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And well he might so do, go? For well I know he was unnatural.

Ros. But, to Orlando: did he leave him there, Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness?

Oli. Twice did he turn his back and purpos'd


But kindness, nobler ever than revenge,
And nature, stronger than his just occasion, 180
Made him give battle to the lioness,
Who quickly fell before him in which hurtling
From miserable slumber I awak'd.
Cel. Are you his brother?


Was it you he rescu'd? 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 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, 140 Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd, As how I came into that desert place :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, 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,

He sent me hither, stranger as I am,
To tell this story, that you might excuse
His broken promise; and to give this napkin,
Dy'd in his blood, unto the shepherd youth
That he in sport doth call his Rosalind.

ROSALIND swoons. 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. 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 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.



SCENE I.-The Forest of Arden. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY. Touch. We shall find a time, Audrey: patience, gentle Audrey.

Aud. Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old gentleman's saying.

Touch. A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey; a most vile Martext. But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to you.

Aud. Ay, I know who 'tis: he hath no interest in me in the world. Here comes the man you

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Touch. He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, you clown, abandon-which is in the vulgar, leave-the society,-which in the boorish is, company, of this female,--which in the common is, woman; which together is, abandon the society of this female, or, clown, thou perishest; or, to thy better understanding, diest; or, to wit, I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life unto death, thy liberty into bondage. I will deal in poison with thee, or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy with thee in faction; I will o'er-run thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways: therefore tremble, and depart.

Aud. Do, good William.

Will. God rest you merry, sir.

Enter CORIN.

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SCENE II.-Another Part of the Forest.


Orl. Is 't possible that on so little acquaintance you should like her? that but seeing, you should love her and loving, woo? and wooing, she should grant? and will you persever to enjoy her? Oli. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing, nor her sudden consenting; but say with me, I love Aliena; say with her, that she loves me; consent with both, that we may enjoy each other: it shall be to your good; for my father's house and all the revenue that was old Sir Rowland's will I estate upon you, and here live and die a shepherd.


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Ros. I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion.

Orl. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. Ros. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to swoon when he showed me your handkercher ?

Orl. Ay, and greater wonders than that.


Ros. O! I know where you are. Nay, 'tis true: there was never any thing so sudden but the fight of two rams, and Cæsar's thrasonical brag of 'I came, saw, and overcame': for your brother and my sister no sooner met but they looked; no sooner looked but they loved; no sooner loved but they sighed; no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason; no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy : and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage which they will climb incontinent, or else be incontinent before marriage.

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Ros. Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind?

Orl. I can live no longer by thinking.

Ros. I will weary you then no longer with idle talking. Know of me then, for now I speak to some purpose, that I know you are a gentleman of good conceit. I speak not this that you should bear a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch I say I know you are; neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may in some little measure draw a belief from you, to do yourself good, and not to grace me. Believe then,


you please, that I can do strange things. I have, since I was three year old, conversed with a magician, most profound in his art and yet not damnable. If you do love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture cries it out, when your brother marries Aliena, shall you marry her. I know into what straits of fortune she is driven; and it is not impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, to set her before your eyes to-morrow, human as she is, and without any danger.


Orl. Speakest thou in sober meanings? Ros. By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, though I say I am a magician. Therefore, put you in your best array; bid your friends; for if you will be married to-morrow, you shall; and to Rosalind, if you will. Look, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers.



Phe. Youth, you have done me much ungentleness,

To show the letter that I writ to you.

Ros. I care not if I have: it is my study To seem despiteful and ungentle to you. You are there follow'd by a faithful shepherd: Look upon him, love him; he worships you. Phe. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love.

Sil. It is to be all made of sighs and tears; And so am I for Phebe.

Phe. And I for Ganymede.
Orl. And I for Rosalind.

Ros. And I for no woman.


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Sil. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? Orl. If this be so, why blame you me to love you?

Ros. Who do you speak to, 'Why blame you me to love you?'

110 Orl. To her that is not here, nor doth not hear. Ros. Pray you, no more of this: 'tis like the howling of Irish wolves against the moon. To SILVIUS. I will help you, if I can: To PHEBE. I would love you, if I could. To-morrow meet me all together. To PHEBE. I will marry you, if ever I marry woman, and I'll be married tomorrow To ORLANDO. I will satisfy you, if ever I satisfied man, and you shall be married tomorrow: To SILVIUS. I will content you, if what pleases you contents you, and you shall be married to-morrow. To ORLANDO. As you love Rosalind, meet: To SILVIUS. As you love Phebe, meet and as I love no woman, I'll meet. fare you well: I have left you commands. Sil. I'll not fail, if I live.

Phe. Nor I.

Orl. Nor I.




SCENE III.-Another Part of the Forest.

Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY. Touch. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey; to-morrow will we be married.

Aud. I do desire it with all my heart, and I hope it is no dishonest desire to desire to be a woman of the world. Here come two of the banished duke's pages.

Enter two Pages.

First Page. Well met, honest gentleman. Touch. By my troth, well met. Come, sit, sit, and a song.

Second Page. We are for you: sit i' the middle. First Page. Shall we clap into 't roundly, without hawking or spitting, or saying we are hoarse, which are the only prologues to a bad voice?


Second Page. I' faith, i' faith; and both in a tune, like two gipsies on a horse.

It was a lover and his lass,

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, That o'er the green corn-field did pass,

In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding; Sweet lovers love the spring.

Between the acres of the rye,

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, These pretty country folks would lie,

In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding; Sweet lovers love the spring.

This carol they began that hour,

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,

How that a life was but a flower

In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding; Sweet lovers love the spring.

And therefore take the present time,

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, For love is crowned with the prime

In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding; Sweet lovers love the spring.




Touch. Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no great matter in the ditty, yet the note was very untuneable.

First Page. You are deceived, sir: we kept time; we lost not our time.

Touch. By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear such a foolish song. God be wi' you; and God mend your voices! Come, Audrey. Exeunt.


Another Part of the Forest.


Duke S. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy

Can do all this that he hath promised?

Orl. I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not;

As those that fear they hope, and know they fear.
Ros. Patience once more, whiles our compact
is urg'd.

You say, if I bring in your Rosalind,
You will bestow her on Orlando here?

Duke S. That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her.

Ros. And you say you will have her, when I bring her?


Orl. That would I, were I of all kingdoms king, Ros. You say you'll marry me, if I be willing? Phe. That will I, should I die the hour after. Ros. But if you do refuse to marry me, You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd? Phe. So is the bargain.

Ros. You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she will?

Sil. Though to have her and death were both one thing.

Ros. I have promised to make all this matter


Keep you your word, O duke, to give your daughter;

You yours, Orlando, tó receive his daughter; ∞
Keep you your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me,
Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd;
Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her,
If she refuse me: and from hence I go,
To make these doubts all even.

Duke S. I do remember in this shepherd boy
Some lively touches of my daughter's favour.
Orl. My lord, the first time that I ever saw him,
Methought he was a brother to your daughter;
But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born,
And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments
Of many desperate studies by his uncle,
Whom he reports to be a great magician,
Obscured in the circle of this forest.



Jaq. There is, sure, another flood toward, and these couples are coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools.

Touch. Salutation and greeting to you all! Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome. This is the motley-minded gentleman that I have so often met in the forest: he hath been a courtier, he swears.

Touch. If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation. I have trod a measure; I have flattered a lady; I have been politic with my friend, smooth with mine enemy; I have undone three tailors; I have had four quarrels, and like to have fought one.

Jaq. And how was that ta'en up?


Touch. Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the seventh cause.

Jaq. How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this fellow.

Duke S. I like him very well.

Touch. God 'ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country copulatives, to swear and to forswear, according as marriage binds and blood breaks. A poor virgin, sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own: a poor humour of mine, sir, to take that that no man else will. Rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor house, as your pearl in your foul oyster.


Duke S. By my faith, he is very swift and sententious.

Touch. According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such dulcet diseases.

Jaq. But, for the seventh cause; how did you find the quarrel on the seventh cause?


Touch. Upon a lie seven times removed :-bear your body more seeming, Audrey :-as thus, sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard: he sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it was: this is called the retort courteous.' If I sent him word again it was not well cut, he would send me word he cut it to please himself: this is called the quip modest.' If again, it was not well cut, he disabled my judgment: this is called the 'reply churlish.' If again, it was not well cut, he would answer, I spake not true: this is called the 'reproof valiant.' If again, it was not well cut, he would say, I lie: this is called the 'countercheck quarrelsome': and so to the 'lie circumstantial,' and the 'lie direct.'

Jaq. And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut?

Touch. I durst go no further than the 'lie circumstantial,' nor he durst not give me the lie direct'; and so we measured swords and parted.


Jaq. Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie?

Touch. O sir, we quarrel in print; by the book, as you have books for good manners: I will name you the degrees. The first, the 'retort courteous'; the second, the 'quip modest'; the third, the 'reply churlish'; the fourth, the 'reproof valiant'; the fifth, the 'countercheck quarrelsome'; the sixth, the 'lie with circumstance'; the seventh, the 'lie direct.' All these you may avoid but the 'lie direct'; and you may avoid that too, with an 'if.' I knew when seven justices could not take up a quarrel; but when the parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an 'if, as if you said so, then I said so'; and they shook hands and swore brothers. Your 'if' is the only peacemaker; much virtue in 'if.' 110

Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's as good at any thing, and yet a fool.

Duke S. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse,

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In his own conduct, purposely to take
His brother here and put him to the sword:
And to the skirts of this wild wood he came,
Where, meeting with an old religious man,
After some question with him, was converted
Both from his enterprise and from the world; 170
His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother,
And all their lands restor'd to them again
That were with him exil'd. This to be true,
I do engage my life.
Duke S.
Welcome, young man ;
Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding:
To one, his lands withheld; and to the other,
A land itself at large, a potent dukedom.
First, in this forest, let us do those ends
That here were well begun and well begot;
And after, every of this happy number
That have endur'd shrewd days and nights
with us,


Shall share the good of our returned fortune,
According to the measure of their states.
Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity,
And fall into our rustic revelry.
Play, music! and you brides and bridegrooms all,
With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall.
Jaq. Sir, by your patience. If I heard you

The duke hath put on a religious life,

And thrown into neglect the pompous court? 190 Jaq. de B. He hath.

Jaq. To him will I: out of these convertites There is much matter to be heard and learn'd. To DUKE S. You to your former honour I bequeath;

Your patience and your virtue well deserve it: To ORLANDO. You to a love that your true faith doth merit :

To OLIVER. You to your land, and love, and great allies:

To SILVIUS. You to a long and well-deserved bed:

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It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue; but it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord the prologue. If it be true that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play needs no epilogue; yet to good wine they do use good bushes, and good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues. What a case am I in then, that am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play! I am not furnished like a beggar, therefore to beg will not become me: my way is to conjure you; and I'll begin with the women. charge you, O women! for the love you bear to men, to like as much of this play as please you: and I charge you, O men! for the love you bear to women, as I perceive by your simpering none of you hates them, that between you and the women the play may please. If I were a woman I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me, and breaths that I defied not; and I am sure, as many as have good beards, or good faces, or sweet breaths, will, for my kind offer, when I make court'sy, bid me farewell.

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