The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, William Shakespeare [book recommendations based on other books txt] 📗

they are often tarr’d over with the surgery of our sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier’s hands are perfum’d with civet.

TOUCHSTONE. Most shallow man! thou worm’s 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 damn’d? 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 crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not damn’d 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, reading a paper ROSALIND. ‘From the east to western Inde, No jewel is like Rosalinde.

Her worth, being mounted on the wind, Through all the world bears Rosalinde.

All the pictures fairest lin’d Are but black to Rosalinde.

Let no face be kept in mind But the fair of Rosalinde.’

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 Rosalinde.

If the cat will after kind, So be sure will Rosalinde.

Winter garments must be lin’d, So must slender Rosalinde.

They that reap must sheaf and bind, Then to cart with Rosalinde.

Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, Such a nut is Rosalinde.

He that sweetest rose will find Must find love’s prick and Rosalinde.

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’ th’ 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. ‘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 streching 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 charg’d That one body should be fill’d With all graces wide-enlarg’d.

Nature presently distill’d

Helen’s cheek, but not her heart, Cleopatra’s majesty,

Atalanta’s better part,

Sad Lucretia’s modesty.

Thus Rosalinde of many parts

By heavenly synod was devis’d, Of many faces, eyes, and hearts, To have the touches dearest priz’d.

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 hang’d 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 berhym’d 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 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 me who it is.

CELIA. O wonderful, wonderful, most wonderful wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all whooping!

ROSALIND. Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am caparison’d 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 could’st stammer, that thou mightst pour this conceal’d man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of narrow-mouth’d bottle-either too much at once or none at all. I prithee take the cork 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?

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 tripp’d 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 saw’st him? What said he? How look’d he?

Wherein went he? What makes he 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 dropp’d acorn.

ROSALIND. It may well be call’d Jove’s tree, when it drops forth 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 the ground.

CELIA. Cry ‘Holla’ to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets 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 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 buy 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 christen’d.

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 conn’d 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.

JAQUES. The worst fault you have is to be in love.

ORLANDO. ‘Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am weary of you.

JAQUES. 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 him.

JAQUES. There I shall see mine own figure.

ORLANDO. Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.

JAQUES. I’ll tarry no longer with you; farewell, good Signior Love.

ORLANDO. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good Monsieur Melancholy.

Exit JAQUES

ROSALIND. [Aside to CELIA] I will speak to him like a saucy lackey, and under that habit play the knave with him.- Do you hear, 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 the forest.

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

ORLANDO. And why not the swift foot of Time? Had not that been as proper?

ROSALIND. By no means, sir. Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I’ll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal.

ORLANDO. I prithee, who doth he trot withal?

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

ORLANDO. Who ambles Time withal?

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

ORLANDO. Who doth he gallop withal?

ROSALIND. With a thief to the gallows; for though he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there.

ORLANDO. Who stays it still withal?