SCENE IV. The Forest of Arden

SCENE IV. The Forest of Arden

Enter Rosalind as Ganymede, Celia as Aliena, and 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.

CELIA. I pray you bear with me, I cannot go no further.

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.

TOUCHSTONE. Ay, now am I in Arden, the more fool I! When I was at home I was in a better place, but travellers must be content.

Enter Corin and Silvius.

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

CORIN. That is the way to make her scorn you still.

SILVIUS. O Corin, that thou knew’st how I do love her!

CORIN. I partly guess, for I have loved ere now.

SILVIUS. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess, Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover As ever sighed upon a midnight pillow. But if thy love were ever like to mine— As sure I think did never man love so— How many actions most ridiculous Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?

CORIN. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.

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 loved. Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, Wearing thy hearer in thy mistress’ praise, Thou hast not loved. Or if thou hast not broke from company Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, Thou hast not loved. O Phoebe, Phoebe, Phoebe!

[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 batlet, and the cow’s dugs that her pretty chopped hands had milked; and I remember the wooing of a 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. And mine, but it grows something stale with me.

CELIA. I pray you, one of you question yond man If he for gold will give us any food. I faint almost to death.

TOUCHSTONE. Holla, you clown!

ROSALIND. Peace, fool, he’s not thy kinsman.

CORIN. Who calls?

TOUCHSTONE. Your betters, sir.

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 oppressed, 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 anything.

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.

CELIA. And we will mend thy wages. I like this place, And willingly could waste my time in it.

CORIN. Assuredly the thing is to be sold. Go with me. If you like upon report The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, I will your very faithful feeder be, And buy it with your gold right suddenly.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE V. Another part of the Forest

Enter Amiens, Jaques and others.

AMIENS. [Sings.]

    Under the greenwood tree,
    Who loves to lie with me
    And turn his merry note
    Unto the sweet bird’s throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither!
    Here shall he see
    No enemy
But winter and rough weather.

JAQUES. More, more, I prithee, more.

AMIENS. It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.

JAQUES. I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more.

AMIENS. My voice is ragged. I know I cannot please you.

JAQUES. I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to sing. Come, more, another stanzo. Call you ’em stanzos?

AMIENS. What you will, Monsieur Jaques.

JAQUES. Nay, I care not for their names. They owe me nothing. Will you sing?

AMIENS. More at your request than to please myself.

JAQUES. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I’ll thank you; but that they call compliment is like th’ encounter of two dog-apes. And when a man thanks me heartily, methinks I have given him a penny and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues.

AMIENS. Well, I’ll end the song.—Sirs, cover the while. The Duke will drink under this tree; he hath been all this day to look you.

JAQUES. And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is too disputable for my company. I think of as many matters as he, but I give heaven thanks and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come.

AMIENS. [Sings.]

    Who doth ambition shun
    And loves to live i’ th’ sun,
    Seeking the food he eats
    And pleased with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither.
    Here shall he see
    No enemy
But winter and rough weather.

JAQUES. I’ll give you a verse to this note that I made yesterday in despite of my invention.

AMIENS. And I’ll sing it.

JAQUES. Thus it goes:

    If it do come to pass
    That any man turn ass,
    Leaving his wealth and ease
    A stubborn will to please,
Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame;
    Here shall he see
    Gross fools as he,
An if he will come to me.

AMIENS. What’s that “ducdame?”

JAQUES. ’Tis a Greek invocation to call fools into a circle. I’ll go sleep if I can; if I cannot, I’ll rail against all the first-born of Egypt.

AMIENS. And I’ll go seek the Duke; his banquet is prepared.

[Exeunt severally.]