Enter Musicians. Come, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn: With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear, And draw her home with music. [Music. Jes. I am never merry when I hear sweet music. [tive: Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attenFor do but note a wild and wanton herd, Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, Go in, Nerissa; Por. We are no tell-tales, madam; fear you not Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neigh-It looks a little paler: 'tis a day, [light sick; ing loud, Which is the hot condition of their blood; If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound, You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage, Por. So doth the greater glory dim the less: Ner. It is your music, madam, of the house. Por. Nothing is good, I see, without respect: Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day. Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it, [lark, madam. Por. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the When neither is attended; and I think The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren. How many things by season season'd are To their right praise and true perfection!Peace, ho! the moon sleeps with Endymion, And would not be awak'd! [Music ceases. Lor. That is the voice, Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia. Por. He knows me, as the blind man knows By the bad voice. [the cuckoo, Lor. Dear lady, welcome home. Por. We have been praying for our husbands' welfare, Which speed, we hope, the better for our words. Are they return'd? Lor. Madam, they are not yet; But there is come a messenger before, To signify their coming. Such as the day is when the sun is hid. Enter Bassanio, Antonio, Gratiano, and their followers. Bass. We should hold day with the Antipo des, If you would walk in absence of the sun. Por. Let me give light, but let me not be light; For a light wife doth make a heavy husband, And never be Bassanio so for me: [lord. But God sort all!-You are welcome home, my Bass. I thank you, madam: give welconie to my friend; This is the man, this is Antonio, Por. You should in all sense be much bound to him, For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. Ant. No more than I am well acquitted of. Por. Sir, you are very welcome to our house: It must appear in other ways than words, Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy. Gra. [To Nerissa.] By yonder moon I swear In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk: Gra. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring You swore to me, when I did give it you, Gave it a judge's clerk! no, God's my judge, The clerk will ne'er wear hair on's face that had it. Gra. He will, an if he live to be a man. A kind of boy; a little scrubbed boy, To part so slightly with your wife's first gift; You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief: Bass. Aside. Why, I were best to cut my left hand off, And swear I lost the ring defending it. Gra. My lord Bassanio gave his ring away Unto the judge that begg'd it, and indeed Deserv'd it too; and then the boy, his clerk, That took some pains in writing, he begg'd Por. If you had known the virtue of the ring, Or half her worthiness that gave the ring, Or your own honour to contain the ring, You would not then have parted with the ring. What man is there so much unreasonable, If you had pleas'd to have defended it With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty To urge the thing held as a ceremony? Nerissa teaches me what to believe: I'll die for't, but some woman had the ring. Bass. No, by mine honour, madam, by my No woman had it, but a civil doctor, [soul, Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me, And begg'd the ring; the which I did deny him, And suffer'd him to go displeas'd away; Even he that had held up the very life Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet I was enforc'd to send it after him: I was beset with shame and courtesy ; My honour would not let ingratitude So much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady; For, by these blessed candles of the night, Had you been there, I think you would have begg'd lady? The ring of me to give the worthy doctor. Por. Let not that doctor e'er come near my house: Since he hath got the jewel that I lov'd, then; For if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen. Ant. I am th' unhappy subject of these [notwithstanding. quarrels. Por. Sir, grieve not you; you are welcome Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong; And, in the hearing of these many friends, I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes, Wherein I see myself,— Por. Mark you but that! In both my eyes he doubly sees himself; In each eye, one :-swear by your double self, And there's an oath of credit. Bass. Had quite miscarried: I dare be bound again, Por. Then you shall be his surety. Give In summer, when the ways are fair enough: Here is a letter, read it at your leisure; Bass. Were you the doctor, and I knew you not? [cuckold? Gra. Were you the clerk that is to make me Ner. Ay, but the clerk that never means to Unless he live until he be a man. [do it, Bass. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow : When I am absent, then, lie with my wife. For here I read for certain that my ships How now, Lorenzo! AS YOU LIKE IT. DRAMATIS PERSONE. Duke, Senior, living in exile. | Touchstone, a Clown. Frederick, his Brother, usurper of his do- Sir Oliver Mar-text, a Vicar. Corin, Shepherds. William, a Country Fellow, in love with A person representing Hymen. Phebe, a Shepherdess. Audrey, a Country Wench. Lords, Pages, Foresters, and Attendants. SCENE,-First, near Oliver's House; afterwards, partly in the Usurper's Court, and partly in the Forest of Arden. ACT I. SCENE I.-An Orchard near Oliver's House. Enter Orlando and Adam. his animals on his dunghills are as much he so plentifully gives me, the something that bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that me, begins to mutiny against this servitude: I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it. [brother. nature gave me, his countenance seems to take Orl. As I remember, Adam, it was upon from me: he lets me feed with his hinds, bars this fashion, - bequeathed me by will but me the place of a brother, and, as much as in poor a thousand crowns, and, as thou say'st, him lies, mines my gentility with my educacharged my brother, on his blessing, to breed tion. This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and me well and there begins my sadness. My the spirit of my father, which I think is within brother Jaques he keeps at school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit: for my part, he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more properly, stays me here at home unkept;| for call you that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that differs not from the stalling of an ox? His horses are bred better; for, besides that they are fair with their feeding, they are taught their manage, and to that end riders dearly hired: but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth; for the which Adam. Yonder comes my master, your Ori. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up. Enter Oliver. Oli. Now, sir! what make you here? that which God made, a poor unworthy a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is. brother of yours, with idleness. Oli. Marry, sir, be better employed, and be nought awhile. Ort. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks Orl. O, sir, very well: here in your orchard. Orl. Ay, better than he I am before knows me. I know you are my eldest brother; and, in the gentle condition of blood, you should so know me. The courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that you are the first-born; but the same tradition takes not away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt us: I have as much of my father in me, as you; albeit, I confess, your coming before me is nearer to his reverence. Oli. What, boy! [young in this. Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? Orl. I am no villain: I am the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Bois : he was my father; and he is thrice a villain that says such a father begot villains. Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy throat, till this other had pulled out thy tongue for saying so thou hast railed on thyself. Adam. Sweet masters, be patient: for your father's remembrance, be at accord. Oi. Let me go, I say. Enter Charles. Cha. Good-morrow to your worship. Oli. Good monsieur Charles, what's the new news at the new court? Cha. There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news: that is, the old duke is banished by his younger brother the new duke; and three or four loving lords have put themselves into voluntary exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke; therefore he gives them good leave to wander. Oli. Can you tell if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, be banished with her father? Cha. O, no; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves her, being ever from their cradles bred together, that she would have followed her exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at the court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter; and never two ladies loved as they do. Oli. Where will the old duke live? Cha. They say, he is already in the forest of Arden, and a many merry men with him and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England: they say, many young gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world. Oli. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke? Cha. Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand that your younger Orl. I will not, till I please: you shall hear brother, Orlando, hath a disposition to come me. My father charged you in his will to give in disguised against me to try a fali. To-morme good education: you have trained me like row, sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he that a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all escapes me without some broken limb shali gentleman-like qualities. The spirit of my acquit him well. Your brother is but young father grows strong in me, and I will no and tender; and, for your love, I would be longer endure it: therefore allow me such loth to foil him, as I must, for my own honour, exercises as may become a gentleman, or give if he come in: therefore, out of my love to me the poor allottery my father left me by you, I came hither to acquaint you withal; testament; with that I will go buy my fortunes. that either you might stay him from his inOli. And what wilt thou do? beg, when tendment, or brook such disgrace well as he that is spent? Well, sir, get you in: I will shall run into; in that it is a thing of his own not long be troubled with you; you shall have search, and altogether against my will. some part of your will: I pray you, leave me. | Orl. I will no farther offend you than be-me, which, thou shalt find, I will most kindly comes me for my good. Oli. Get you with him, you old dog. Adam. Is old dog my reward? Most true, I have lost my teeth in your service.-God be with my old master! he would not have spoke such a word. [Exeunt Orlando and Adam. Oli. Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? I will physic your rankness, and yet give Do thousand crowns neither.-Hola, Dennis! Enter Dennis. Den. Calls your worship? Oli. Was not Charles the duke's wrestler here to speak with me? Den. So please you, he is here at the door, and importunes access to you. Oli. Call him in. [Exit Dennis.]—'Twill be Oli. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to requite. I had myself notice of my brother's purpose herein, and have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him from it; but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles; it is the stubbornest young fellow of France; full of ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good parts, a secret and villainous contriver against me his natural brother: therefore use thy discretion: I had as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger: and thou wert best look to't; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by some treacherous device, and never leave thee till he hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other; for, I assure thee,— and almost with tears I speak it, there is not one so young and so villainous this day living. I speak but brotherly of him; but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder. Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to you; if he come to-morrow, I'll give him his payment: if ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize more: and so, God keep your worship! Ros. I would we could do so; for her benefits are mightily misplaced; and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her gifts to women. Cel. 'Tis true; for those that she makes fair, she scarce makes honest; and those that she makes honest, she makes very ill-favouredly. Ros. Nay, now thou goest from Fortune's office to Nature's: Fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of Nature. Oli. Farewell, good Charles. [Exit Cel. No? when Nature hath made a fair Charles.] Now will I stir this gamester: I creature, may she not by Fortune fall into the hope I shall see an end of him; for my soul, fire?-[Enter Touchstone.] Though Nature yet I know not why, hates nothing more than hath given us wit to flout at Fortune, hath he: yet he's gentle; never schooled, and yet not Fortune sent in this fool to cut off the arlearned; full of noble device; of all sorts en-gument? chantingly beloved; and, indeed, so much in Ros. Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for the heart of the world, and especially of my Nature, when Fortune makes Nature's natural own people, who best know him, that I am the cutter off of Nature's wit. altogether misprised: but it shall not be so long; this wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains but that I kindle the boy thither; which now I'll go about. [Exit. SCENE II.—A Lawn before the Duke's Palace. Enter Rosalind and Celia. Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. Ros. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of; and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget a banished father, you must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure. Cel. Herein, I see, thou lovest me not with the full weight that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father, had banished thy uncle, the duke my father, so thou hadst been still with me, I could have taught my love to take thy father for mine: so wouldst thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously tempered as mine is to thee. Kos. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to rejoice in yours. Cel. You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to have: and, truly, when he dies, thou shalt be his heir; for what he hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render thee again in affection; by mine honour, I will; and when I break that oath, let me turn monster: therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry. Ros. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. Let me see; what think you of falling in love? Cel. Marry, I pr'ythee, do, to make sport withal but love no man in good earnest; nor no farther in sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou mayst in honour come off again. Cel. Peradventure this is not Fortune's work neither, but Nature's; who, perceiving our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, hath sent this natural for our whetstone: for always the dulness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits.-How now, wit! whither wander you? Touch. Mistress, you must come away to your father. Cel. Were you made the messenger? Touch. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come for you. Ros. Where learned you that oath, fool? Touch. Of a certain knight, that swore by his honour they were good pancakes, and swore by his honour the mustard was naught: now, I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught, and the mustard was good; and yet was not the knight forsworn. Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge? Ros. Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom. Touch. Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave. [art. Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou Touch. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were; but if you swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn no more was this knight, swearing by his honour, for he never had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away before ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard. Cel. Prythee, who is't that thou meanest ? Touch. One that old Frederick, your father, loves. Cel. My father's love is enough to honour him enough: speak no more of him; you'll be whipped for taxation one of these days. Touch. The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely, what wise men do foolishly. Ros. What shall be our sport, then? Cel. By my troth, thou sayest true; for Cel. Let us sit and mock the good house-since the little wit that fools have was silenced, wife Fortune from her wheel, that her gifts the little foolery that wise men have makes a may henceforth be bestowed equally. great show.-Here comes Monsieur Le Beau. |