._ Why, ’tis good to be sad and say nothing.

_Ros._ Why then, ’tis good to be a post.

_Jaq._ I have neither the scholar’s melancholy, which is 10 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 15 from many objects; and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous sadness.

_Ros._ A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad: I fear you have sold your own lands to see 20 other men’s; then, to have seen much, and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands.

_Jaq._ Yes, I have gained my experience.

_Ros._ And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me 25 sad; and to travel for it too!

_Enter_ ORLANDO.

_Orl._ Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind!

_Jaq._ Nay, then, God buy you, an you talk in blank verse. [_Exit._

_Ros._ Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: look you lisp and 30 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 35 a lover! An you serve me such another trick, never come in my sight more.

_Orl._ My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise.

_Ros._ Break an hour’s promise in love! He that will 40 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.

_Orl._ Pardon me, dear Rosalind. 45

_Ros._ Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight: I had as lief be wooed of a snail.

_Orl._ Of a snail?

_Ros._ Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries his house on his head; a better jointure, I think, than 50 you make a woman: besides, he brings his destiny with him.

_Orl._ What’s that?

_Ros._ 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. 55

_Orl._ Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous.

_Ros._ And I am your Rosalind.

_Cel._ It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leer than you. 60

_Ros._ 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?

_Orl._ I would kiss before I spoke.

_Ros._ Nay, you were better speak first; and when you 65 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.

_Orl._ How if the kiss be denied? 70

_Ros._ Then she puts you to entreaty and there begins new matter.

_Orl_ Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress?

_Ros._ Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit. 75

_Orl._ What, of my suit?

_Ros._ Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind?

_Orl._ I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of her. 80

_Ros._ Well in her person I say I will not have you.

_Orl._ Then in mine own person I die.

_Ros._ 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, videlicet, in a 85 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, 90 he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont and being taken with the cramp was drowned: and the foolish chroniclers 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. 95

_Orl._ I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind; for, I protest, her frown might kill me.

_Ros._ 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. 100

_Orl._ Then love me, Rosalind.

_Ros._ Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all.

_Orl._ And wilt thou have me?

_Ros._ Ay, and twenty such.

_Orl._ What sayest thou? 105

_Ros._ Are you not good?

_Orl._ I hope so.

_Ros._ 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? 110

_Orl._ Pray thee, marry us.

_Cel._ I cannot say the words.

_Ros._ You must begin, ‘Will you, Orlando—’

_Cel._ Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind? 115

_Orl._ I will.

_Ros._ Ay, but when?

_Orl._ Why now; as fast as she can marry us.

_Ros._ Then you must say ‘I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.’ 120

_Orl._ I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.

_Ros._ 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. 125

_Orl._ So do all thoughts; they are winged.

_Ros._ Now tell me how long you would have her after you have possessed her.

_Orl._ For ever and a day.

_Ros._ Say ‘a day,’ without the ‘ever’. No, no, Orlando; 130 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 135 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.

_Orl._ But will my Rosalind do so? 140

_Ros._ By my life, she will do as I do.

_Orl._ O, but she is wise.

_Ros._ 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 145 the key-hole; stop that, ’twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney.

_Orl._ A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say ‘Wit, whither wilt?’

_Ros._ Nay, you might keep that check for it till you 150 met your wife’s wit going to your neighbour’s bed.

_Orl._ And what wit could wit have to excuse that?

_Ros._ 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 155 her fault her husband’s occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed it like a fool!

_Orl._ For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee.

_Ros._ Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours!

_Orl._ I must attend the Duke at dinner: by two o’clock 160 I will be with thee again.

_Ros._ 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 165 is your hour?

_Orl._ Ay, sweet Rosalind.

_Ros._ By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise or come one minute 170 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. 175

_Orl._ With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind: so adieu.

_Ros._ Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let Time try: adieu. [_Exit Orlando._

_Cel._ You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate: 180 we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head, and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest.

_Ros._ 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, 185 like the bay of Portugal.

_Cel._ Or rather, bottomless; that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out.

_Ros._ No, that same wicked bastard of Venus that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen and born of madness, 190 that blind rascally boy that abuses every one’s eyes 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.

_Cel._ And I’ll sleep. [_Exeunt._ 195

~~~~~ Linenotes: _As You Like It_, IV, 1.

1: _be_] om. F1.

17: _in which my_] _and which by_ Malone.

_my_] _by_ F1.

18: _in_] _is_ Steevens.

23: _my_] om. Rowe. _me_ Warburton.

26: Enter...] Ff (after line 23).

28: Jaq.] Orl. F2.

_buy_] Ff. _b’w’y_ Rowe.

29: [Exit.] F2 F3 F4. om. F1. [Exit Jaques. Dyce, after _gondola_, line 34.

34: _gondola_] Pope. _gundello_ Ff. _gondallo_ Rowe.

42: _thousandth_] Rowe. _thousand_ Ff.

51: _make_] _can make_ Hanmer.

54: _beholding_] _beholden_ Pope.

_comes_] F1 F4. _come_ F2 F3.

_in his_] _against_ Anon. conj.

55: _fortune_] _forehead_ Anon. conj.

60: _leer_] _lure_ Becket conj.

65: Ros.] Orl. F2.

68: _warn_] _ward_ Steevens conj. _warr’nt_ Anon. conj.

75: _think...ranker_] _thank...rather_ Collier (Collier MS.).

76: _of_] _out of_ Collier MS.

82: _die_] F1 F4. _doe_ F2 F3.

86: _brains_] F1. _brain_ F2 F3 F4.

91: _him_] F1. om. F2 F3 F4.

93: _chroniclers_] F2 F3 F4. _chronoclers_ F1. _coroners_ Hanmer (Anon. conj.).

_Sestos_] _Cestos_ F1.

117: _Ay_] om. F3 F4.

119: Ros.] Cel. Anon. conj.

122: _I...commission_] Printed as a verse in Ff.

123: _there’s_] _there_ Steevens (Farmer conj.). _thus_ Lloyd conj.

139: _thou art_] _you are_ Rowe (ed. 2).

_sleep_] _weep_ Warburton.

144: _doors_] _doors fast_ Rowe (ed. 2).

146: _’twill_] _it will_ F4.

149: _wilt_] F3 F4. _wil’t_ F1 F2.

156: _occasion_] _accusation_ Hanmer. _accusing_ Collier (Collier MS.). _confusion_ Staunton conj.

157: _she will...like a fool_] _she’ll...a fool_ Capell.

171: _pathetical_] _atheistical_ Warburton. _jesuitical_ Grey conj.

179: _try_] _try you_ Collier MS.

180: SCENE III. Pope.

188: _it_] _in_ F1.

193: _I’ll tell_] _I tell_ Edd. conj.

194: _Orlando_] _Orland_ F2. ~~~~~

SCENE II. _The forest._

_Enter_ JAQUES, Lords, _and_ Foresters.

_Jaq._ Which is he that killed the deer?

_A Lord._ Sir, it was I.

_Jaq._ Let’s present him to the Duke, like a Roman conqueror; and it would do well to set the deer’s horns upon his head, for a branch of victory. Have you no song, 5 forester, for this purpose?

_For._ Yes, sir.

SCENE II.] SCENE IV. Pope.

Enter...] Rowe. Enter Jaques and Lords, Forresters. Ff. Enter J. and Lords, in the habit of foresters. Steevens.

_Jaq._ Sing it: ’tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough.

SONG.

_For._ What shall he have that kill’d the deer? 10 His leather skin and horns to wear. Then sing him home: [_The rest shall bear this burden._ Take thou no scorn to wear the horn; It was a crest ere thou wast born: Thy father’s father wore it, 15 And thy father bore it: The horn, the horn, the lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. [_Exeunt._

~~~~~ Linenotes: _As You Like It_, IV, 2.

2: A Lord] Lord. Ff. 1 F. Capell. 1 Lord. Malone.

7: For.] Rowe. Lord. Ff. 2 F. Capell. 2 Lord. Malone.

10: SONG.] Musicke, Song. Ff.

12: _Then sing him home_] See note (X).

13: _the horn_] _the horn, the horn, the horn_ Theobald. _the horn, the lusty horn_ Capell.

16: _And thy father_] _And thy own father_ Hanmer. _Ay, and thy_ or _Ay, and his_ Capell conj. ~~~~~

SCENE III. _The forest._

_Enter_ ROSALIND _and_ CELIA.

_Ros._ How say you now? Is it not past two o’clock? and here much Orlando!

_Cel._ I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he hath ta’en his bow and arrows and is gone forth to sleep. Look, who comes here. 5

_Enter_ SILVIUS.

_Sil._ 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 Which she did use as she was writing of it, 10 It bears an angry tenour: pardon me; I am but as a guiltless messenger.

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

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

_Ros._ Come, come, you are a fool, And turn’d into the extremity of love. I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand, A freestone-colour’d hand; I verily did think 25 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.

_Sil._ Sure, it is hers. 30

_Ros._ 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, Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect 35 Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter?

_Sil._ So please you, for I never heard it yet; Yet heard too much of Phebe’s cruelty.

_Ros._ She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes.

[_Reads._

Art thou god to shepherd turn’d, 40 That a maiden’s heart hath burn’d? Can a woman rail thus?

_Sil._ Call you this railing?

_Ros._ [_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.

_Sil._ Call you this chiding?

_Cel._ Alas, poor shepherd! 65

_Ros._ Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity. 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 love me, I 70 charge her to love thee; if she will not, 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.

_Oli._ 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?

_Cel._ 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.

_Oli._ 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 inquire for?

_Cel._ It is no boast, being ask’d, to say we are.

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

_Ros._ I am: what must we understand by this?

_Oli._ 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.

_Cel._ I pray you, tell it.

_Oli._ 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 befel! 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 couching, 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.

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

_Oli._ And well he might so do, For well I know he was unnatural.

_Ros._ But, to Orlando: did he leave him there, Food to the suck’d and hungry lioness? 125

_Oil._ 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.

_Cel._ Are you his brother?

_Ros._ Was’t you he rescued?

_Cel._ Was’t you that did so oft contrive to kill him?

_Oli._ ’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.

_Ros._ But, for the bloody napkin?

_Oli._ 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. [_Rosalind swoons._ 155

_Cel._ Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede!

_Oli._ Many will swoon when they do look on blood.

_Cel._ There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede!

_Oli._ Look, he recovers.

_Ros._ I would I were at home.

_Cel._ We’ll lead you thither. 160 I pray you, will you take him by the arm?

_Oli._ Be of good cheer, youth: you a man! you lack a man’s heart.

_Ros._ I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would think this was well counterfeited! I pray you, tell your 165 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 170 be a man.

_Ros._ So I do: but, i’faith, I should have been a woman by right.

_Cel._ Come, you look paler and paler: pray you, draw homewards. Good sir, go with us. 175

_Oli._ That will I, for I must bear answer back How you excuse my brother, Rosalind.

_Ros._ I shall devise something: but, I pray you, commend my counterfeiting to him. Will you go? [_Exeunt._

~~~~~ Linenotes: _As You Like It_, IV, 3.

SCENE III.] SCENE V. Pope.

1–5: _How...here_] Printed in Ff as five lines, ending _clock...Orlando...brain...forth...here._

2: _and here much Orlando_] Ff. _I wonder much Orlando is not here_ Pope. _and how much Orlando comes?_ Capell. _and here’s much Orlando_ Steevens. _and here’s no Orlando_ Ritson conj. _and here mute is Orlando_ Jackson conj.

5: Enter...] Ff (after line 3).

7: _bid_] F2 F3 F4. _did bid_ F1.

8: _know_] F1. _knew_ F2 F3 F4.

11: _tenour_] Theobald. _tenure_ Ff.

18: _do_] F1. _did_ F2 F3 F4.

22: _Phebe did write it_] _Phebe did write it, with her own fair hand_ Mason conj.

23: _turn’d into_] _turned in_ Capell conj. _turn’d so in the_ Id. conj.

26: _on_] F1 F4. _one_ F2 F3.

33: _women’s_] Ff. _woman’s_ Rowe.

54: _chid_] _chide_ Rowe.

57: _this_] _that_ Rowe (ed. 2).

68: _strains_] F1. _strings_ F2 F3 F4.

70: _snake_] _sneak_ Becket conj.

79: _brings_] F1. _bring_ F2 F3 F4.

85: _and_] _but_ Lettsom conj.

86: _ripe sister_] _right forester_ Lettsom conj.

_the_] F1 _but the_ F2 F3 F4.

88: _owner_] _owners_ Capell conj.

92: _this_] _kis_ Warbuton.

96: _handkercher_] _handkerchief_ Rowe.

99: _an hour_] _two hours_ Hanmer.

100: _food_] _cud_ Staunton.

103: _oak_] Pope. _old oake_ Ff.

112: _which_] F1. _whose_ F2 F3 F4.

122: _amongst_] _’mongst_ Rowe (ed. 2).

132: _Was’t you he rescued_] _Was’t...rescu’d_ Ff. _Was it...rescu’d_ Warburton.

140: _As how_] _As, how_ Reed. After this line Capell supposes two lines to be lost, e.g. _How, in that habit; what my state, what his; And whose the service he was now engag’d in._

141: _In_] F2 F3 F4. _I_ F1.

154: _his_] F2 F3 F4. _this_ F1.

155: [R. swoons.] om. Ff.

158: _There is more in it_] F1 F2. _There is no more in it_ F3 F4. _There is no more in ’t_ Pope.

_Cousin Ganymede!_] _Cosen Ganimed._ Ff. (_cosin_ F4).
_Cousin—Ganymed!_ Johnson.

160: _I would_] _Would_ Pope.

164: _sirrah_] _sirra_ Ff. _sir_ Pope. See note (XI).

168: _a passion_] F1. _passion_ F2 F3 F4. ~~~~~