ACT III



SCENE I	A room in the palace.


	[Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, and OLIVER]

DUKE FREDERICK	Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be:
	But were I not the better part made mercy,
	I should not seek an absent argument
	Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it:
	Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is;
	Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living
	Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more
	To seek a living in our territory.
	Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine
	Worth seizure do we seize into our hands,
	Till thou canst quit thee by thy brothers mouth
	Of what we think against thee.

OLIVER	O that your highness knew my heart in this!
	I never loved my brother in my life.

DUKE FREDERICK	More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors;
	And let my officers of such a nature
	Make an extent upon his house and lands:
	Do this expediently and turn him going.

	[Exeunt]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE II	The forest.


	[Enter ORLANDO, with a paper]

ORLANDO	Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love:
	And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey
	With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above,
	Thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway.
	O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books
	And in their barks my thoughts I'll character;
	That every eye which in this forest looks
	Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where.
	Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree
	The fair, the chaste and unexpressive she.

	[Exit]

	[Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE]

CORIN	And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone?

TOUCHSTONE	Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good
	life, but in respect that it is a shepherd's life,
	it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I
	like it very well; but in respect that it is
	private, it is a very vile life. Now, in respect it
	is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in
	respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As
	is it a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well;
	but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much
	against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd?

CORIN	No more but that I know the more one sickens the
	worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money,
	means and content is without three good friends;
	that the property of rain is to wet and fire to
	burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep, and that a
	great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that
	he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art may
	complain of good breeding or comes of a very dull kindred.

TOUCHSTONE	Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in
	court, shepherd?

CORIN	No, truly.

TOUCHSTONE	Then thou art damned.

CORIN	Nay, I hope.

TOUCHSTONE	Truly, thou art damned like an ill-roasted egg, all
	on one side.

CORIN	For not being at court? Your reason.

TOUCHSTONE	Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never sawest
	good manners; if thou never sawest good manners,
	then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is
	sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous
	state, shepherd.

CORIN	Not a whit, Touchstone: those that are good manners
	at the court are as ridiculous in the country as the
	behavior of the country is most mockable at the
	court. You told me you salute not at the court, but
	you kiss your hands: that courtesy would be
	uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds.

TOUCHSTONE	Instance, briefly; come, instance.

CORIN	Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their
	fells, you know, are greasy.

TOUCHSTONE	Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? and is not
	the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of
	a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say; come.

CORIN	Besides, our hands are hard.

TOUCHSTONE	Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again.
	A more sounder instance, come.

CORIN	And they are often tarred over with the surgery of
	our sheep: and would you have us kiss tar? The
	courtier's hands are perfumed with civet.

TOUCHSTONE	Most shallow man! thou worms-meat, in respect of a
	good piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and
	perpend: civet is of a baser birth than tar, the
	very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd.

CORIN	You have too courtly a wit for me: I'll rest.

TOUCHSTONE	Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee, shallow man!
	God make incision in thee! thou art raw.

CORIN	Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get
	that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man's
	happiness, glad of other men's good, content with my
	harm, and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes
	graze and my lambs suck.

TOUCHSTONE	That is another simple sin in you, to bring the ewes
	and the rams together and to offer to get your
	living by the copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a
	bell-wether, and to betray a she-lamb of a
	twelvemonth to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram,
	out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not
	damned for this, the devil himself will have no
	shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst
	'scape.

CORIN	Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother.

	[Enter ROSALIND, with a paper, reading]

ROSALIND	     From the east to western Ind,
	No jewel is like Rosalind.
	Her worth, being mounted on the wind,
	Through all the world bears Rosalind.
	All the pictures fairest lined
	Are but black to Rosalind.
	Let no fair be kept in mind
	But the fair of Rosalind.

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 Rosalind.
	If the cat will after kind,
	So be sure will Rosalind.
	Winter garments must be lined,
	So must slender Rosalind.
	They that reap must sheaf and bind;
	Then to cart with Rosalind.
	Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,
	Such a nut is Rosalind.
	He that sweetest rose will find
	Must find love's prick and Rosalind.
	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' the 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 judge.

	[Enter CELIA, with a writing]

ROSALIND	Peace! Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside.

CELIA	[Reads]

	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 stretching 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 charged
	That one body should be fill'd
	With all graces wide-enlarged:
	Nature presently distill'd
	Helen's cheek, but not her heart,
	Cleopatra's majesty,
	Atalanta's better part,
	Sad Lucretia's modesty.
	Thus Rosalind of many parts
	By heavenly synod was devised,
	Of many faces, eyes and hearts,
	To have the touches dearest prized.
	Heaven would that she these gifts should have,
	And I to live and die her slave.

ROSALIND	O most gentle pulpiter! what tedious homily of love
	have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never
	cried 'Have patience, good people!'

CELIA	How now! back, friends! Shepherd, go off a little.
	Go with him, sirrah.

TOUCHSTONE	Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat;
	though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage.

	[Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE]

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 hanged 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 be-rhymed 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 removed 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, and most wonderful
	wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that,
	out of all hooping!

ROSALIND	Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am
	caparisoned 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 couldst
	stammer, that thou mightst pour this concealed man
	out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-
	mouthed bottle, either too much at once, or none at
	all. I prithee, take the cork out of thy mouth that
	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 tripped up the wrestler's
	heels and your heart both in an instant.

ROSALIND	Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak, sad brow and
	true maid.

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 sawest him? What said
	he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes
	him 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 dropped acorn.

ROSALIND	It may well be called Jove's tree, when it drops
	forth such fruit.

CELIA	Give me audience, good madam.

ROSALIND	Proceed.

CELIA	There lay he, stretched 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 furnished like a hunter.

ROSALIND	O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.

CELIA	I would sing my song without a burden: thou bringest
	me out of tune.

ROSALIND	Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must
	speak. Sweet, say on.

CELIA	You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here?

	[Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES]

ROSALIND	'Tis he: slink by, and note him.

JAQUES	I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had
	as lief have been myself alone.

ORLANDO	And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you
	too for your society.

JAQUES	God be wi' you: let's meet as little as we can.

ORLANDO	I do desire we may be better strangers.

JAQUES	I pray you, mar no more trees with writing
	love-songs in their barks.

ORLANDO	I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading
	them ill-favouredly.

JAQUES	Rosalind is your love's name?

ORLANDO	Yes, just.

JAQUES	I do not like her name.

ORLANDO	There was no thought of pleasing you when she was
	christened.

JAQUES	What stature is she of?

ORLANDO	Just as high as my heart.

JAQUES	You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been
	acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conned them
	out of rings?

ORLANDO	Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from
	whence you have studied your questions.

JAQUES	You have a nimble wit: I think 'twas made of
	Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? and
	we two will rail against our mistress the world and
	all our misery.

ORLANDO	I will chide no breather in the world but myself,
	against whom I know most faults.

JAQUES	The worst fault you have is to be in love.

ORLANDO	'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue.
	I am weary of you.

JAQUES	By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found
	you.

ORLANDO	He is drowned in the brook: look but in, and you
	shall see him.

JAQUES	There I shall see mine own figure.

ORLANDO	Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.

JAQUES	I'll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good
	Signior Love.

ORLANDO	I am glad of your departure: adieu, good Monsieur
	Melancholy.

	[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, forester?

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 proper?

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 withal.

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
	solemnized: 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 withal.

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 cony 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 touched with so many
	giddy offences as he hath generally taxed 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 half-pence 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-shaked: I pray you tell me
	your remedy.

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 ungartered, your
	bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, 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 punished 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 any
	thing, 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 cured 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]

	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE III	The forest.


	[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 thatched 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 swearest 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-favoured; 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 promised 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 walled 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 a 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?

SIR OLIVER MARTEXT	Is there none here to give the woman?

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

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

JAQUES	[Advancing]

	Proceed, proceed	I'll give her.

TOUCHSTONE	Good even, good Master What-ye-call't: how do you,
	sir? You are very well met: God 'ild you for your
	last company: I am very glad to see you: even a
	toy in hand here, sir: nay, pray be covered.

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]

SIR OLIVER MARTEXT	'Tis no matter: ne'er a fantastical knave of them
	all shall flout me out of my calling.

	[Exit]




	AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE IV	The forest.


	[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 a 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 laughed 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 puisny 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 inquired
	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]
