As You Like It (12 page)

Here comes Sir Oliver.— Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met.

Will you
dispatch us
⁵⁵
here under this tree, or shall we go with

you to your chapel?

SIR OLIVER
    Is there none here to give the woman?

TOUCHSTONE
    I will not take her
on
⁵⁸
gift of any man.

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

lawful.

JAQUES
    Proceed, proceed I’ll give her.

TOUCHSTONE
    Good even, good Master
What-ye-call’t
⁶²
. How do

you, sir? You are very well met. God
’ild
you for your
last
⁶³

company, I am very glad to see you. Even a
toy in hand
⁶⁴
here,

sir. Nay, pray be
covered
⁶⁵
.

JAQUES
    Will you be married, motley?

TOUCHSTONE
    As the ox hath his
bow
, sir, the horse his
curb
⁶⁷
and

the falcon her
bells
⁶⁸
, so man hath his desires, and as pigeons

bill
, so wedlock would be
nibbling
⁶⁹
.

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
⁷³
, then

one of you will prove a shrunk panel and, like
green
⁷⁴
timber,

warp
⁷⁵
, warp.

Aside

TOUCHSTONE
    
I am not in the mind but
⁷⁶
I were better to be

married
of
him than of another, for he is not
like
⁷⁷
to marry

me
well
⁷⁸
, 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
⁸²
.

Farewell, good Master Oliver. Not —

     
‘O sweet Oliver, O
brave
⁸⁴
Oliver
,

     
Leave me not behind thee’

but —

     ‘
Wind
⁸⁷
away,

     Begone, I say,

     I will not to wedding with thee.’

SIR OLIVER
    ’Tis no matter; ne’er a
fantastical
⁹⁰
knave of them all

shall
flout
⁹¹
me out of my calling.

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.
⁶

CELIA
    Something browner than Judas’. Marry,
his kisses
⁷

are Judas’ own children
.

ROSALIND
    I’faith, his hair is of a good colour.

CELIA
    An excellent colour,
your
¹⁰
chestnut was ever the

only
¹¹
colour.

ROSALIND
    And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of

holy bread
¹³
.

CELIA
    He hath bought a pair of
cast
lips of
Diana
¹⁴
. A nun

of winter’s sisterhood
¹⁵
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
²²
as

a
covered goblet
²³
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
²⁸
: they are both the

confirmer of false
reckonings
²⁹
. He attends here in the forest

on the duke your father.

ROSALIND
    I met the duke yesterday and had much
question
³¹

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
puny tilter
³⁷
,

that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a

noble
goose
³⁹
; but all’s brave that youth mounts and folly

guides. Who comes here?

CORIN
    Mistress and master, you have oft inquired

After the shepherd that
complained of
⁴²
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
⁴⁷
truly played,

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
⁵¹
it.

ROSALIND
    O, come, let us
remove
⁵²
:

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.

SILVIUS
    Sweet Phoebe, do not scorn me, do not, Phoebe.

Say that you love me not, but say not so

In bitterness. The common executioner,

Whose heart th’accustomed sight of death makes hard,

Falls
⁵
not the axe upon the humbled neck

But first begs pardon
⁶
: will you sterner be

Than
he that dies and lives
⁷
by bloody drops?

PHOEBE
    I would not be thy executioner.

I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.

Thou tell’st me there is murder in mine eye:

’Tis
pretty
¹¹
, sure, and very probable,

That eyes, that are the frail’st and softest things,

Who shut their
coward gates
on
atomies
¹³
,

Should be called tyrants, butchers, murderers.

Now I do frown on thee with all my heart,

And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee.

Now
counterfeit
¹⁷
to swoon, why now fall down,

Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame,

Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers.

Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee:

Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains

Some scar of it. Lean but upon a
rush
²²
,

The
cicatrice
and
capable impressure
²³

Thy palm some moment keeps. But now mine eyes,

Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not,

Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes

That can do hurt.

SILVIUS
    O dear Phoebe, If ever — as that ever may be near —

You meet in some fresh cheek the power of
fancy
²⁹
,

Then shall you know the wounds invisible

That love’s
keen
³¹
arrows make.

PHOEBE
    But till that time

Come not thou near me: and when that time comes,

Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not,

As till that time I shall not pity thee.

ROSALIND
    And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother,

That you insult, exult, and all at once,

Over the wretched?
What though
³⁸
you have no beauty —

As, by my faith, I see no more in you

Than without candle may go dark to bed
⁴⁰
—

Must you be therefore proud and pitiless?

Why, what means this? Why do you look on me?

I see no more in you than in the
ordinary
⁴³

Of nature’s
sale-work
.
’Od’s
⁴⁴
my little life,

I think she means to
tangle
⁴⁵
my eyes too!

No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it:

’Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair,

Your
bugle
⁴⁸
eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream

That can entame my spirits to your worship.

You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her,

Like foggy
south
, puffing with
wind and rain
⁵¹
?

You are a thousand times a
properer
⁵²
man

Than she a woman. ’Tis such fools as you

That makes the world full of ill-favoured children.

’Tis not her
glass
⁵⁵
but you that flatters her,

And out of you she sees herself more proper

Than any of her
lineaments
⁵⁷
can show her.

But mistress, know yourself: down on your knees,

And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man’s love;

For I must tell you friendly in your ear,

Sell when you can, you are not for all markets.

Cry
⁶²
the man mercy, love him, take his offer:

Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer
⁶³
.

So take her to thee, shepherd. Fare you well.

PHOEBE
    Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year
together
⁶⁵
:

I had rather hear you chide than this man woo.

ROSALIND
    He’s fallen in love with your foulness—

and she’ll fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as

fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I’ll

To Phoebe

sauce
⁷⁰
her with bitter words.— Why look you so

upon me?

PHOEBE
    For no ill will I bear you.

ROSALIND
    I pray you do not fall in love with me,

For I am falser than vows made
in wine
⁷⁴
.

Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house,

’Tis at the
tuft of olives
, here
hard
⁷⁶
by.

Will you go, sister? Shepherd,
ply
⁷⁷
her hard.

Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better,

And be not proud: though all the world could see,

None could be so
abused in sight
⁸⁰
as he.

Come, to our flock.

PHOEBE
    
Dead Shepherd
, now I find thy
saw
of might
⁸²
,

‘Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?’

SILVIUS
    Sweet Phoebe—

PHOEBE
    Ha, what say’st thou, Silvius?

SILVIUS
    Sweet Phoebe, pity me.

PHOEBE
    Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.

SILVIUS
    Wherever sorrow is, relief would be.

If you do sorrow at my grief in love,

By giving love your sorrow and my grief

Were both
extermined
⁹¹
.

PHOEBE
    Thou hast my
love. Is not that neighbourly
⁹²
?

SILVIUS
    I would have you.

PHOEBE
    Why, that were
covetousness
⁹⁴
.

Silvius, the time was that I hated thee;

And yet it is not that I bear thee love,

But since that thou canst talk of love so well,

Thy company, which
erst
⁹⁸
was irksome to me,

I will endure; and I’ll employ thee too.

But do not look for further recompense

Than thine own gladness that thou art employed.

SILVIUS
    So holy and so perfect is my love,

And I in such a
poverty
¹⁰³
of grace,

That I shall think it a most plenteous crop

To glean the broken
ears
¹⁰⁵
after the man

That the main harvest reaps. Loose now and then

A scattered smile, and that I’ll live upon.

PHOEBE
    Know’st thou the youth that spoke to me
erewhile
¹⁰⁸
?

SILVIUS
    Not very well, but I have met him oft,

And he hath bought the cottage and the
bounds
¹¹⁰

That the old
carlot
¹¹¹
once was master of.

PHOEBE
    Think not I love him, though I ask for him:

’Tis but a
peevish
¹¹³
boy, yet he talks well.

But what care I for words? Yet words do well

When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.

It is a pretty youth, not very pretty.

But sure he’s proud, and yet his pride becomes him;

He’ll make a proper man. The best thing in him

Is his
complexion
¹¹⁹
. And faster than his tongue

Did make offence his eye did heal it up.

He is not very tall, yet for his years he’s tall.

His leg is but so-so, and yet ’tis well.

There was a pretty redness in his lip,

A little riper and more
lusty
¹²⁴
red

Than that mixed in his cheek. ’Twas just the difference

Betwixt the
constant
red and mingled
damask
¹²⁶
.

There be some women, Silvius, had they marked him

In
parcels
¹²⁸
as I did, would have gone near

To fall in love with him. But, for my part,

I love him not nor hate him not. And yet

Have more cause to hate him than to love him:

For what had he to do to chide at me?

He said mine eyes were black and my hair black,

And, now I
am remembered
¹³⁴
, scorned at me.

I marvel why I answered not
again
¹³⁵
.

But that’s all one:
omittance is no quittance
¹³⁶
.

I’ll write to him a very taunting letter,

And thou shalt bear it. Wilt thou, Silvius?

SILVIUS
    Phoebe, with all my heart.

PHOEBE
    I’ll write it
straight
¹⁴⁰
:

The matter’s in my head and in my heart.

I will be bitter with him and
passing
¹⁴²
short.

Go with me, Silvius.