Complete Plays, The (327 page)

Duke Frederick

More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors;
And let my officers of such a nature
Make an extent upon his house and lands:
Do this expediently and turn him going.

Exeunt

S
CENE
II. T
HE
FOREST
.

Enter Orlando, with a paper

Orlando

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

Exit

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 life, but in respect that it is a shepherd’s life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now, in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As is it a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd?

Corin

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

Touchstone

Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court, shepherd?

Corin

No, truly.

Touchstone

Then thou art damned.

Corin

Nay, I hope.

Touchstone

Truly, thou art damned like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side.

Corin

For not being at court? Your reason.

Touchstone

Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never sawest good manners; if thou never sawest good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd.

Corin

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

Touchstone

Instance, briefly; come, instance.

Corin

Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their fells, you know, are greasy.

Touchstone

Why, do not your courtier’s hands sweat? and is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say; come.

Corin

Besides, our hands are hard.

Touchstone

Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again.
A more sounder instance, come.

Corin

And they are often tarred over with the surgery of our sheep: and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier’s hands are perfumed with civet.

Touchstone

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

Corin

You have too courtly a wit for me: I’ll rest.

Touchstone

Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee, shallow man!
God make incision in thee! thou art raw.

Corin

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

Touchstone

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

Corin

Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress’s brother.

Enter Rosalind, with a paper, reading

Rosalind

 
From the east to western Ind,
No jewel is like Rosalind.
Her worth, being mounted on the wind,
Through all the world bears Rosalind.
All the pictures fairest lined
Are but black to Rosalind.
Let no fair be kept in mind
But the fair of Rosalind.

Touchstone

I’ll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners and suppers and sleeping-hours excepted: it is the right butter-women’s rank to market.

Rosalind

Out, fool!

Touchstone

For a taste:
If a hart do lack a hind,
Let him seek out Rosalind.
If the cat will after kind,
So be sure will Rosalind.
Winter garments must be lined,
So must slender Rosalind.
They that reap must sheaf and bind;
Then to cart with Rosalind.
Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,
Such a nut is Rosalind.
He that sweetest rose will find
Must find love’s prick and Rosalind.
This is the very false gallop of verses: why do you infect 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 medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit i’ the country; for you’ll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that’s the right virtue of the medlar.

Touchstone

You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest judge.

Enter Celia, with a writing

Rosalind

Peace! Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside.

Celia

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

Rosalind

O most gentle pulpiter! what tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried ‘Have patience, good people!’

Celia

How now! back, friends! Shepherd, go off a little.
Go with him, sirrah.

Touchstone

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

Exeunt Corin and Touchstone

Celia

Didst thou hear these verses?

Rosalind

O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of them 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 without the verse and therefore stood lamely in the verse.

Celia

But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name should be hanged and carved upon these trees?

Rosalind

I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree. I was never so be-rhymed since Pythagoras’ time, that I was an Irish rat, which I 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. Change you colour?

Rosalind

I prithee, who?

Celia

O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be removed 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 me who it is.

Celia

O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all hooping!

Rosalind

Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more is a South-sea of discovery; I prithee, tell me who is it quickly, and speak apace. I would thou couldst stammer, that thou mightst pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow- mouthed bottle, either too much at once, or none at all. I prithee, take the cork out of thy mouth that 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? 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 me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin.

Celia

It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler’s heels and your heart both in an instant.

Rosalind

Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak, sad brow and true maid.

Celia

I’ faith, coz, ’tis he.

Rosalind

Orlando?

Celia

Orlando.

Rosalind

Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose? What did he when thou sawest him? What said he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes him here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see him again? Answer me in one word.

Celia

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

Rosalind

But doth he know that I am in this forest and in man’s apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled?

Celia

It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with good observance. I found him under a tree, like a dropped acorn.

Rosalind

It may well be called Jove’s tree, when it drops forth such fruit.

Celia

Give me audience, good madam.

Rosalind

Proceed.

Celia

There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded knight.

Rosalind

Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground.

Celia

Cry ‘holla’ to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter.

Rosalind

O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.

Celia

I would sing my song without a burden: thou bringest me out of tune.

Rosalind

Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on.

Celia

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

Enter Orlando and Jaques

Rosalind

’Tis he: slink by, and note him.

Jaques

I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone.

Orlando

And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you too for your society.

Jaques

God be wi’ you: let’s meet as little as we can.

Orlando

I do desire we may be better strangers.

Jaques

I pray you, mar no more trees with writing love-songs in their barks.

Orlando

I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading them ill-favouredly.

Jaques

Rosalind is your love’s name?

Orlando

Yes, just.

Jaques

I do not like her name.

Orlando

There was no thought of pleasing you when she was christened.

Jaques

What stature is she of?

Orlando

Just as high as my heart.

Jaques

You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths’ wives, and conned them out of rings?

Orlando

Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence you have studied your questions.

Jaques

You have a nimble wit: I think ’twas made of Atalanta’s heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two will rail against our mistress the world and all our misery.

Orlando

I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom I know most faults.