William Shakespeare - William Shakespeare - Complete Works

Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES behind

TOUCHSTONE. Come apace, good Audrey; I will fetch up your goats,

Audrey. And how, Audrey, am I the man yet? Doth my simple feature

content you?

AUDREY. Your features! Lord warrant us! What features?

TOUCHSTONE. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most

capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.

JAQUES. [Aside] O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove in a

thatch'd house!

TOUCHSTONE. When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a man's

good wit seconded with the forward child understanding, it

strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room.

Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical.

AUDREY. I do not know what 'poetical' is. Is it honest in deed and

word? Is it a true thing?

TOUCHSTONE. No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning,

and lovers are given to poetry; and what they swear in poetry may

be said as lovers they do feign.

AUDREY. Do you wish, then, that the gods had made me poetical?

TOUCHSTONE. I do, truly, for thou swear'st to me thou art honest;

now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst

feign.

AUDREY. Would you not have me honest?

TOUCHSTONE. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favour'd; for honesty

coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar.

JAQUES. [Aside] A material fool!

AUDREY. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods make me

honest.

TOUCHSTONE. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut were

to put good meat into an unclean dish.

AUDREY. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul.

TOUCHSTONE. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness;

sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will

marry thee; and to that end I have been with Sir Oliver Martext,

the vicar of the next village, who hath promis'd to meet me in

this place of the forest, and to couple us.

JAQUES. [Aside] I would fain see this meeting.

AUDREY. Well, the gods give us joy!

TOUCHSTONE. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger

in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the wood, no

assembly but horn-beasts. But what though? Courage! As horns are

odious, they are necessary. It is said: 'Many a man knows no end

of his goods.' Right! Many a man has good horns and knows no end

of them. Well, that is the dowry of his wife; 'tis none of his

own getting. Horns? Even so. Poor men alone? No, no; the noblest

deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man therefore

blessed? No; as a wall'd town is more worthier than a village, so

is the forehead of a married man more honourable than the bare

brow of a bachelor; and by how much defence is better than no

skill, by so much is horn more precious than to want. Here comes

Sir Oliver.

Enter SIR OLIVER MARTEXT

Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met. Will you dispatch us here

under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel?

MARTEXT. Is there none here to give the woman?

TOUCHSTONE. I will not take her on gift of any man.

MARTEXT. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful.

JAQUES. [Discovering himself] Proceed, proceed; I'll give her.

TOUCHSTONE. Good even, good Master What-ye-call't; how do you, sir?

You are very well met. Goddild you for your last company. I am

very glad to see you. Even a toy in hand here, sir. Nay; pray be

cover'd.

JAQUES. Will you be married, motley?

TOUCHSTONE. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb, and

the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and as pigeons

bill, so wedlock would be nibbling.

JAQUES. And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married

under a bush, like a beggar? Get you to church and have a good

priest that can tell you what marriage is; this fellow will but

join you together as they join wainscot; then one of you will

prove a shrunk panel, and like green timber warp, warp.

TOUCHSTONE. [Aside] I am not in the mind but I were better to be

married of him than of another; for he is not like to marry me

well; and not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me

hereafter to leave my wife.

JAQUES. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.

TOUCHSTONE. Come, sweet Audrey;

We must be married or we must live in bawdry.

Farewell, good Master Oliver. Not-

O sweet Oliver,

O brave Oliver,

Leave me not behind thee.

But-

Wind away,

Begone, I say,

I will not to wedding with thee.

Exeunt JAQUES, TOUCHSTONE, and AUDREY

MARTEXT. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave of them all

shall flout me out of my calling. Exit

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?

CELIA. O, that's 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. But all's brave that youth mounts and folly guides. Who

comes here?

Enter CORIN

CORIN. Mistress and master, you have oft enquired

After the shepherd that complain'd 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 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