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; But God sort all! you are welcome home, my lord! Bass. I thank you, madam: give welcome to my friend. This is the man, this is Antonio, To whom I am so infinitely bound. 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. [GRATIANO and NERISSA seem to talk apart. Por. A quarrel, ho, already? what's the matter? Ner. What talk you of the posy, or the value ? The clerk will ne'er wear hair on his face, that had it. Gra. Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth, A kind of boy; a little scrubbed boy, A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee; I could not for my heart deny it him. Por. You were to blame, must be plain with you, To part so slightly with your wife's first gift; A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger, And riveted so with faith unto your flesh. I gave my love a ring, and made him swear Never to part with it; and here he stands; I dare be sworn for him, he would not leave it, Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano, You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief; An 'twere to me, I would be mad at it. Bass. Why, I were best to cut my left hand off, And swear, I lost the ring, defending it. [Aside. Gra. My lord Bassanio gave his ring away I would deny it; but you see, my finger Por. Even so void is your false heart of truth.. By heaven, I will ne'er come into your bed,, Until I see the ring. Ner. Till I again see mine. Bass. Nor I in yours, Sweet Portia, If you did know to whom I gave the ring, You would not then have parted with the ring.. I'll die for't, but some woman had the ring. Bass. No, by mine honour, madam, by my soul, No woman had it, but a civil doctor, 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 lady? I was beset with shame and courtesy; So much besmear it: Pardon me, good lady, Had you been there, I think you would have begg'd Por. Let not that doctor e'er come near my house: Since he hath got the jewel that I lov'd, And that which you did swear to keep for me, I will become as liberal as you: I'll not deny him anything I have, No, not my body, nor my husband's bed: Lie not a night from home; watch me, like Argus: Now, by mine honour, which is yet mine own, Ner. And I his clerk; therefore, be well advis'd, How you do leave me to mine own protection. Gra. Well, do you so: let me not take him then; For, if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen. Ant. I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels. Por. Sir, grieve not you; You are welcome, notwithstanding. Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong; Por. Mark you but that! In both my eyes he doubly sees himself: Bass. Had quite miscarried: I dare be bound again, Ant. Here, lord Bassanio; swear to keep this ring. For by this ring the doctor lay with me. Nen. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano; Gra. Why, this is like the mending of highways It comes from Padua, from Bellario: Bass. Were you the doctor, and I knew you not? Gra. Were you the clerk, that is to make me cuckold? Ner. Ay; but the clerk that never meant to do it,. Unless he live until he be a man. Bass. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow; When I am absent, then lie with my wife. Ant. Sweet lady, you have given me life and living; Por. From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift, Lor. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way Of starved people. Por. It is almost morning, And yet, I am sure, you are not satisfied Of these events at full: Let us go in; SCENE I.-An Orchard, near OLIVER's House. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM. Orl. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion. He bequeathed me, by will, but a poor thousand crowns; and, as thou say'st, charged my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well: and there begins my sadness. My 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, he 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 his animals on his dung-hills are as much bound to him as 1. Besides, this nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the something that nature gave me, his countenance seems to take from me: he lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a brother, and, as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with my education. That is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit of my father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny against this servitude: I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it. Enter OLIVER. Adam. Yonder comes my master, your brother. Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up. Oli. Now, sir! what make you here? Orl. Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing. Oli. What mar you then, sir? Orl. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness. Oli. Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile. Orl. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them? What prodigal portion have I spent, that I should come to such penury? Oli. Know you where you are, Sir? Orl. O sir, very well: here in your orchard. I Orl. Ay, better than he I am before, knows me. 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! Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this. 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. Oli. Let me go, I say. Orl. I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. My father charged you, in his will, to give me good education: you have trained me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities: the spirit of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer endure it: therefore, allow me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor allottery my father left me by testament; with that I will go buy my fortunes. Oli. And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent? Well, sir, get you in: I will not long be troubled with you: you shall have some part of your will: I pray you, leave me. Orl. I will no further offend you than becomes 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 no thousand crowns neither. Holla, 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 a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is. 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 brother, Orlando, hath a disposition to come in disguis'd against me to try a fall: To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he that escapes me without some broken limb, shall acquit him well. Your brother is but young and tender; and, for your love, I would be loath to foil him, as I must, for my own honour, if he come in: therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you withal; that either you might stay him from his intendment, or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into; in that it is a thing of his own search, and altogether against my will. Oli. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt find I will most kindly 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! [Exit. Oli. Farewell, good Charles.-Now will I stir this gamester: I hope I shall see an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle; never schooled, and yet learned; full of noble device: of all sorts enchantingly beloved; and, indeed, so much in the heart of the world, and especially of my own people, who best know him, that I am altogether misprized: 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 inust 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 would'st thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously tempered as mine is to thee. Ros. 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 pry'thee, do, to make sport withal: but love no man in good earnest: nor no further in sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou may'st in honour come off again. Ros. What shall be our sport then? Cel. Let us sit and mock the good housewife, Fortune, from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally. 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. Enter TOUCHSTONE. Cel. No! When nature hath made a fair creature, may she not by fortune fall into the fire ?-Though nature hath given us wit to flout at fortune, hath not fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument? Ros. Indeed, there is fortune too hard for nature, when fortune makes nature's natural the cutter off of nature's wit. 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 his 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 nanght: 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 knowledge? your 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. Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou art. 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 the 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. Pr'ythee, who is't thou mean'st? 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 whipp'd for taxation, one of these days. Touch. The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely, what wise men do foolishly. Cel. By my troth, thou say'st true; for, since the little wit that fools have was silenced, the little foolery that wise men have, makes a great show Here comes Monsieur Le Beau. Enter LE BEAU. Ros. With his mouth full of news. Cel. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young. Ros. Then shall we be news-cramm'd. Cel. All the better; we shall be the more marketable. Bon jour, Monsieur Le Beau: What's the news? Le Beau. Fair princess, you have lost much good sport. Cel. Sport? of what colour? Le Beau. What colour, madam? How shall I answer you? Ros. As wit and fortune will. Touch. Or the destinies decree. Cel. Well said; that was laid on with a trowel. - Le Beau. You amaze me, ladies: would have told you of good wrestling, which you have lost the sight of Ros. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling. Le Beau. I will tell you the beginning, and, if it please your ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is yet to do; and here, where you are, they are coming to perform it. Cel. Well,-the beginning, that is dead and buried. 80118,- Cel. I could match this beginning with an old tale. Le Beau. Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence ;—— Ros. With bills on their necks,-Be it known unto all men, by these presents, Le Beau. The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the duke's wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him, and broke three of his ribs, that there is little hope of life in him; so he served the second, and so the third: Yonder they lie; the poor old man, their father, making such pitiful dole over them, that all the beholders take his part with weeping. Ros. Alas! Touch. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies have lost? Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of. Touch. Thus men may grow wiser every day! it is the first time that ever I heard, breaking of ribs was sport for ladies. Cel. Or I, I promise thee. Ros. But is there any else longs to see this broken music in his sides? is there yet another dotes upon rib-breaking?-Shall we see this wrestling, cousin? Le Beau. You must, if you stay here: for here is the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to perform it. Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming: Let us now stay and see it. Flourish. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Levds, Duke F. Come on; since the youth will not be entreated, his own peril on his forwardness. Ros. Is yonder the man? Le Beau. Even he, madam. Cel. Alas, he is too young: yet he looks successfully. Duke F. How now, daughter and cousin? are you crept hither to see the wrestling? Ros. Ay, my liege; so please you give us leave. Duke F. You will take little delight in it, I can tell you, there is such odds in the men: In pity of the challenger's youth, I would fain dissuade him, but he will not be entreated: Speak to him, ladies; see if you can move him. Cel. Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau. Orl. I attend them, with all respect and duty. Orl. No, fair princess; he is the general challenger: I come but in, as others do, to try with him the strength of my youth. Orl. Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working. Duke F. You shall try but one fall. Cha. No, I warrant your grace; you shall not entreat him to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him from the first. Orl. You mean to mock me after; you should not have mocked before: but come your ways. Ros. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man! Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should down. [CHARLES is thrown. Shout. Duke F. No more, no more. Orl. Yes, I beseech your grace; I am not yet well breathed. Duke F. How dost thou, Charles? Orl. Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of Sir Duke F. I would thou hadst been son to some man The world esteem'd thy father honourable, I would thou hadst told me of another father. [Exeunt DUKE FRED. Train, and LE BEAU. Ros. My father lov'd Sir Rowland as his soul, Gentle cousin, Cel. Ros. Gentleman, [Giving him a chain from her neck Cel. Ay;-Fare you well, fair gentleman. Orl. Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts Are all thrown down; and that which here stands up, Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. Ros. He calls us back: My pride fell with my for tunes: I'll ask him what he would:-Did you call, sir?— Will you go, coz ? Cel. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your years: You have seen cruel proof of this man's strength: if you saw yourself with your eyes, or knew yourself with your judgment, the fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal enterprise. I cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference. We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own safety, and give over this attempt. Ros. Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore be misprized; we will make it our suit to the duke, that the wrestling might not go forward. Orl. I beseech you, punish me not with your hard thoughts; wherein I confess me much guilty, to deny so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my trial: wherein if I be foiled, there is but one shamed that was never gracious; if killed, but one dead that is willing to be so: I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me; the world no injury, for in it I have nothing; only in the world I fill up a place, which may be better supplied when I have made it empty. Ros. The little strength that I have, I would it were with you. Cel. And mine, to eke out hers. Ros. Fare you well. Pray heaven, I be deceived in you! Cel. Your heart's desires be with you. Cha. Come, where is this young gallant, that is so desirous to lie with his mother earth? Re-enter LE BEAU. O poor Orlando! thou art overthrown; Le Beau. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by man ners; But yet, indeed, the smaller is his daughter; But that the people praise her for her virtues, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. Thus must I from the smoke into the smother; SCENE III.-A Room in the Palace. Enter CELIA and ROSALIND. [Exit. Cel. Why, cousin; why, Rosalind;-Cupid have mercy!-Not a word! Ros. Not one to throw at a dog. Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs; throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons. Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up; when the one should be lamed with reasons, and the other mad without any. Cel. But is all this for your father? Ros. No, some of it for my child's father: O, how full of briers is this working-day world! Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery; if we walk not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats will catch them. Ros. I could shake them off my coat; these burs are in my heart. Cel. Hem them away. Ros. I would try, if I could cry hem, and have him. Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. Ros. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself. Cel. O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in despite of a fall.-But, turning these jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest: Is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so strong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son? Ros. The duke my father loved his father dearly. Cel. Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his son dearly? By this kind of chase, I should hate him, for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando. Ros. No, 'faith, hate him not, for my sake. Cel. Why should I not? doth he not deserve well? Ros. Let me love him for that; and do you love him, because I do:-Look, here comes the duke. Cel. With his eyes full of anger. Enter Duke FREDERICK, with Lords. Duke F. Mistress, despatch you with your safest haste, And get you from our court. Ros. Me, uncle. You, cousin. Duke F. Within these ten days if that thou be'st found So near our public court as twenty miles, Thou diest for it. R08. I do beseech your grace, Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me: Or have acquaintance with mine own desires; If that I do not dream, or be not frantic, (As I do trust I am not,) then, dear uncle, Thus do all traitors; Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor: Tell me, whereon the likelihood depends. Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's dom; So was I, when your highness banish'd him. Or, if we did derive it from our friends, Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak. Duke F. Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake; Else had she with her father rang'd along. Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay; It was your pleasure, and your own remorse. Her very silence, and her patience, Speak to the people, and they pity her. Thou art a fool: she robs thee of thy name; And thou wilt show more bright, and seem more virtuous, Which I have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd. Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege; I cannot live out of her company. Duke F. You are a fool :-You, niece, provide yourself. If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour, [Exeunt Duke FREDERICK and Lords. Ros. Cel. To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden. Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire, Ros. A boar-spear in my hand; and (in my heart Cel. What shall I call thee, when thou art a man? Ros. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page, And therefore look you call me Ganymede. But what will you be call'd? Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state; No longer Celia, but Aliena. Ros. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal The clownish fool out of your father's court? Would he not be a comfort to our travel? Cel. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me; Leave me alone to woo him: Let's away, And get our jewels and our wealth together; To hide us from pursuit that will be made ACT II. SCENE I.-The Forest of Arden. [Exeunt. Enter DUKE senior, AMIENS, and other LORDS, in the dress of Foresters. Duke S. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference; as, the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind; Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say,This is no flattery: these are counsellors |