William Shakespeare - William Shakespeare - Complete Collection (37 plays, 160 sonnets and 5 Poetry...)

Where in the purlieus of this forest stands

A sheep-cote fenc’d about with olive-trees?

Cel.

West of this place, down in the neighbor bottom,

The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream

Left on your right hand brings you to the place.

But at this hour the house doth keep itself,

There’s none within.

Oli.

If that an eye may profit by a tongue,

Then should I know you by description—

Such garments and such years. “The boy is fair,

Of female favor, and bestows himself

Like a ripe sister; the woman low,

And browner than her brother.” Are not you

The owner of the house I did inquire for?

Cel.

It is no boast, being ask’d, to say we are.

Oli.

Orlando doth commend him to you both,

And to that youth he calls his Rosalind

He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he?

Ros.

I am. What must we understand by this?

Oli.

Some of my shame, if you will know of me

What man I am, and how, and why, and where

This handkercher was stain’d.

Cel.

I pray you tell it.

Oli.

When last the young Orlando parted from you

He left a promise to return again

Within an hour, and pacing through the forest,

Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy,

Lo what befell! He threw his eye aside,

And mark what object did present itself

Under an old oak, whose boughs were moss’d with age

And high top bald with dry antiquity:

A wretched ragged man, o’ergrown with hair,

Lay sleeping on his back; about his neck

A green and gilded snake had wreath’d itself,

Who with her head nimble in threats approach’d

The opening of his mouth; but suddenly

Seeing Orlando, it unlink’d itself,

And with indented glides did slip away

Into a bush, under which bush’s shade

A lioness, with udders all drawn dry,

Lay couching, head on ground, with cat-like watch

When that the sleeping man should stir; for ’tis

The royal disposition of that beast

To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead.

This seen, Orlando did approach the man,

And found it was his brother, his elder brother.

Cel.

O, I have heard him speak of that same brother,

And he did render him the most unnatural

That liv’d amongst men.

Oli.

And well he might so do,

For well I know he was unnatural.

Ros.

But to Orlando: did he leave him there,

Food to the suck’d and hungry lioness?

Oli.

Twice did he turn his back, and purpos’d so;

But kindness, nobler ever than revenge,

And nature, stronger than his just occasion,

Made him give battle to the lioness,

Who quickly fell before him, in which hurtling

From miserable slumber I awaked.

Cel.

Are you his brother?

Ros.

Was’t you he rescu’d?

Cel.

Was’t you that did so oft contrive to kill him?

Oli.

’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.

Ros.

But for the bloody napkin?

Oli.

By and by.

When from the first to last betwixt us two

Tears our recountments had most kindly bath’d,

As how I came into that desert place—

[In] brief, he led me to the gentle Duke,

Who gave me fresh array and entertainment,

Committing me unto my brother’s love,

Who led me instantly unto his cave,

There stripp’d himself, and here upon his arm

The lioness had torn some flesh away,

Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted,

And cried in fainting upon Rosalind.

Brief, I recover’d him, bound up his wound,

And after some small space, being strong at heart,

He sent me hither, stranger as I am,

To tell this story, that you might excuse

His broken promise, and to give this napkin,

Dy’d in [his] blood, unto the shepherd youth

That he in sport doth call his Rosalind.

[Rosalind faints.]

Cel.

Why, how now, Ganymed, sweet Ganymed?

Oli.

Many will swoon when they do look on blood.

Cel.

There is more in it. Cousin Ganymed!

Oli.

Look, he recovers.

Ros.

I would I were at home.

Cel.

We’ll lead you thither.

I pray you, will you take him by the arm?

Oli.

Be of good cheer, youth. You a man?

You lack a man’s heart.

Ros. 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!

Oli. This was not counterfeit, there is too great testimony in your complexion that it was a passion of earnest.

Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you.

Oli. Well then, take a good heart and counterfeit to be a man.

Ros. So I do; but i’ faith, I should have been a woman by right.

Cel. Come, you look paler and paler. Pray you draw homewards. Good sir, go with us.

Oli.

That will I, for I must bear answer back

How you excuse my brother, Rosalind.

Ros. I shall devise something; but I pray you commend my counterfeiting to him. Will you go?

Exeunt.

¶

Raphael West , p. — William Charles Wilson , e.

Enter Clown [Touchstone] and Audrey.

Touch. We shall find a time, Audrey, patience, gentle Audrey.

Aud. Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old gentleman’s saying.

Touch. A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile Martext. But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to you.

Aud. Ay, I know who ’tis; he hath no interest in me in the world. Here comes the man you mean.

Enter William.

Touch. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown. By my troth, we that have good wits have much to answer for; we shall be flouting; we cannot hold.

Will. Good ev’n, Audrey.

Aud. God ye good ev’n, William.

Will. And good ev’n to you, sir.

Touch. Good ev’n, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover thy head; nay, prithee be cover’d. How old are you, friend?

Will. Five and twenty, sir.

Touch. A ripe age. Is thy name William?

Will. William, sir.

Touch. A fair name. Wast born i’ the forest here?

Will. Ay, sir, I thank God.

Touch. “Thank God‘—a good answer. Art rich?

Will. Faith, sir, so, so.

Touch. “So, so” is good, very good, very excellent good; and yet it is not, it is but so, so. Art thou wise?

Will. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit.

Touch. Why, thou say’st well. I do now remember a saying, “The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.” The heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a grape, would open his lips when he put it into his mouth, meaning thereby that grapes were made to eat and lips to open. You do love this maid?

Will. I do, [sir].

Touch. Give me your hand. Art thou learned?

Will. No, sir.

Touch. Then learn this of me: to have, is to have. For it is a figure in rhetoric that drink, being pour’d out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty the other. For all your writers do consent that ipse is he: now, you are not ipse, for I am he.