As You Like It by William Shakespeare

Act 3 - Scene 2

The forest

(stage directions) : Enter ORLANDO, with a paper

Orlando : Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love; [p]And thou,
thrice-crowned Queen of Night, survey [p]With thy chaste eye, from thy
pale sphere above, [p]Thy huntress' name that my full life doth
sway. [p]O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books, [p]And in their
barks my thoughts I'll character, [p]That every eye which in this
forest looks [p]Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where. [p]Run,
run, Orlando; carve on every tree, [p]The fair, the chaste, and
unexpressive she. Exit

(stage directions) : Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE

Corin : And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone?

Touchstone : Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good [p]life; but in
respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is nought. [p]In respect that
it is solitary, I like it very well; but in [p]respect that it is
private, it is a very vile life. Now in [p]respect it is in the
fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect [p]it is not in the court,
it is tedious. As it is a spare life, [p]look you, it fits my humour
well; but as there is no more plenty [p]in it, it goes much against my
stomach. Hast any philosophy in [p]thee, shepherd?

Corin : No more but that I know the more one sickens the worse at [p]ease he
is; and that he that wants money, means, and content, is [p]without
three good friends; that the property of rain is to wet, [p]and fire
to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep; and that a [p]great cause
of the night is lack of the sun; that he that hath [p]learned no wit
by nature nor art may complain of good breeding, [p]or comes of a very
dull kindred.

Touchstone : Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in [p]court, shepherd?

Corin : No, truly.

Touchstone : Then thou art damn'd.

Corin : Nay, I hope.

Touchstone : Truly, thou art damn'd, like an ill-roasted egg, all on [p]one side.

Corin : For not being at court? Your reason.

Touchstone : Why, if thou never wast at court thou never saw'st good [p]manners; if
thou never saw'st good manners, then thy manners must [p]be wicked;
and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art [p]in a parlous
state, shepherd.

Corin : Not a whit, Touchstone. Those that are good manners at the [p]court
are as ridiculous in the country as the behaviour of the [p]country is
most mockable at the court. You told me you salute not [p]at the
court, but you kiss your hands; that courtesy would be [p]uncleanly if
courtiers were shepherds.

Touchstone : Instance, briefly; come, instance.

Corin : Why, we are still handling our ewes; and their fells, you [p]know, are
greasy.

Touchstone : Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? And is not the [p]grease of a
mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, [p]shallow. A
better instance, I say; come.

Corin : Besides, our hands are hard.

Touchstone : Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again. A [p]more sounder
instance; come.

Corin : And they are often tarr'd over with the surgery of our [p]sheep; and
would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are [p]perfum'd with
civet.

Touchstone : Most shallow man! thou worm's meat in respect of a good [p]piece of
flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and perpend: civet is [p]of a baser
birth than tar- the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend [p]the
instance, shepherd.

Corin : You have too courtly a wit for me; I'll rest.

Touchstone : Wilt thou rest damn'd? God help thee, shallow man! God [p]make
incision in thee! thou art raw.

Corin : Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get that I [p]wear; owe
no man hate, envy no man's happiness; glad of other [p]men's good,
content with my harm; and the greatest of my pride is [p]to see my
ewes graze and my lambs suck.

Touchstone : That is another simple sin in you: to bring the ewes [p]and the rams
together, and to offer to get your living by the [p]copulation of
cattle; to be bawd to a bell-wether, and to betray [p]a she-lamb of a
twelvemonth to crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, [p]out of all
reasonable match. If thou beest not damn'd for this, [p]the devil
himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else how [p]thou shouldst
scape.

Corin : Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother.

(stage directions) : Enter ROSALIND, reading a paper

Rosalind : 'From the east to western Inde, [p] No jewel is like
Rosalinde. [p] Her worth, being mounted on the wind, [p]
Through all the world bears Rosalinde. [p] All the
pictures fairest lin'd [p] Are but black to Rosalinde. [p]
Let no face be kept in mind [p] But the fair of
Rosalinde.'

Touchstone : I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners, and [p]suppers, and
sleeping hours, excepted. It is the right [p]butter-women's rank to
market.

Rosalind : Out, fool!

Touchstone : For a taste: [p] If a hart do lack a hind, [p]
Let him seek out Rosalinde. [p] If the cat will after
kind, [p] So be sure will Rosalinde. [p] Winter
garments must be lin'd, [p] So must slender Rosalinde. [p]
They that reap must sheaf and bind, [p] Then to
cart with Rosalinde. [p] Sweetest nut hath sourest
rind, [p] Such a nut is Rosalinde. [p] He that
sweetest rose will find [p] Must find love's prick and
Rosalinde. [p]This is the very false gallop of verses; why do you
infect [p]yourself with them?

Rosalind : Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree.

Touchstone : Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.

Rosalind : I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a [p]medlar.
Then it will be the earliest fruit i' th' country; for [p]you'll be
rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's the right [p]virtue of the
medlar.

Touchstone : You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest [p]judge. [p]
Enter CELIA, with a writing

Rosalind : Peace! [p]Here comes my sister, reading; stand aside.

Celia : 'Why should this a desert be? [p] For it is unpeopled? No; [p]
Tongues I'll hang on every tree [p] That shall civil
sayings show. [p] Some, how brief the life of man [p]
Runs his erring pilgrimage, [p] That the streching of a span [p]
Buckles in his sum of age; [p] Some, of violated
vows [p] 'Twixt the souls of friend and friend; [p] But
upon the fairest boughs, [p] Or at every sentence end, [p]
Will I Rosalinda write, [p] Teaching all that read to
know [p] The quintessence of every sprite [p] Heaven
would in little show. [p] Therefore heaven Nature charg'd [p]
That one body should be fill'd [p] With all graces
wide-enlarg'd. [p] Nature presently distill'd [p]
Helen's cheek, but not her heart, [p] Cleopatra's majesty, [p]
Atalanta's better part, [p] Sad Lucretia's modesty. [p]
Thus Rosalinde of many parts [p] By heavenly synod was
devis'd, [p] Of many faces, eyes, and hearts, [p] To
have the touches dearest priz'd. [p] Heaven would that she these
gifts should have, [p] And I to live and die her slave.'

Rosalind : O most gentle Jupiter! What tedious homily of love have [p]you wearied
your parishioners withal, and never cried 'Have [p]patience, good
people.'

Celia : How now! Back, friends; shepherd, go off a little; go with [p]him,
sirrah.

Touchstone : Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat; [p]though not with
bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage.

(stage directions) : Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE

Celia : Didst thou hear these verses?

Rosalind : O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of them [p]had in
them more feet than the verses would bear.

Celia : That's no matter; the feet might bear the verses.

Rosalind : Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves [p]without
the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse.

Celia : But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name should be [p]hang'd
and carved upon these trees?

Rosalind : I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you [p]came; for
look here what I found on a palm-tree. I was never so [p]berhym'd
since Pythagoras' time that I was an Irish rat, which I [p]can hardly
remember.

Celia : Trow you who hath done this?

Rosalind : Is it a man?

Celia : And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck. [p]Change you
colour?

Rosalind : I prithee, who?

Celia : O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet;
but [p]mountains may be remov'd with earthquakes, and so encounter.

Rosalind : Nay, but who is it?

Celia : Is it possible?

Rosalind : Nay, I prithee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell [p]me who it
is.

Celia : O wonderful, wonderful, most wonderful wonderful, and yet [p]again
wonderful, and after that, out of all whooping!

Rosalind : Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am [p]caparison'd like a
man, I have a doublet and hose in my [p]disposition? One inch of delay
more is a South Sea of discovery. [p]I prithee tell me who is it
quickly, and speak apace. I would [p]thou could'st stammer, that thou
mightst pour this conceal'd man [p]out of thy mouth, as wine comes out
of narrow-mouth'd bottle- [p]either too much at once or none at all. I
prithee take the cork [p]out of thy mouth that I may drink thy
tidings.

Celia : So you may put a man in your belly.

Rosalind : Is he of God's making? What manner of man? [p]Is his head worth a hat
or his chin worth a beard?

Celia : Nay, he hath but a little beard.

Rosalind : Why, God will send more if the man will be thankful. Let [p]me stay
the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the [p]knowledge of his
chin.

Celia : It is young Orlando, that tripp'd up the wrestler's heels [p]and your
heart both in an instant.

Rosalind : Nay, but the devil take mocking! Speak sad brow and true [p]maid.

Celia : I' faith, coz, 'tis he.

Rosalind : Orlando?

Celia : Orlando.

Rosalind : Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose? [p]What did he
when thou saw'st him? What said he? How look'd he? [p]Wherein went he?
What makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where [p]remains he? How parted
he with thee? And when shalt thou see him [p]again? Answer me in one
word.

Celia : You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first; 'tis a word too [p]great
for any mouth of this age's size. To say ay and no to
these [p]particulars is more than to answer in a catechism.

Rosalind : But doth he know that I am in this forest, and in man's [p]apparel?
Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled?

Celia : It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the [p]propositions of a
lover; but take a taste of my finding him, and [p]relish it with good
observance. I found him under a tree, like a [p]dropp'd acorn.

Rosalind : It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it drops forth [p]such fruit.

Celia : Give me audience, good madam.

Rosalind : Proceed.

Celia : There lay he, stretch'd along like a wounded knight.

Rosalind : Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes [p]the ground.

Celia : Cry 'Holla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets [p]unseasonably. He
was furnish'd like a hunter.

Rosalind : O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.

Celia : I would sing my song without a burden; thou bring'st me out [p]of
tune.

Rosalind : Do you not know I am a woman? When I think, I must speak. [p]Sweet,
say on.

Celia : You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here?

(stage directions) : Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES

Rosalind : 'Tis he; slink by, and note him.

Jaques (lord) : I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as [p]lief have
been myself alone.

Orlando : And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you too [p]for your
society.

Jaques (lord) : God buy you; let's meet as little as we can.

Orlando : I do desire we may be better strangers.

Jaques (lord) : I pray you mar no more trees with writing love songs in [p]their
barks.

Orlando : I pray you mar no more of my verses with reading
them [p]ill-favouredly.

Jaques (lord) : Rosalind is your love's name?

Orlando : Yes, just.

Jaques (lord) : I do not like her name.

Orlando : There was no thought of pleasing you when she was [p]christen'd.

Jaques (lord) : What stature is she of?

Orlando : Just as high as my heart.

Jaques (lord) : You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been [p]acquainted with
goldsmiths' wives, and conn'd them out of rings?

Orlando : Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence [p]you have
studied your questions.

Jaques (lord) : You have a nimble wit; I think 'twas made of Atalanta's [p]heels. Will
you sit down with me? and we two will rail against [p]our mistress the
world, and all our misery.

Orlando : I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against [p]whom I
know most faults.

Jaques (lord) : The worst fault you have is to be in love.

Orlando : 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am [p]weary of
you.

Jaques (lord) : By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found you.

Orlando : He is drown'd in the brook; look but in, and you shall see [p]him.

Jaques (lord) : There I shall see mine own figure.

Orlando : Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.

Jaques (lord) : I'll tarry no longer with you; farewell, good Signior Love.

Orlando : I am glad of your departure; adieu, good Monsieur [p]Melancholy.

(stage directions) : Exit JAQUES

Rosalind : [Aside to CELIA] I will speak to him like a saucy lackey, [p]and under
that habit play the knave with him.- Do you hear, [p]forester?

Orlando : Very well; what would you?

Rosalind : I pray you, what is't o'clock?

Orlando : You should ask me what time o' day; there's no clock in [p]the
forest.

Rosalind : Then there is no true lover in the forest, else sighing [p]every
minute and groaning every hour would detect the lazy foot [p]of Time
as well as a clock.

Orlando : And why not the swift foot of Time? Had not that been as [p]proper?

Rosalind : By no means, sir. Time travels in divers paces with [p]divers persons.
I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time [p]trots withal, who
Time gallops withal, and who he stands still [p]withal.

Orlando : I prithee, who doth he trot withal?

Rosalind : Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the [p]contract of her
marriage and the day it is solemniz'd; if the [p]interim be but a
se'nnight, Time's pace is so hard that it seems [p]the length of seven
year.

Orlando : Who ambles Time withal?

Rosalind : With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich man that hath [p]not the
gout; for the one sleeps easily because he cannot study, [p]and the
other lives merrily because he feels no pain; the one [p]lacking the
burden of lean and wasteful learning, the other [p]knowing no burden
of heavy tedious penury. These Time ambles [p]withal.

Orlando : Who doth he gallop withal?

Rosalind : With a thief to the gallows; for though he go as softly [p]as foot can
fall, he thinks himself too soon there.

Orlando : Who stays it still withal?

Rosalind : With lawyers in the vacation; for they sleep between term [p]and term,
and then they perceive not how Time moves.

Orlando : Where dwell you, pretty youth?

Rosalind : With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the skirts of [p]the forest,
like fringe upon a petticoat.

Orlando : Are you native of this place?

Rosalind : As the coney that you see dwell where she is kindled.

Orlando : Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in [p]so
removed a dwelling.

Rosalind : I have been told so of many; but indeed an old religious [p]uncle of
mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inland [p]man; one
that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. [p]I have
heard him read many lectures against it; and I thank God I [p]am not a
woman, to be touch'd with so many giddy offences as he [p]hath
generally tax'd their whole sex withal.

Orlando : Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid [p]to the
charge of women?

Rosalind : There were none principal; they were all like one another [p]as
halfpence are; every one fault seeming monstrous till
his [p]fellow-fault came to match it.

Orlando : I prithee recount some of them.

Rosalind : No; I will not cast away my physic but on those that are [p]sick.
There is a man haunts the forest that abuses our young [p]plants with
carving 'Rosalind' on their barks; hangs odes upon [p]hawthorns and
elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the [p]name of Rosalind.
If I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give [p]him some good
counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love [p]upon him.

Orlando : I am he that is so love-shak'd; I pray you tell me your [p]remedy.

Rosalind : There is none of my uncle's marks upon you; he taught me [p]how to
know a man in love; in which cage of rushes I am sure you [p]are not
prisoner.

Orlando : What were his marks?

Rosalind : A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye and sunken, [p]which you
have not; an unquestionable spirit, which you have not; [p]a beard
neglected, which you have not; but I pardon you for that, [p]for
simply your having in beard is a younger brother's revenue. [p]Then
your hose should be ungarter'd, your bonnet unbanded, your [p]sleeve
unbutton'd, your shoe untied, and every thing about
you [p]demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such man;
you [p]are rather point-device in your accoutrements, as loving
yourself [p]than seeming the lover of any other.

Orlando : Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.

Rosalind : Me believe it! You may as soon make her that you love [p]believe it;
which, I warrant, she is apter to do than to confess [p]she does. That
is one of the points in the which women still give [p]the lie to their
consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that [p]hangs the verses
on the trees wherein Rosalind is so admired?

Orlando : I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I [p]am that
he, that unfortunate he.

Rosalind : But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak?

Orlando : Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.

Rosalind : Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as [p]well a dark
house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why [p]they are not so
punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so [p]ordinary that the
whippers are in love too. Yet I profess curing [p]it by counsel.

Orlando : Did you ever cure any so?

Rosalind : Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to imagine me his [p]love, his
mistress; and I set him every day to woo me; at which [p]time would I,
being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, [p]changeable,
longing and liking, proud, fantastical, apish, [p]shallow, inconstant,
full of tears, full of smiles; for every [p]passion something and for
no passion truly anything, as boys and [p]women are for the most part
cattle of this colour; would now like [p]him, now loathe him; then
entertain him, then forswear him; now [p]weep for him, then spit at
him; that I drave my suitor from his [p]mad humour of love to a living
humour of madness; which was, to [p]forswear the full stream of the
world and to live in a nook [p]merely monastic. And thus I cur'd him;
and this way will I take [p]upon me to wash your liver as clean as a
sound sheep's heart, [p]that there shall not be one spot of love in
't.

Orlando : I would not be cured, youth.

Rosalind : I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, and [p]come every
day to my cote and woo me.

Orlando : Now, by the faith of my love, I will. Tell me where it is.

Rosalind : Go with me to it, and I'll show it you; and, by the way, [p]you shall
tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go?

Orlando : With all my heart, good youth.

Rosalind : Nay, you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you [p]go?
Exeunt

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Next: Act 3 - Scene 3

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