William Shakespeare - The Complete Works of William Shakespeare

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 curtleaxe 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?

CELIA

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;

Devise the fittest time and safest way

To hide us from pursuit that will be made

After my flight. Now go we in content

To liberty, and not to banishment.

[Exeunt.]

ACT II

SCENE I. The Forest of Arden

[Enter DUKE Senior, AMIENS, and other LORDS, in the dress of foresters.]

DUKE SENIOR

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 not 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

That feelingly persuade me what I am.”

Sweet are the uses of adversity;

Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,

Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;

And this our life, exempt from public haunt,

Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,

Sermons in stones, and good in everything.

I would not change it.

AMIENS

Happy is your grace,

That can translate the stubbornness of fortune

Into so quiet and so sweet a style.

DUKE SENIOR

Come, shall we go and kill us venison?

And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools,

Being native burghers of this desert city,

Should, in their own confines, with forked heads

Have their round haunches gor’d.

FIRST LORD

Indeed, my lord,

The melancholy Jaques grieves at that;

And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp

Than doth your brother that hath banish’d you.

To-day my lord of Amiens and myself

Did steal behind him as he lay along

Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out

Upon the brook that brawls along this wood:

To the which place a poor sequester’d stag,

That from the hunter’s aim had ta’en a hurt,

Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord,

The wretched animal heav’d forth such groans,

That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat

Almost to bursting; and the big round tears

Cours’d one another down his innocent nose

In piteous chase: and thus the hairy fool,

Much markèd of the melancholy Jaques,

Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook,

Augmenting it with tears.

DUKE SENIOR

But what said Jaques?

Did he not moralize this spectacle?

FIRST LORD

O, yes, into a thousand similes.

First, for his weeping into the needless stream;

“Poor deer,” quoth he “thou mak’st a testament

As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more

To that which had too much:” then, being there alone,

Left and abandoned of his velvet friends;

“‘Tis right”; quoth he; “thus misery doth part

The flux of company:” anon, a careless herd,

Full of the pasture, jumps along by him

And never stays to greet him; “Ay,” quoth Jaques,

“Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;

‘Tis just the fashion; wherefore do you look

Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?”

Thus most invectively he pierceth through

The body of the country, city, court,

Yea, and of this our life: swearing that we

Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what’s worse,

To fright the animals, and to kill them up

In their assign’d and native dwelling-place.

DUKE SENIOR

And did you leave him in this contemplation?

SECOND LORD

We did, my lord, weeping and commenting

Upon the sobbing deer.

DUKE SENIOR

Show me the place:

I love to cope him in these sullen fits,

For then he’s full of matter.

FIRST LORD

I’ll bring you to him straight.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE II. A Room in the Palace

[Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, and Attendants.]

DUKE FREDERICK

Can it be possible that no man saw them?

It cannot be: some villains of my court

Are of consent and sufferance in this.

FIRST LORD

I cannot hear of any that did see her.

The ladies, her attendants of her chamber,

Saw her a-bed; and in the morning early

They found the bed untreasur’d of their mistress.

SECOND LORD

My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft

Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.

Hesperia, the princess’ gentlewoman,

Confesses that she secretly o’erheard

Your daughter and her cousin much commend

The parts and graces of the wrestler

That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles;

And she believes, wherever they are gone,

That youth is surely in their company.

DUKE FREDERICK

Send to his brother; fetch that gallant hither:

If he be absent, bring his brother to me,

I’ll make him find him: do this suddenly;

And let not search and inquisition quail

To bring again these foolish runaways.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE III. Before OLIVER’S House

[Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting.]

ORLANDO

Who’s there?

ADAM

What, my young master?—O my gentle master!

O my sweet master! O you memory

Of old Sir Rowland! why, what make you here?

Why are you virtuous? why do people love you?

And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant?

Why would you be so fond to overcome

The bonny prizer of the humorous duke?

Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.

Know you not, master, to some kind of men

Their graces serve them but as enemies?

No more do yours; your virtues, gentle master,

Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.

O, what a world is this, when what is comely