Plays  +  Sonnets  +  Poems  +  Concordance  +  Advanced Search  +  About OSS

Speeches (Lines) for Rosalind
in "As You Like It"

Total: 201

# Act, Scene, Line
(Click to see in context)
Speech text



Celia. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.

Rosalind. 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.



Celia. Herein I see thou lov'st 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 temper'd
as mine is to thee.

Rosalind. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to
rejoice in yours.



Celia. 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.

Rosalind. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports.
Let me see; what think you of falling in love?



Celia. Marry, I prithee, 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 mayst in honour come off again.

Rosalind. What shall be our sport, then?



Celia. Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from her
wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally.

Rosalind. 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.



Celia. 'Tis true; for those that she makes fair she scarce makes
honest; and those that she makes honest she makes very

Rosalind. Nay; now thou goest from Fortune's office to Nature's:
Fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of



Celia. 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?

Rosalind. Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when
Fortune makes Nature's natural the cutter-off of Nature's wit.



Touchstone. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come for you.

Rosalind. Where learned you that oath, fool?



Celia. How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge?

Rosalind. Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom.



(stage directions). Enter LE BEAU

Rosalind. With his mouth full of news.



Celia. Which he will put on us as pigeons feed their young.

Rosalind. Then shall we be news-cramm'd.



Le Beau. What colour, madam? How shall I answer you?

Rosalind. As wit and fortune will.



Touchstone. Nay, if I keep not my rank-

Rosalind. Thou losest thy old smell.



Le Beau. You amaze me, ladies. I would have told you of good
wrestling, which you have lost the sight of.

Rosalind. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling.



Le Beau. Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence.

Rosalind. 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 serv'd
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.

Rosalind. Alas!



Celia. Or I, I promise thee.

Rosalind. 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?



Frederick. Come on; since the youth will not be entreated, his own
peril on his forwardness.

Rosalind. Is yonder the man?



Frederick. How now, daughter and cousin! Are you crept hither to
see the wrestling?

Rosalind. Ay, my liege; so please you give us leave.



Orlando. I attend them with all respect and duty.

Rosalind. Young man, have you challeng'd Charles the wrestler?



Celia. 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. We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own
safety and give over this attempt.

Rosalind. Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore be
misprised: we will make it our suit to the Duke that the
wrestling might not go forward.



Orlando. 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 foil'd there is but one
sham'd that was never gracious; if kill'd, 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.

Rosalind. The little strength that I have, I would it were with



Celia. And mine to eke out hers.

Rosalind. Fare you well. Pray heaven I be deceiv'd in you!



Orlando. You mean to mock me after; you should not have mock'd me
before; but come your ways.

Rosalind. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man!



Celia. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the
leg. [They wrestle]

Rosalind. O excellent young man!



Orlando. I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son,
His youngest son- and would not change that calling
To be adopted heir to Frederick.

Rosalind. My father lov'd Sir Rowland as his soul,
And all the world was of my father's mind;
Had I before known this young man his son,
I should have given him tears unto entreaties
Ere he should thus have ventur'd.



Celia. Gentle cousin,
Let us go thank him, and encourage him;
My father's rough and envious disposition
Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well deserv'd;
If you do keep your promises in love
But justly as you have exceeded all promise,
Your mistress shall be happy.

Rosalind. Gentleman, [Giving him a chain from her neck]
Wear this for me; one out of suits with fortune,
That could give more, but that her hand lacks means.
Shall we go, coz?



Orlando. 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.

Rosalind. He calls us back. My pride fell with my fortunes;
I'll ask him what he would. Did you call, sir?
Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown
More than your enemies.



Celia. Will you go, coz?

Rosalind. Have with you. Fare you well.



Celia. Why, cousin! why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy!
Not a word?

Rosalind. Not one to throw at a dog.



Celia. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs;
throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons.

Rosalind. Then there were two cousins laid up, when the one should
be lam'd with reasons and the other mad without any.



Celia. But is all this for your father?

Rosalind. No, some of it is for my child's father. O, how full of
briers is this working-day world!



Celia. 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.

Rosalind. I could shake them off my coat: these burs are in my



Celia. Hem them away.

Rosalind. I would try, if I could cry 'hem' and have him.



Celia. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections.

Rosalind. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself.



Celia. 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?

Rosalind. The Duke my father lov'd his father dearly.



Celia. 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.

Rosalind. No, faith, hate him not, for my sake.



(stage directions). Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with LORDS

Rosalind. Let me love him for that; and do you love him because I
do. Look, here comes the Duke.



Frederick. Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste,
And get you from our court.

Rosalind. Me, uncle?



Frederick. You, cousin.
Within these ten days if that thou beest found
So near our public court as twenty miles,
Thou diest for it.

Rosalind. I do beseech your Grace,
Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me.
If with myself I hold intelligence,
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,
Never so much as in a thought unborn
Did I offend your Highness.



Frederick. Thus do all traitors;
If their purgation did consist in words,
They are as innocent as grace itself.
Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not.

Rosalind. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor.
Tell me whereon the likelihood depends.



Frederick. Thou art thy father's daughter; there's enough.

Rosalind. So was I when your Highness took his dukedom;
So was I when your Highness banish'd him.
Treason is not inherited, my lord;
Or, if we did derive it from our friends,
What's that to me? My father was no traitor.
Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much
To think my poverty is treacherous.



Celia. O my poor Rosalind! Whither wilt thou go?
Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine.
I charge thee be not thou more griev'd than I am.

Rosalind. I have more cause.



Celia. Thou hast not, cousin.
Prithee be cheerful. Know'st thou not the Duke
Hath banish'd me, his daughter?

Rosalind. That he hath not.



Celia. No, hath not? Rosalind lacks, then, the love
Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one.
Shall we be sund'red? Shall we part, sweet girl?
No; let my father seek another heir.
Therefore devise with me how we may fly,
Whither to go, and what to bear with us;
And do not seek to take your charge upon you,
To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out;
For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale,
Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee.

Rosalind. Why, whither shall we go?



Celia. To seek my uncle in the Forest of Arden.

Rosalind. Alas, what danger will it be to us,
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far!
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.



Celia. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire,
And with a kind of umber smirch my face;
The like do you; so shall we pass along,
And never stir assailants.

Rosalind. Were it not better,
Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did suit me all points like a man?
A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh,
A boar spear in my hand; and- in my heart
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will-
We'll have a swashing and a martial outside,
As many other mannish cowards have
That do outface it with their semblances.



Celia. What shall I call thee when thou art a man?

Rosalind. 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?



Celia. Something that hath a reference to my state:
No longer Celia, but Aliena.

Rosalind. 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?



(stage directions). TOUCHSTONE

Rosalind. O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits!



Touchstone. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary.

Rosalind. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel,
and to cry like a woman; but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as
doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat;
therefore, courage, good Aliena.



Touchstone. For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear you;
yet I should bear no cross if I did bear you; for I think you
have no money in your purse.

Rosalind. Well, this is the Forest of Arden.



(stage directions). Enter CORIN and SILVIUS

Rosalind. Ay, be so, good Touchstone. Look you, who comes here, a
young man and an old in solemn talk.



Silvius. O, thou didst then never love so heartily!
If thou rememb'rest not the slightest folly
That ever love did make thee run into,
Thou hast not lov'd;
Or if thou hast not sat as I do now,
Wearing thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
Thou hast not lov'd;
Or if thou hast not broke from company
Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,
Thou hast not lov'd.
O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe! Exit Silvius

Rosalind. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound,
I have by hard adventure found mine own.



Touchstone. And I mine. I remember, when I was in love, I broke my
sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming a-night to
Jane Smile; and I remember the kissing of her batler, and the
cow's dugs that her pretty chapt hands had milk'd; and I remember
the wooing of peascod instead of her; from whom I took two cods,
and giving her them again, said with weeping tears 'Wear these
for my sake.' We that are true lovers run into strange capers;
but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal
in folly.

Rosalind. Thou speak'st wiser than thou art ware of.



Touchstone. Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I break
my shins against it.

Rosalind. Jove, Jove! this shepherd's passion
Is much upon my fashion.



Touchstone. Holla, you clown!

Rosalind. Peace, fool; he's not thy kinsman.



Corin. Else are they very wretched.

Rosalind. Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend.



Corin. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.

Rosalind. I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold
Can in this desert place buy entertainment,
Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed.
Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd,
And faints for succour.



Corin. Fair sir, I pity her,
And wish, for her sake more than for mine own,
My fortunes were more able to relieve her;
But I am shepherd to another man,
And do not shear the fleeces that I graze.
My master is of churlish disposition,
And little recks to find the way to heaven
By doing deeds of hospitality.
Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed,
Are now on sale; and at our sheepcote now,
By reason of his absence, there is nothing
That you will feed on; but what is, come see,
And in my voice most welcome shall you be.

Rosalind. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture?



Corin. That young swain that you saw here but erewhile,
That little cares for buying any thing.

Rosalind. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty,
Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock,
And thou shalt have to pay for it of us.



(stage directions). 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
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 Jupiter! What tedious homily of love have
you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried 'Have
patience, good people.'



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



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.



(stage directions). Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES

Rosalind. 'Tis he; slink by, and note him.



(stage directions). 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,



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

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



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



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?

Rosalind. With lawyers in the vacation; for they sleep between term
and term, and then they perceive not how Time moves.



Orlando. Where dwell you, pretty youth?

Rosalind. With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the skirts of
the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.



Orlando. Are you native of this place?

Rosalind. As the coney that you see dwell where she is kindled.



Orlando. Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in
so removed a dwelling.

Rosalind. I have been told so of many; but indeed an old religious
uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inland
man; one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love.
I have heard him read many lectures against it; and I thank God I
am not a woman, to be touch'd with so many giddy offences as he
hath generally tax'd their whole sex withal.



Orlando. Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid
to the charge of women?

Rosalind. There were none principal; they were all like one another
as halfpence are; every one fault seeming monstrous till his
fellow-fault came to match it.



Orlando. I prithee recount some of them.

Rosalind. No; I will not cast away my physic but on those that are
sick. There is a man haunts the forest that abuses our young
plants with carving 'Rosalind' on their barks; hangs odes upon
hawthorns and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the
name of Rosalind. If I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give
him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love
upon him.



Orlando. I am he that is so love-shak'd; I pray you tell me your

Rosalind. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you; he taught me
how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes I am sure you
are not prisoner.



Orlando. What were his marks?

Rosalind. A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye and sunken,
which you have not; an unquestionable spirit, which you have not;
a beard neglected, which you have not; but I pardon you for that,
for simply your having in beard is a younger brother's revenue.
Then your hose should be ungarter'd, your bonnet unbanded, your
sleeve unbutton'd, your shoe untied, and every thing about you
demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such man; you
are rather point-device in your accoutrements, as loving yourself
than seeming the lover of any other.



Orlando. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.

Rosalind. Me believe it! You may as soon make her that you love
believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do than to confess
she does. That is one of the points in the which women still give
the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that
hangs the verses on the trees wherein Rosalind is so admired?



Orlando. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I
am that he, that unfortunate he.

Rosalind. But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak?



Orlando. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.

Rosalind. Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as
well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why
they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so
ordinary that the whippers are in love too. Yet I profess curing
it by counsel.



Orlando. Did you ever cure any so?

Rosalind. Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to imagine me his
love, his mistress; and I set him every day to woo me; at which
time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate,
changeable, longing and liking, proud, fantastical, apish,
shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles; for every
passion something and for no passion truly anything, as boys and
women are for the most part cattle of this colour; would now like
him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now
weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor from his
mad humour of love to a living humour of madness; which was, to
forswear the full stream of the world and to live in a nook
merely monastic. And thus I cur'd him; and this way will I take
upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart,
that there shall not be one spot of love in 't.



Orlando. I would not be cured, youth.

Rosalind. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, and
come every day to my cote and woo me.



Orlando. Now, by the faith of my love, I will. Tell me where it is.

Rosalind. Go with me to it, and I'll show it you; and, by the way,
you shall tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go?



Orlando. With all my heart, good youth.

Rosalind. Nay, you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you
go? Exeunt



(stage directions). Enter ROSALIND and CELIA

Rosalind. Never talk to me; I will weep.



Celia. Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider that tears
do not become a man.

Rosalind. But have I not cause to weep?



Celia. As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep.

Rosalind. His very hair is of the dissembling colour.



Celia. Something browner than Judas's.
Marry, his kisses are Judas's 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 Diana. A nun of
winter's 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 his verity in love, I do think him as concave as 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 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 laugh'd and let me go. But what talk we of fathers when
there is such a man as Orlando?



Corin. If you will see a pageant truly play'd
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
I'll prove a busy actor in their play. Exeunt



Phebe. But till that time
Come not thou near me; and when that time comes,
Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not;
As till that time I shall not pity thee.

Rosalind. [Advancing] And why, I pray you? Who might be your
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 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 nature's sale-work. 'Od's 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 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-favour'd children.
'Tis not her glass, but 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 man's love;
For I must tell you friendly in your ear:
Sell when you can; you are not for all markets.
Cry the man 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.



Phebe. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together;
I had rather hear you chide than this man woo.

Rosalind. He's fall'n in love with your foulness, and she'll fall
in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers thee
with frowning looks, I'll sauce her with bitter words. Why look
you so upon me?



Phebe. 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 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 abus'd in sight as he.
Come, to our flock. Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN



Jaques (lord). I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with

Rosalind. They say you are a melancholy fellow.



Jaques (lord). 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



Jaques (lord). Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.

Rosalind. Why then, 'tis good to be a post.



Jaques (lord). I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is
emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the
courtier's, which is proud; nor the soldier's, which is
ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politic; nor the lady's,
which is nice; nor the lover's, 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 of my
travels; in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous

Rosalind. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be
sad. I fear you have sold your own lands to see other men's; then
to have seen much and to have nothing is to have rich eyes and
poor hands.



(stage directions). Enter ORLANDO

Rosalind. And your experience makes you sad. I had rather have a
fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad- and to
travel for it too.



Jaques (lord). Nay, then, God buy you, an you talk in blank verse.

Rosalind. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller; look you 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 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 hour's 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 said
of him that Cupid hath clapp'd him o' th' shoulder, but I'll
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 woo'd of a snail.



Orlando. Of a snail!

Rosalind. Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries
his house on his head- a better jointure, I think, than you make
a woman; besides, he brings his destiny with him.



Orlando. What's 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 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 Rosalind?



Orlando. I would kiss before I spoke.

Rosalind. Nay, you were better speak first; and when you were
gravell'd for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss.
Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for
lovers lacking- God warn us!- matter, the cleanliest shift is to



Orlando. How if the kiss be denied?

Rosalind. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new



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 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 was not any man
died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus had
his brains dash'd 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 liv'd many a fair year, though Hero had
turn'd nun, if it had not been 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 drown'd; 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.



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, 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?



Celia. I cannot say the words.

Rosalind. You must begin 'Will you, Orlando'-



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, Rosalind, for wife.

Rosalind. I might ask you for your commission; but- I do take thee,
Orlando, for my husband. There's a girl goes before the priest;
and, certainly, a woman's thought runs before her actions.



Orlando. So do all thoughts; they are wing'd.

Rosalind. Now tell me how long you would have her, after you have
possess'd her.



Orlando. 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 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 dispos'd to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when
thou are inclin'd to sleep.



Orlando. But will my Rosalind do so?

Rosalind. By my 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 woman's wit, and it will out
at the casement; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole; stop
that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at 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
wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed.



Orlando. And what wit could wit have to excuse that?

Rosalind. Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You shall never
take her without her answer, unless you take her without her
tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her fault her husband's
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!



Orlando. I must attend the Duke at dinner; by two o'clock 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 o'clock 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 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. You have simply misus'd our sex in your love-prate. We must
have your doublet and hose pluck'd 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 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, conceiv'd of spleen, and born of madness; that blind
rascally boy, that abuses every one's eyes, because his own are
out- let him be judge how deep I am in love. I'll tell thee,
Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando. I'll go find a
shadow, and sigh till he come.



(stage directions). Enter ROSALIND and CELIA

Rosalind. How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock?
And here much Orlando!



Silvius. My errand is to you, fair youth;
My gentle Phebe did bid me give you this.
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 tenour. Pardon me,
I 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. 'Od's my will!
Her love is not the hare that I 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;
Phebe did write it.

Rosalind. Come, come, you are a fool,
And turn'd into the extremity of love.
I saw her hand; she has a leathern hand,
A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands;
She has a huswife's hand- but that's no matter.
I say she never did invent this letter:
This is a man's 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 to Christian. Women's gentle brain
Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention,
Such Ethiope 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 Phebe's cruelty.

Rosalind. She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes. [Reads]
'Art thou god to shepherd turn'd,
That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?'
Can a woman rail thus?



Silvius. Call you this railing?

Rosalind. 'Why, thy godhead laid apart,
Warr'st thou with a woman's 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 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 the
Little knows this love in me;
And by him seal up thy mind,
Whether that thy youth and kind
Will the faithful offer take
Of me and all that I can make;
Or else by him my love deny,
And then I'll study how to die.'



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
strains upon thee! Not to be endur'd! Well, go your way to her,
for I see love hath made thee 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, and not a word; for here comes more company.



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. And well he might so do,
For well I know he was unnatural.

Rosalind. But, to Orlando: did he leave him there,
Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness?



Celia. Are you his brother?

Rosalind. Was't you he rescu'd?



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. Look, he recovers.

Rosalind. I would I were at home.



Oliver. Be of good cheer, youth. You a man!
You lack a man's 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; 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



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



(stage directions). Enter ROSALIND

Rosalind. God save you, brother.



Oliver. And you, fair sister. Exit

Rosalind. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee wear
thy heart in a scarf!



Orlando. It is my arm.

Rosalind. I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws of a



Orlando. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady.

Rosalind. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to swoon
when he show'd me your handkercher?



Orlando. Ay, and greater wonders than that.

Rosalind. O, I know where you are. Nay, 'tis true. There was never
any thing so sudden but the fight of two rams and Caesar's
thrasonical brag of 'I came, saw, and overcame.' For your brother
and my sister no sooner met but they look'd; no sooner look'd but
they lov'd; no sooner lov'd but they sigh'd; no sooner sigh'd but
they ask'd 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 to-morrow; and I will bid the Duke
to the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a thing it is to look into
happiness through another man's eyes! By so much the more shall I
to-morrow 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, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for



Orlando. I can live no longer by thinking.

Rosalind. I will weary you, then, no longer with idle talking. Know
of me then- for now I speak to some purpose- that 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 say I know you
are; neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may in some
little measure draw a belief from you, to do yourself good, and
not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, that I can do
strange things. I have, since I was three year old, convers'd
with a magician, most profound in his art and yet not damnable.
If you do love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture cries
it out, when your brother marries Aliena shall you marry her. I
know into what straits of fortune she is driven; and it is not
impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, to set
her before your eyes to-morrow, human as she is, and without any



Orlando. Speak'st thou in sober meanings?

Rosalind. By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, though I say I
am a magician. Therefore put you in your best array, bid your
friends; for if you will be married to-morrow, you shall; and to
Rosalind, if you will.
Look, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers.



Phebe. Youth, you have done me much ungentleness
To show the letter that I writ to you.

Rosalind. I care not if I have. It is my study
To seem despiteful and ungentle to you.
You are there follow'd by a faithful shepherd;
Look upon him, love him; he worships you.



Orlando. And I for Rosalind.

Rosalind. And I for no woman.



Orlando. And I for Rosalind.

Rosalind. And I for no woman.



Orlando. And so am I for Rosalind.

Rosalind. And so am I for no woman.



Orlando. If this be so, why blame you me to love you?

Rosalind. Why do you speak too, 'Why blame you me to love you?'



Orlando. To her that is not here, nor doth not hear.

Rosalind. Pray you, no more of this; 'tis like the howling of Irish
wolves against the moon. [To SILVIUS] I will help you if I can.
[To PHEBE] I would love you if I could.- To-morrow meet me all
together. [ To PHEBE ] I will marry you if ever I marry woman,
and I'll be married to-morrow. [To ORLANDO] I will satisfy you if
ever I satisfied man, and you shall be married to-morrow. [To
I will content you if what pleases you contents you, and
you shall be married to-morrow. [To ORLANDO] As you love
Rosalind, meet. [To SILVIUS] As you love Phebe, meet;- and as I
love no woman, I'll meet. So, fare you well; I have left you



(stage directions). Enter ROSALIND, SILVIUS, and PHEBE

Rosalind. Patience once more, whiles our compact is urg'd:
You say, if I bring in your Rosalind,
You will bestow her on Orlando here?



Duke. That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her.

Rosalind. And you say you will have her when I bring her?



Orlando. That would I, were I of all kingdoms king.

Rosalind. You say you'll marry me, if I be willing?



Phebe. That will I, should I die the hour after.

Rosalind. But if you do refuse to marry me,
You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd?



Phebe. So is the bargain.

Rosalind. You say that you'll have Phebe, if she will?



Silvius. Though to have her and death were both one thing.

Rosalind. I have promis'd to make all this matter even.
Keep you your word, O Duke, to give your daughter;
You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter;
Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me,
Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd;
Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her
If she refuse me; and from hence I go,
To make these doubts all even.



Duke. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the
presentation of that he shoots his wit.
HYMEN. Then is there mirth in heaven,
When earthly things made even
Atone together.
Good Duke, receive thy daughter;
Hymen from heaven brought her,
Yea, brought her hither,
That thou mightst join her hand with his,
Whose heart within his bosom is.

Rosalind. [To DUKE] To you I give myself, for I am yours.
[To ORLANDO] To you I give myself, for I am yours.



Phebe. If sight and shape be true,
Why then, my love adieu!

Rosalind. I'll have no father, if you be not he;
I'll have no husband, if you be not he;
Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she.



(stage directions). EPILOGUE.

Rosalind. It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue; but
it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord the prologue. If it
be true that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play
needs no epilogue. Yet to good wine they do use good bushes; and
good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues. What a
case am I in then, that am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot
insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play! I am not
furnish'd like a beggar; therefore to beg will not become me. My
way is to conjure you; and I'll begin with the women. I charge
you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much of
this play as please you; and I charge you, O men, for the love
you bear to women- as I perceive by your simp'ring none of you
hates them- that between you and the women the play may please.
If I were a woman, I would kiss as many of you as had beards that
pleas'd me, complexions that lik'd me, and breaths that I defied
not; and, I am sure, as many as have good beards, or good faces,
or sweet breaths, will, for my kind offer, when I make curtsy,
bid me farewell.

Return to the "As You Like It" menu