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twg_000000015200 | dissembling colour. CELIA. Something browner than Judass. Marry, his kisses are Judass own children. ROSALIND. I faith, his hair is of a good colour. CELIA. An excellent colour. Your chestnut was ever the only colour. ROSALIND. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy bread. CELIA. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015201 | Diana. A nun of winters sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them. ROSALIND. But why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes not? CELIA. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him. ROSALIND. Do you think so? CELIA. Yes. I think he is not a pick-purse nor a horse-stealer, but for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015202 | his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a covered goblet or a worm-eaten nut. ROSALIND. Not true in love? CELIA. Yes, when he is in, but I think he is not in. ROSALIND. You have heard him swear downright he was. CELIA. Was is not is. Besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015203 | the word of a tapster. They are both the confirmer of false reckonings. He attends here in the forest on the Duke your father. ROSALIND. I met the Duke yesterday, and had much question with him. He asked me of what parentage I was. I told him, of as good as he, so he laughed and let me go. But | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015204 | what talk we of fathers when there is such a man as Orlando? CELIA. O, thats a brave man! He writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover, as a puny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015205 | But alls brave that youth mounts and folly guides. Who comes here? Enter Corin. CORIN. Mistress and master, you have oft enquired After the shepherd that complained of love, Who you saw sitting by me on the turf, Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess That was his mistress. CELIA. Well, and what of him? CORIN. If you will see a pageant | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015206 | truly played Between the pale complexion of true love And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain, Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you, If you will mark it. ROSALIND. O, come, let us remove. The sight of lovers feedeth those in love. Bring us to this sight, and you shall say Ill prove a busy actor | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015207 | in their play. [_Exeunt._] SCENE V. Another part of the Forest Enter Silvius and Phoebe. SILVIUS. Sweet Phoebe, do not scorn me, do not, Phoebe. Say that you love me not, but say not so In bitterness. The common executioner, Whose heart th accustomed sight of death makes hard, Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck But first begs | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015208 | pardon. Will you sterner be Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops? Enter Rosalind, Celia and Corin, at a distance. PHOEBE. I would not be thy executioner; I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. Thou tellst me there is murder in mine eye. Tis pretty, sure, and very probable That eyes, that are the frailst and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015209 | softest things, Who shut their coward gates on atomies, Should be called tyrants, butchers, murderers. Now I do frown on thee with all my heart, And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee. Now counterfeit to swoon; why, now fall down; Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame, Lie not, to say mine eyes | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015210 | are murderers. Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee. Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains Some scar of it; lean upon a rush, The cicatrice and capable impressure Thy palm some moment keeps. But now mine eyes, Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not; Nor I am sure there is not force | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015211 | in eyes That can do hurt. SILVIUS. O dear Phoebe, If everas that ever may be near You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, Then shall you know the wounds invisible That loves keen arrows make. PHOEBE. But till that time Come not thou near me. And when that time comes, Afflict me with thy mocks, pity | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015212 | me not, As till that time I shall not pity thee. ROSALIND. [_Advancing_.] And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother, That you insult, exult, and all at once, Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty As, by my faith, I see no more in you Than without candle may go dark to bed Must you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015213 | be therefore proud and pitiless? Why, what means this? Why do you look on me? I see no more in you than in the ordinary Of natures sale-work. Ods my little life, I think she means to tangle my eyes too! No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it. Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair, Your bugle | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015214 | eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream, That can entame my spirits to your worship. You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her, Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain? You are a thousand times a properer man Than she a woman. Tis such fools as you That makes the world full of ill-favoured children. Tis not her glass but | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015215 | you that flatters her, And out of you she sees herself more proper Than any of her lineaments can show her. But, mistress, know yourself; down on your knees, And thank heaven, fasting, for a good mans love. For I must tell you friendly in your ear, Sell when you can; you are not for all markets. Cry the man | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015216 | mercy, love him, take his offer; Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. So take her to thee, shepherd. Fare you well. PHOEBE. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together! I had rather hear you chide than this man woo. ROSALIND. Hes falln in love with your foulness, and shell fall in love with my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015217 | anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, Ill sauce her with bitter words. Why look you so upon me? PHOEBE. For no ill will I bear you. ROSALIND. I pray you do not fall in love with me, For I am falser than vows made in wine. Besides, I like you not. If | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015218 | you will know my house, Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by. Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard. Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better, And be not proud. Though all the world could see, None could be so abused in sight as he. Come, to our flock. [_Exeunt Rosalind, Celia and Corin._] PHOEBE. Dead shepherd, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015219 | now I find thy saw of might: Who ever loved that loved not at first sight? SILVIUS. Sweet Phoebe PHOEBE. Ha, what sayst thou, Silvius? SILVIUS. Sweet Phoebe, pity me. PHOEBE. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. SILVIUS. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be. If you do sorrow at my grief in love, By giving love your sorrow | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015220 | and my grief Were both extermined. PHOEBE. Thou hast my love. Is not that neighbourly? SILVIUS. I would have you. PHOEBE. Why, that were covetousness. Silvius, the time was that I hated thee; And yet it is not that I bear thee love; But since that thou canst talk of love so well, Thy company, which erst was irksome to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015221 | me, I will endure, and Ill employ thee too. But do not look for further recompense Than thine own gladness that thou art employed. SILVIUS. So holy and so perfect is my love, And I in such a poverty of grace, That I shall think it a most plenteous crop To glean the broken ears after the man That the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015222 | main harvest reaps. Loose now and then A scattered smile, and that Ill live upon. PHOEBE. Knowst thou the youth that spoke to me erewhile? SILVIUS. Not very well, but I have met him oft, And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds That the old carlot once was master of. PHOEBE. Think not I love him, though I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015223 | ask for him. Tis but a peevish boyyet he talks well. But what care I for words? Yet words do well When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. It is a pretty youthnot very pretty But sure hes proud, and yet his pride becomes him. Hell make a proper man. The best thing in him Is his complexion; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015224 | and faster than his tongue Did make offence, his eye did heal it up. He is not very tall, yet for his years hes tall; His leg is but so-so, and yet tis well. There was a pretty redness in his lip, A little riper and more lusty red Than that mixed in his cheek. Twas just the difference Betwixt | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015225 | the constant red and mingled damask. There be some women, Silvius, had they marked him In parcels as I did, would have gone near To fall in love with him; but for my part I love him not nor hate him not; and yet I have more cause to hate him than to love him. For what had he to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015226 | do to chide at me? He said mine eyes were black and my hair black, And now I am remembered, scorned at me. I marvel why I answered not again. But thats all one: omittance is no quittance. Ill write to him a very taunting letter, And thou shalt bear it. Wilt thou, Silvius? SILVIUS. Phoebe, with all my heart. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015227 | PHOEBE. Ill write it straight, The matters in my head and in my heart. I will be bitter with him and passing short. Go with me, Silvius. [_Exeunt._] ACT IV SCENE I. The Forest of Arden Enter Rosalind, Celia and Jaques. JAQUES. I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee. ROSALIND. They say you are a melancholy | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015228 | fellow. JAQUES. I am so; I do love it better than laughing. ROSALIND. Those that are in extremity of either are abominable fellows, and betray themselves to every modern censure worse than drunkards. JAQUES. Why, tis good to be sad and say nothing. ROSALIND. Why then, tis good to be a post. JAQUES. I have neither the scholars melancholy, which | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015229 | is emulation; nor the musicians, which is fantastical; nor the courtiers, which is proud; nor the soldiers, which is ambitious; nor the lawyers, which is politic; nor the ladys, which is nice; nor the lovers, which is all these; but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015230 | of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous sadness. ROSALIND. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad. I fear you have sold your own lands to see other mens. Then to have seen much and to have nothing is to have rich eyes and poor hands. JAQUES. Yes, I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015231 | have gained my experience. ROSALIND. And your experience makes you sad. I had rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me sadand to travel for it too. Enter Orlando. ORLANDO. Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind! JAQUES. Nay, then, God be wi you, an you talk in blank verse. ROSALIND. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller. Look you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015232 | lisp and 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. [_Exit Jaques._] Why, how now, Orlando, where have you been all this while? You a lover! An you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015233 | serve me such another trick, never come in my sight more. ORLANDO. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise. ROSALIND. Break an hours promise in love? He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part of the thousand part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015234 | said of him that Cupid hath clapped him o the shoulder, but Ill warrant him heart-whole. ORLANDO. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. ROSALIND. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight. I had as lief be wooed of a snail. ORLANDO. Of a snail? ROSALIND. Ay, of a snail, for though he comes slowly, he carries his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015235 | house on his heada better jointure, I think, than you make a woman. Besides, he brings his destiny with him. ORLANDO. Whats that? ROSALIND. 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. ORLANDO. Virtue is no horn-maker and my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015236 | Rosalind is virtuous. ROSALIND. And I am your Rosalind. CELIA. It pleases him to call you so, but he hath a Rosalind of a better leer than you. ROSALIND. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015237 | Rosalind? ORLANDO. I would kiss before I spoke. ROSALIND. Nay, you were better speak first, and when you 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 lackingGod warn usmatter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss. ORLANDO. How if the kiss be denied? ROSALIND. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015238 | Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter. ORLANDO. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress? ROSALIND. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit. ORLANDO. What, of my suit? ROSALIND. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015239 | I your Rosalind? ORLANDO. I take some joy to say you are because I would be talking of her. ROSALIND. Well, in her person, I say I will not have you. ORLANDO. Then, in mine own person, I die. ROSALIND. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015240 | was not any man died in his own person, _videlicet_, in a 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015241 | for a hot midsummer night; for, good youth, 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. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015242 | ORLANDO. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind, for I protest her frown might kill me. ROSALIND. 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. ORLANDO. Then love me, Rosalind. ROSALIND. Yes, faith, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015243 | will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all. ORLANDO. And wilt thou have me? ROSALIND. Ay, and twenty such. ORLANDO. What sayest thou? ROSALIND. Are you not good? ORLANDO. I hope so. ROSALIND. 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? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015244 | ORLANDO. Pray thee, marry us. CELIA. I cannot say the words. ROSALIND. You must begin Will you, Orlando CELIA. Go to.Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind? ORLANDO. I will. ROSALIND. Ay, but when? ORLANDO. Why now, as fast as she can marry us. ROSALIND. Then you must say I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. ORLANDO. I take thee, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015245 | Rosalind, for wife. ROSALIND. I might ask you for your commission. But I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband. Theres a girl goes before the priest, and certainly a womans thought runs before her actions. ORLANDO. So do all thoughts. They are winged. ROSALIND. Now tell me how long you would have her after you have possessed her. ORLANDO. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015246 | For ever and a day. ROSALIND. Say a day without the ever. No, no, Orlando, 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015247 | rain, more new-fangled than an ape, more 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 hyena, and that when thou are inclined to sleep. ORLANDO. But will my Rosalind do so? ROSALIND. By my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015248 | life, she will do as I do. ORLANDO. O, but she is wise. ROSALIND. Or else she could not have the wit to do this. The wiser, the waywarder. Make the doors upon a womans wit, and it will out at the casement. Shut that, and twill out at the keyhole. Stop that, twill fly with the smoke out at | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015249 | the chimney. ORLANDO. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say, Wit, whither wilt? ROSALIND. Nay, you might keep that check for it till you met your wifes wit going to your neighbours bed. ORLANDO. And what wit could wit have to excuse that? ROSALIND. Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015250 | shall never take her without her answer unless you take her without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her fault her husbands occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed it like a fool. ORLANDO. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. ROSALIND. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015251 | ORLANDO. I must attend the Duke at dinner. By two oclock I will be with thee again. ROSALIND. 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 oclock | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015252 | is your hour? ORLANDO. Ay, sweet Rosalind. ROSALIND. 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 behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical break-promise, and the most hollow lover, and the most | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015253 | 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. ORLANDO. With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind. So, adieu. ROSALIND. Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let time try. Adieu. [_Exit Orlando._] CELIA. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015254 | You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate! We must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest. ROSALIND. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015255 | affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal. CELIA. Or rather, bottomless, that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out. ROSALIND. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen, and born of madness, that blind rascally boy that abuses everyones eyes because his own are out, let him | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015256 | be judge how deep I am in love. Ill tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando. Ill go find a shadow and sigh till he come. CELIA. And Ill sleep. [_Exeunt._] SCENE II. Another part of the Forest Enter Jaques and Lords, like foresters. JAQUES. Which is he that killed the deer? FIRST LORD. Sir, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015257 | it was I. JAQUES. Lets present him to the Duke, like a Roman conqueror, and it would do well to set the deers horns upon his head for a branch of victory. Have you no song, forester, for this purpose? SECOND LORD. Yes, sir. JAQUES. Sing it. Tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015258 | SONG SECOND LORD. [_Sings_.] What shall he have that killed the deer? 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 fathers father wore it And thy father bore it. The horn, the horn, the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015259 | lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. [_Exeunt._] SCENE III. Another part of the Forest Enter Rosalind and Celia. ROSALIND. How say you now? Is it not past two oclock? And here much Orlando. CELIA. I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain he hath taen his bow and arrows and is gone forth to sleep. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015260 | Enter Silvius. Look who comes here. SILVIUS. My errand is to you, fair youth. My gentle Phoebe did bid me give you this. [_Giving a letter._] 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, It bears an angry tenor. Pardon me, I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015261 | am but as a guiltless messenger. ROSALIND. 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; She calls me proud, and that she could not love me, Were man as rare as phoenix. Ods my will, Her love is not the hare that I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015262 | do hunt. Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well, This is a letter of your own device. SILVIUS. No, I protest, I know not the contents. Phoebe did write it. ROSALIND. Come, come, you are a fool, And turned into the extremity of love. I saw her hand. She has a leathern hand, A freestone-coloured hand. I verily | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015263 | did think That her old gloves were on, but twas her hands. She has a huswifes handbut thats no matter. I say she never did invent this letter; This is a mans invention, and his hand. SILVIUS. Sure, it is hers. ROSALIND. Why, tis a boisterous and a cruel style, A style for challengers. Why, she defies me, Like Turk | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015264 | to Christian. Womens gentle brain Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention, Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter? SILVIUS. So please you, for I never heard it yet, Yet heard too much of Phoebes cruelty. ROSALIND. She Phoebes me. Mark how the tyrant writes. [_Reads._] _Art thou god to shepherd | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015265 | turned, That a maidens heart hath burned?_ Can a woman rail thus? SILVIUS. Call you this railing? ROSALIND. _Why, thy godhead laid apart, Warrst thou with a womans heart?_ 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015266 | eyne 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? 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015267 | Will the faithful offer take Of me, and all that I can make, Or else by him my love deny, And then Ill study how to die._ SILVIUS. Call you this chiding? CELIA. Alas, poor shepherd. ROSALIND. Do you pity him? No, he deserves no pity.Wilt thou love such a woman? What, to make thee an instrument and play false | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015268 | 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 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015269 | and not a word, for here comes more company. [_Exit Silvius._] Enter Oliver. OLIVER. Good morrow, fair ones. Pray you, if you know, Where in the purlieus of this forest stands A sheepcote fenced about with olive trees? CELIA. West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom; The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream, Left on your right | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015270 | hand, brings you to the place. But at this hour the house doth keep itself. Theres none within. OLIVER. 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 Like a ripe sister; the woman low, And browner than | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015271 | her brother. Are not you The owner of the house I did inquire for? CELIA. It is no boast, being asked, to say we are. OLIVER. Orlando doth commend him to you both, And to that youth he calls his Rosalind He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he? ROSALIND. I am. What must we understand by this? OLIVER. Some | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015272 | of my shame, if you will know of me What man I am, and how, and why, and where This handkerchief was stained. CELIA. I pray you tell it. OLIVER. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015273 | fancy, Lo, what befell. He threw his eye aside, And mark what object did present itself. Under an oak, whose boughs were mossed with age And high top bald with dry antiquity, A wretched ragged man, oergrown with hair, Lay sleeping on his back; about his neck A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself, Who with her head, nimble | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015274 | in threats, approached The opening of his mouth. But suddenly, Seeing Orlando, it unlinked itself And with indented glides did slip away Into a bush; under which bushs 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 The royal disposition of that beast To | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015275 | prey on nothing that doth seem as dead. This seen, Orlando did approach the man And found it was his brother, his elder brother. CELIA. O, I have heard him speak of that same brother, And he did render him the most unnatural That lived amongst men. OLIVER. And well he might so do, For well I know he was | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015276 | unnatural. ROSALIND. But, to Orlando: did he leave him there, Food to the sucked and hungry lioness? OLIVER. 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 From miserable slumber I awaked. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015277 | CELIA. Are you his brother? ROSALIND. Was it you he rescued? CELIA. Wast you that did so oft contrive to kill him? OLIVER. 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. ROSALIND. But, for the bloody napkin? OLIVER. By and by. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015278 | When from the first to last betwixt us two Tears our recountments had most kindly bathed 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 brothers love, Who led me instantly unto his cave, There stripped himself, and here upon his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015279 | 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 recovered 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015280 | and to give this napkin, Dyed in his blood, unto the shepherd youth That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. [_Rosalind faints._] CELIA. Why, how now, Ganymede, sweet Ganymede! OLIVER. Many will swoon when they do look on blood. CELIA. There is more in it. CousinGanymede! OLIVER. Look, he recovers. ROSALIND. I would I were at home. CELIA. Well | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015281 | lead you thither. I pray you, will you take him by the arm? OLIVER. Be of good cheer, youth. You a man? You lack a mans heart. ROSALIND. 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. OLIVER. This was not counterfeit. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015282 | There is too great testimony in your complexion that it was a passion of earnest. ROSALIND. Counterfeit, I assure you. OLIVER. Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit to be a man. ROSALIND. So I do. But, i faith, I should have been a woman by right. CELIA. Come, you look paler and paler. Pray you draw homewards. Good | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015283 | sir, go with us. OLIVER. That will I, for I must bear answer back How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. ROSALIND. I shall devise something. But I pray you commend my counterfeiting to him. Will you go? [_Exeunt._] ACT V SCENE I. The Forest of Arden Enter Touchstone and Audrey. TOUCHSTONE. We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015284 | AUDREY. Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old gentlemans saying. TOUCHSTONE. A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile Martext. But Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to you. AUDREY. Ay, I know who tis. He hath no interest in me in the world. Enter William. Here comes the man you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015285 | mean. TOUCHSTONE. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown. By my troth, we that have good wits have much to answer for. We shall be flouting; we cannot hold. WILLIAM. Good evn, Audrey. AUDREY. God ye good evn, William. WILLIAM. And good evn to you, sir. TOUCHSTONE. Good evn, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover thy | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015286 | head. Nay, prithee, be covered. How old are you, friend? WILLIAM. Five-and-twenty, sir. TOUCHSTONE. A ripe age. Is thy name William? WILLIAM. William, sir. TOUCHSTONE. A fair name. Wast born i th forest here? WILLIAM. Ay, sir, I thank God. TOUCHSTONE. Thank God. A good answer. Art rich? WILLIAM. Faith, sir, so-so. TOUCHSTONE. So-so is good, very good, very excellent | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015287 | good. And yet it is not, it is but so-so. Art thou wise? WILLIAM. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. TOUCHSTONE. Why, thou sayst well. I do now remember a saying: The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool. The heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015288 | grape, would open his lips when he put it into his mouth, meaning thereby that grapes were made to eat and lips to open. You do love this maid? WILLIAM. I do, sir. TOUCHSTONE. Give me your hand. Art thou learned? WILLIAM. No, sir. TOUCHSTONE. Then learn this of me: to have is to have. For it is a figure | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015289 | in rhetoric that drink, being poured out of cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty the other. For all your writers do consent that _ipse_ is he. Now, you are not _ipse_, for I am he. WILLIAM. Which he, sir? TOUCHSTONE. He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, you clown, abandonwhich is in the vulgar, leavethe | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015290 | societywhich in the boorish is companyof this femalewhich 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 into death, thy liberty into bondage. I will deal in poison with thee, or in bastinado, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015291 | or in steel. I will bandy with thee in faction; will oerrun thee with policy. I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways! Therefore tremble and depart. AUDREY. Do, good William. WILLIAM. God rest you merry, sir. [_Exit._] Enter Corin. CORIN. Our master and mistress seek you. Come away, away. TOUCHSTONE. Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey! I attend, I attend. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015292 | [_Exeunt._] SCENE II. Another part of the Forest Enter Orlando and Oliver. ORLANDO. Ist 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? OLIVER. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the poverty of her, the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015293 | 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 fathers house and all the revenue that was old Sir Rowlands will I estate upon you, and here live and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015294 | die a shepherd. Enter Rosalind. ORLANDO. You have my consent. Let your wedding be tomorrow. Thither will I invite the Duke and alls contented followers. Go you and prepare Aliena; for, look you, here comes my Rosalind. ROSALIND. God save you, brother. OLIVER. And you, fair sister. [_Exit._] ROSALIND. O my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015295 | wear thy heart in a scarf! ORLANDO. It is my arm. ROSALIND. I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion. ORLANDO. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. ROSALIND. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to swoon when he showed me your handkercher? ORLANDO. Ay, and greater wonders than that. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015296 | ROSALIND. O, I know where you are. Nay, tis true. There was never anything so sudden but the fight of two rams, and Caesars 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015297 | they asked one another the reason; no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy; and in these degrees have they made pair of stairs to marriage, which they will climb incontinent, or else be incontinent before marriage. They are in the very wrath of love, and they will together. Clubs cannot part them. ORLANDO. They shall be married | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015298 | tomorrow, and I will bid the Duke to the nuptial. But O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another mans eyes! By so much the more shall I tomorrow be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I shall think my brother happy in having what he wishes for. ROSALIND. Why, then, tomorrow I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000015299 | cannot serve your turn for Rosalind? ORLANDO. I can live no longer by thinking. ROSALIND. I will weary you then no longer with idle talking. Know of me thenfor now I speak to some purposethat 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
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