As You Like It
From Oberon
William Shakespeare (1564–1616). The Oxford Shakespeare. 1914.
As You Like It
Act I. Scene I.
An Orchard near OLIVER’S House.
Enter ORLANDO and ADAM.
Orl. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand crowns, and, as thou sayest, charged my brother on his blessing, to breed me well: and there begins my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit: for my part, he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more properly, stays me here at home unkept; for call you that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that differs not from the stalling of an ox? His horses are bred better; for, besides that they are fair with their feeding, they are taught their manage, and to that end riders dearly hired: but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth, for the which his animals on his dunghills are as much bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the something that nature gave me, his countenance seems to take from me: he lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a brother, and, as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit of my father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny against this servitude. I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it. Adam. Yonder comes my master, your brother. 4 Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up.
Enter OLIVER.
Oli. Now, sir! what make you here? Orl. Nothing: I am not taught to make anything. 8 Oli. What mar you then, sir? Orl. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness. Oli. Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught a while. Orl. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them? What prodigal portion have I spent, that I should come to such penury? 12 Oli. Know you where you are, sir? Orl. O! sir, very well: here in your orchard. Oli. Know you before whom, sir? Orl. Ay, better than he I am before knows me. I know you are my eldest brother; and, in the gentle condition of blood, you should so know me. The courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that you are the first-born; but the same tradition takes not away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt us. I have as much of my father in me as you; albeit, I confess, your coming before me is nearer to his reverence. 16 Oli. What, boy! Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this. Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? Orl. I am no villain; I am the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys; he was my father, and he is thrice a villain that says such a father begot villains. Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy throat till this other had pulled out thy tongue for saying so: thou hast railed on thyself. 20 Adam. [Coming forward.] Sweet masters, be patient: for your father’s remembrance, be at accord. Oli. Let me go, I say. Orl. I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. My father charged you in his will to give me good education: you have trained me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities. The spirit of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer endure it; therefore allow me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor allottery my father left me by testament; with that I will go buy my fortunes. Oli. And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent? Well, sir, get you in: I will not long be troubled with you; you shall have some part of your will: I pray you, leave me. 24 Orl. I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good. Oli. Get you with him, you old dog. Adam. Is ‘old dog’ my reward? Most true, I have lost my teeth in your service. God be with my old master! he would not have spoke such a word. [Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM. Oli. Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? I will physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. Holla, Dennis! 28
Enter DENNIS.
Den. Calls your worship? Oli. Was not Charles the duke’s wrestler here to speak with me? Den. So please you, he is here at the door, and importunes access to you. 32 Oli. Call him in. [Exit DENNIS.] ’Twill be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is.
Enter CHARLES.
Cha. Good morrow to your worship. Oli. Good Monsieur Charles, what’s the new news at the new court? 36 Cha. There’s no news at the court, sir, but the old news: that is, the old duke is banished by his younger brother the new duke; and three or four loving lords have put themselves into voluntary exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke; therefore he gives them good leave to wander. Oli. Can you tell if Rosalind, the duke’s daughter, be banished with her father? Cha. O, no; for the duke’s daughter, her cousin, so loves her,—being ever from their cradles bred together,—that she would have followed her exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at the court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter; and never two ladies loved as they do. Oli. Where will the old duke live? 40 Cha. They say he is already in the forest of Arden, and a many merry men with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England. They say many young gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world. Oli. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke? Cha. Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand that your younger brother Orlando hath a disposition to come in disguised against me to try a fall. To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit, and he that escapes me without some broken limb shall acquit him well. Your brother is but young and tender; and, for your love, I would be loath to foil him as I must, for my own honour, if he come in: therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you withal, that either you might stay him from his intendment, or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into, in that it is a thing of his own search and altogether against my will. Oli. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I had myself notice of my brother’s purpose herein, and have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him from it, but he is resolute. I’ll tell thee, Charles, it is the stubbornest young fellow of France; full of ambition, an envious emulator of every man’s good parts, a secret and villanous contriver against me his natural brother: therefore use thy discretion. I had as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger. And thou wert best look to’t; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by some treacherous device, and never leave thee till he hath ta’en thy life by some indirect means or other; for, I assure thee,—and almost with tears I speak it,—there is not one so young and so villanous this day living. I speak but brotherly of him; but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder. 44 Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come to-morrow, I’ll give him his payment: if ever he go alone again, I’ll never wrestle for prize more; and so God keep your worship! [Exit. Oli. Farewell, good Charles. Now will I stir this gamester. I hope I shall see an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than he. Yet he’s gentle, never schooled and yet learned, full of noble device, of all sorts enchantingly beloved, and, indeed so much in the heart of the world, and especially of my own people, who best know him, that I am altogether misprised. But it shall not be so long; this wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains but that I kindle the boy thither, which now I’ll go about.
As You Like It
Act I. Scene III.
A Room in the Palace.
Enter CELIA and ROSALIND.
Cel. Why, cousin! why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy! Not a word? Ros. Not one to throw at a dog. 4 Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs; throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons. Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up; when the one should be lamed with reasons and the other mad without any. Cel. But is all this for your father? Ros. No, some of it is for my child’s father: O, how full of briers is this working-day world! 8 Cel. They are but burrs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery: if we walk not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats will catch them. Ros. I could shake them off my coat: these burrs are in my heart. Cel. Hem them away. Ros. I would try, if I could cry ‘hem,’ and have him. 12 Cel. Come, come; wrestle with thy affections. Ros. O! they take the part of a better wrestler than myself! Cel. O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in despite of a fall. But, turning these jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest: is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so strong a liking with old Sir Rowland’s youngest son? Ros. The duke my father dearly. 16 Cel. Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his son dearly? By this kind of chase, I should hate him, for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando. Ros. No, faith, hate him not, for my sake. Cel. Why should I not? doth he not deserve well? Ros. Let me love him for that; and do you love him, because I do. Look, here comes the duke. 20 Cel. With his eyes full of anger.
Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords.
Duke F. Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste,
And get you from our court. 24
Ros. Me, uncle? Duke F. You, cousin:
Within these ten days if that thou be’st found So near our public court as twenty miles, 28 Thou diest for it.
Ros. I do beseech your Grace,
Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me. If with myself I hold intelligence, 32 Or have acquaintance with mine own desires, If that I do not dream or be not frantic,— As I do trust I am not,—then, dear uncle, Never so much as in a thought unborn 36 Did I offend your highness.
Duke F. Thus do all traitors:
If their purgation did consist in words, They are as innocent as grace itself: 40 Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not.
Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor:
Tell me whereon the likelihood depends.
Duke F. Thou art thy father’s daughter; there’s enough. 44 Ros. So was I when your highness took his dukedom;
So was I when your highness banish’d him. Treason is not inherited, my lord; Or, if we did derive it from our friends, 48 What’s that to me? my father was no traitor: Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much To think my poverty is treacherous.
Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak. 52 Duke F. Ay, Celia; we stay’d her for your sake;
Else had she with her father rang’d along.
Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay:
It was your pleasure and your own remorse. 56 I was too young that time to value her; But now I know her: if she be a traitor, Why so am I; we still have slept together, Rose at an instant, learn’d, play’d, eat together; 60 And wheresoe’er we went, like Juno’s swans, Still we went coupled and inseparable.
Duke F. She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness,
Her very silence and her patience, 64 Speak to the people, and they pity her. Thou art a fool: she robs thee of thy name; And thou wilt show more bright and seem more virtuous When she is gone. Then open not thy lips: 68 Firm and irrevocable is my doom Which I have pass’d upon her; she is banish’d.
Cel. Pronounce that sentence then, on me, my liege:
I cannot live out of her company. 72
Duke F You are a fool. You, niece, provide yourself:
If you outstay the time, upon mine honour, And in the greatness of my word, you die. [Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK and Lords.
Cel. O my poor Rosalind! whither wilt thou go? 76
Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine. I charge thee, be not thou more griev’d than I am.
Ros. I have more cause. Cel. Thou hast not, cousin; 80
Prithee, be cheerful; know’st thou not, the duke Hath banish’d me, his daughter?
Ros. That he hath not. Cel. No, hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love 84
Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one: Shall we be sunder’d? shall we part, sweet girl? No: let my father seek another heir. Therefore devise with me how we may fly, 88 Whither to go, and what to bear with us: And do not seek to take your change upon you, To bear your griefs yourself and leave me out; For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, 92 Say what thou canst, I’ll go along with thee.
Ros. Why, whither shall we go? Cel. To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden. Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to us, 96
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far! Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.
Cel. I’ll put myself in poor and mean attire,
And with a kind of umber smirch my face; 100 The like do you: so shall we pass along And never stir assailants.
Ros. Were it not better,
Because that I am more than common tall, 104 That I did suit me all points like a man? A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh, A boar-spear in my hand; and,—in my heart Lie there what hidden woman’s fear there will,— 108 We’ll have a swashing and a martial outside, As many other mannish cowards have That do outface it with their semblances.
Cel. What shall I call thee when thou art a man? 112 Ros. 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?
Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state: 116
No longer Celia, but Aliena.
Ros. 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? 120
Cel. 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 124 To hide us from pursuit that will be made After my flight. Now go we in content To liberty and not to banishment. [Exeunt.
