Original subtitles

As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion.

My father bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand crowns and charged my brother

on his blessing to breed me well.

And there begins my sadness.

He stays me at home unkept.

For call you that keeping for a gentleman of my birth that differs not

from the stalling of an ox?

He lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a brother, and as much as

in him lies, minds 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.

Hush, Master Orlando.

Yonder he comes.

Stay apart, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up.

Now, sir, what make you here?

Nothing. I am not taught to make anything.

Marry, sir.

Be better employed.

Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks with them?

Know you where you are, sir?

I know you are my eldest brother.

And in the gentle condition of blood, you should so know me.

I have as much of my father in me as you.

What, boy?

Come, come, elder brother. You are too young in this.

Put away hands on me, villain. I am no villain. I am the youngest son of Sir

Roland of boys.

And he is thrice a villain that says such a father begot villains.

Weak thou not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy throat till this

other had pulled out thy tongue for saying so. Sweet masters, be patient.

For your father's remembrance be it of God. Let me go, I say. I will not till I

please. You shall hear me.

My father charged you by his will to give me good education.

You have trained me like a peasant.

And the spirit of my father grows strong within me and I will no longer endure

it.

Therefore, give me the poor a lottery my father left me by testament.

With that, I will go buy my fortunes.

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.

I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good.

Get you with him, you old dog.

Old dog, my love.

Most true, I have lost my teeth in your service.

I will take your rankness and yet give no thousand crowns.

Calls Your Worship?

Was not Charles the Duke Reislaher here to speak with me? So please you, he is

here at the door.

Call him in.

Good day, Your Worship.

Good day, Sir Tom.

What's the new news at the new court?

There is no news at the court, sir, but the old news.

That is, the old duke is banished by his younger brother, the new duke. Where

will the old duke live?

They say he's already in the Forest of Arden.

And many merry men with him. And there they live like the old Robin Hood of

England.

You wrestle tomorrow before the new duke.

Merry do I, sir.

and I came to acquaint you with a matter.

I am given, sir, secretly to understand that your younger brother Orlando comes

against me to try a ball.

Tomorrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit, and he that escapes me without some

broken limb shall acquit him well.

And therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you, that you

might stay him.

I thank thee for thy love to me, which I will most kindly requite.

I'll tell thee, Charles.

My brother is the stubbornest young fellow of France.

A secret and villainous contriver against me, his natural brother.

Therefore, use thy discretion.

I'd as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger.

I'm heartily glad I came hither to you.

If he come tomorrow, I'll give him his payment.

If ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize for.

And so, God keep your worship.

Farewell, good Charles.

shall see an end of him.

For my soul, yet I know not why, hates

nothing more than he.

Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.

Yes, Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of.

Unless you could teach me to forget a banished father, you must not learn me

how to remember any extraordinary pleasure.

Herein I see thou loves me not with the full weight that I love thee.

If my uncle, thy banished father, had banished my uncle, the duke thy father,

So thou hadst been still with me.

I could have taught my love to take thy father for mine.

So wouldst thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously tempered

as mine is to thee.

Well, I will forget.

You know my father hath no child but I.

And truly, when he dies, thou shalt be his heir.

For what he hath taken away from thy father, perforce, I will render thee

again an affection.

By mine honour, I will.

And when I break that oath, let me turn monster.

Therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry.

From henceforth, I will come and devise sports.

Let me see.

But think you of falling in love.

Marry, I pretty do, to make sport withal.

But love no man in good earnest, nor no further in sport neither, than with

safety of a pure blush thou mayst in honour come off again. What shall be our

sport then?

Oh, here comes Monsieur Lebeau, with his mouth full of muse.

Bonjour, Monsieur Lebeau.

What's the news?

Faire princesse, you're going to lose much good sport.

Sport? Of what color?

What color, madame?

How shall I answer you?

As wit and fortune will... Eh bien, j'allais justement vous dire.

Good wrestling, ladies.

And they are ready to perform it.

Let us see it, cuz.

Since this youth will not be entreated, his own peril on his forwardness.

He's yonder, the man.

Even he, madame.

Alas, he is too young.

How now, daughter and cousin. Are you quite chether to see the wrestling?

I am, at least.

So please you give us leave.

You will take little delight in it. I can tell you there is such odds in the

man. In pity of the challenger's youth, I would fain dissuade him, but he will

not be entreated.

Speak to him, ladies.

See if you can move him. I'll not be by.

Call him hither, good Monsieur Lebeau.

Monsieur the challenger, the princess calls for you.

I attend them with all respect and duty.

Young man, have you challenged Charles the wrestler?

No, fair princess.

He is the general challenger.

I come but in, as others do, to try with him the strength of my youth.

Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your years.

We pray you for your own sake to give over this attempt.

Do, young sir.

I beseech you, punish me not with your hard thoughts.

Wherein I confess me much guilty to deny so fair and excellent ladies anything.

But let your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my trial.

Wherein if I be foiled, there is but one shamed who was never gracious.

If killed, but one dead that is willing to be so.

I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me.

The world no injury, for in it I have nothing.

Only in the world I fill up a place which may be better supplied when I have

made it empty.

The little strength I have, I would it were with you and mine to eke out hers.

Come,

where is this young gallant that is so desirous to lie?

with this mother earth.

You mean to mock me after?

You should not have mocked me before.

But come your way.

Hark you, let's be thy speed, young man.

I would I were invisible to catch the strong fellow by the leg.

No more.

How dost thou, Charles?

He cannot speak, my lord.

Bear him away.

What is thy name, young man?

Orlando Muleage, the youngest son of Sir Roland Du Bois.

I would thou hadst been son to some man else.

The world esteemed thy father, honourable, but I did find him still

mine enemy.

But fare thee well, thou art a gallant youth.

I would thou hadst told me of another father.

Were I my father, Cuz, would I do this?

My father loved Sir Rowland as his soul.

Gentle cousin, let us go thank him and encourage him.

Sir, you have well deserved.

If you do keep your promises in love but justly, as you have exceeded promise,

your mistress shall be happy.

Gentlemen, wear this for me.

One out of suits with fortune.

That could give more.

But that her hand lacks need.

Shall we go, cuss?

Fine.

Fare you well, fair gentleman.

Can I not say thank you? He calls us back.

My pride fell with my fortune.

I'll ask him what he would.

Did you call, sir?

Sir, you have wrestled well and overthrown more than your enemies.

Will you go, Rosalind?

Fare with you.

Fare you well.

What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue?

I cannot speak to her.

Yet she urged confidence.

O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown.

Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee.

Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you to leave this place.

Albeit you have deserved high commendation, yet...

Such is now the Duke's condition that he misconstrues all that you have done.

I thank you, sir.

And pray you, tell me this.

Which of the two was daughter of the Duke that here was at the rest?

Indeed, the taller is his daughter.

The other is Rosaline, daughter to the banished Duke.

But I can tell you that of late this Duke obtained displeasure against his

gentle niece, grounded upon no other argument, but that the people praise her

for her virtues and pity her for her good father's sake.

And on my life!

his malice against this lady will suddenly break forth.

Sir, fare you well.

I rest much bounden to you.

Fare you well.

Thus must I from the smoke into the smother.

From tyrant duke unto a tyrant brother.

But heavenly rosary.

It had mercy.

Not a word.

But one to throw at a dog.

But is all this for your father? No.

Some of it is for my father's child.

Come, come.

Wrestle with your affections.

They take the part of a better wrestler than myself.

Is it possible on such a sudden you should fall into so strong a liking with

old Sir Roland's youngest son?

Duke, my father.

Loved his father dearly.

Does it therefore ensue that you should love his son dearly? No.

By this kind of chase, I should hate him. For my father hated his father

dearly. Yet I hate not Orlando.

No, Faith.

Hate him not for my sake.

Oh, look.

Here comes the Duke.

Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste and get you from our court.

Me, uncle?

You, cousin.

Within these ten days, if that thou be'st found so near our public court as

twenty miles, thou die'st for it.

I do beseech your grace.

Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me.

Never so much as in a thought unborn did I offend your highness.

Thus do all traitors.

Thou art thy father's daughter.

There's enough.

So was I when your highness took his dukedom.

So was I when your highness banished him.

Treason is not inherited, my lord.

Or if we did derive it from our friends, what's that to mean?

My father was no traitor.

In good my liege, mistake me not so much.

To think my poverty is treacherous.

Dear sovereign, hear me speak.

Why, Celia, we stayed her for your sake. Else had she with her father ranged

along. If she be a traitor, why, so am I.

We still have slept together, rose at an instant, learned, played, act together,

till we went coupled and inseparable.

Thou art a fool. She robs thee of thy name, and thou wilt show her bright and

seem more virtuous when she is gone. No, my dear. Open not thy lips.

Firm and irrevocable is my doom.

She is banished.

Pronounce that sentence then on me, my niece.

I cannot live out of her company.

You are a fool.

You, niece, provide yourself.

If you outstay the time, upon mine honor, and in the greatness of my word,

you die.

Rosaline, whither wilt thou go?

Wilt thou change, fathers?

I will give thee mine.

I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than I am.

I have more cause.

Thou hast not, cousin.

Pretty, be cheerful.

Knows thou not the Duke hath banished me, his daughter?

That he hath not.

No, hath not.

Rosalind lacks then the love which teacheth thee that thou and I am one.

Shall we be sundered?

Shall we part?

Sweet girl.

No.

Let my father seek another heir.

For by this heaven, now that our sorrows pale, say what thou canst, I'll go along

with thee.

Why?

Whither shall we go?

To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden.

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 but the penalty of Adam, the season's 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.

Happy is your grace. That can translate the stubbornness of fortune into so

quiet and so sweet a style.

Alas, what danger will it be to us, maids as we are, to travel forth so far?

I'll put my husband poor in mean attire, and with a kind of umber smirch my face.

The like do you.

So shall we pass along and never stir assailants.

Were it not better.

Hidden women fear their will.

We'll have a swashing and a martial outside, as many other mannish cowards

have that do outface it with their semblances.

What shall I call you now, utterman?

I'll have no worse a name than Job's own page.

And therefore, look, you call me Ganymede.

But what will you be called?

Something that hath reference to my state.

No longer Celia.

but aliena.

But cousin, what if we're safe to steal the clownish fool out of your father's

court? Would he not be a comfort to our travel?

He'll go along all the wide world with me. Leave me alone to woo him.

Now go we in content, to liberty, and not to banishment.

Can it be possible that new men saw them?

It cannot be.

Some villains of my court are of consent and sovereigns in this.

I cannot hear of any that did see her.

Lord, the ruinous clown, at whom so oft your grace would want 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.

Send for that wrestler. Fetch that gallant hither.

If he be absent, bring his brother to me. I'll make him find him.

Do this suddenly.

Let not search or inquisition quail to bring again these foolish runaways.

Oh, my gentle master.

Oh, sweet master.

Oh, you memory of old St. Roland.

Why, what's the matter?

Oh, unhappy youth.

Within this roof, the enemy of all your graces lives, your brother.

This night he means to burn the lodging where you used to lie, and you within

it. This house is but a butchery.

Abhor it, fear it.

Whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go? No matter whither, so you stay not here.

What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food?

I have five hundred crowns. The thrifty isle I saved unto your father.

Here is the gold.

All this I give you.

Let me be your servant in all your business and necessities.

Oh, good old man, how well in thee appears the constant service of the

antique world, where service sweat for duty, not for mead.

Thou art not for the fashion of these times, where none will serve but for

promotion.

But come thy ways, we'll go along together.

And ere we have thy youthful wages spent, we'll light upon some settled low

content.

I care not for my spirits if my legs were not so weary.

I could find it in my heart to disgrace my man's appell and to cry like a

woman.

I pray you bear with me. I can go no further.

For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear you.

Well, this is the forest of Arden.

Aye, now am I in Arden.

The more fool I.

When I was at home, I was at a better place.

The travelers must be content.

Do you love her?

I partly guess, for I have loved her now.

How many actions most ridiculous hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?

Into a thousand that I have forgotten.

O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily.

If thou remember'st not the slightest folly that ever love did make thee run

into, thou hast not loved.

Or if thou hast not... spoke as I do now, wearing thy hearer with thy

mistress' praise, thou hast not love.

Or if thou hast not broke from company, abruptly, as my fashion now makes me,

thou hast not love.

Oh, Phoebe, Phoebe, Phoebe.

Oh, Joe, Joe, this shepherd's Passion is much upon my

passion. And mine.

But it grows somewhat stale with me.

I pray you, one of you, question your man if he for gold will give us any

food. I faint almost to death.

Hello, you plough.

Peaceful, he's not thy kinsman.

Who calls?

Good morrow to you, friend.

And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.

I pray thee, shepherd, if that love or gold can in this desert place buy

entertainment.

Here's a young maid, with travel much oppressed, and faints for succor.

Fair sir, I pity her.

But I am shepherd to another man, and do not shear the fleeces that I graze. His

cot, his flocks, and bounds of feed are now on sale.

But what is?

Come and see, and in my voice most welcome shall you be.

I pray thee, if it stand with honesty by thou the cottage, pasture, and the

flock, then thou shalt have to pay for it of us.

I like this place, and willingly would waste my time in it.

Assuredly the thing is to be sold.

Go with me.

And if you like, upon report, the soil, the profit, and this kind of life, I

will your very faithful feeder be.

Why, how now, monsieur, what a life is this, that your poor friends must woo

your company.

You look merrily a fool, a fool.

I met a fool in the forest, a motley fool.

A miserable world.

As I do live by food, I met a fool who laid him down and basked him in the sun.

and railed on lady fortune in good terms, in good set terms, and yet a

motley fool.

Good morrow, fool, quoth I.

No, sir, quoth he. Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune.

And then he drew a dial from his poke, and looking on it with lacklustre eye,

says very wisely, it is ten o'clock.

Thus we may see, Corpy, how the world wags.

It is but an hour ago since it was nine, and after one hour more it will be

eleven. And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, and then from hour to hour we

rot and rot, and thereby hangs a tale.

Oh, noble fool, a worthy fool.

Motley's the only ware.

What fool is this?

Oh, what a fool.

Would that I were a fool.

I am ambitious for a motley coat.

What?

Forbear and eat no more.

Why, I've ate none yet. Nor shalt not till necessity be served.

Of what kind should this cock come on? Forbear, I say.

He dies who touches any of this fruit till I and my affair are answered.

And you will not be answered with reason.

I must die.

What would you have?

Your gentleness shall force more than your force move us to gentleness.

I almost die for food.

Let me have it.

Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.

Speak you so gently.

Pardon me, I pray you.

I thought that all things had been savage here, and therefore put I on the

countenance of stern commandment.

But whate'er you are, if ever you have looked on better days, if ever been

where bells have knolled to church, if ever sat at any good man's feast, if

ever from your eyelids wiped a tear and know what is to pity and be pitied, let

gentleness my strong enforcement be, in the which hope I blush.

and hide my sword.

True is it that we have seen better days, and have with holy bell been

knolled to church, and sat at good men's feasts, and wiped our eyes of drops that

sacred pity hath engendered.

Therefore, sit you down in gentleness.

Yet but forbear your fool a little while.

There is a poor old man who after me hath many a weary step, limped in pure

love.

Till he be first sufficed, oppressed with two weak evils, age and hunger, I

will not touch a bit.

Go, seek him out, and we will nothing waste till your return.

I thank you, and be blessed for your good comfort.

Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy.

This wide and universal theatre presents more woeful pageants than the scene

wherein we play in.

All the world's a stage.

And all the men and women, merely players.

They have their exits and their entrances.

And one man in his time plays many parts.

His acts being seven ages.

At first, the infant, mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.

Then the whining schoolboy with his satchel and shining morning face,

creeping like snail, unwillingly to school.

And then the lover, sighing like furnace, with a woeful

ballad made to his mistress' eyebrow.

Then a soldier, full of strange oaths and bearded like the bard.

Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, seeking the bubble reputation

even in the cannon's mouth.

And then the justice, in fair round belly,

with good cape and lined, with eyes severe and beard of formal cut, full

of wise saws and modern instances, and so he plays his part.

The sixth age shifts into the lean and slippered pantaloon, with

spectacles on nose and pouch on side, his youthful hose well saved, a world

too wide for his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice, turning again toward

childish treble, pipes and whistles in his sound.

scene of all that ends this strange eventful

history is second childishness and mere oblivion

sans teeth sans eyes sans

taste sans everything

If that you were the good Sir Roland's son, as you have whispered, faithfully

you were, be truly welcome hither. Good old man, thou art right welcome as thy

master is.

I am the Duke that loved your father.

Seen him since?

Sir, sir, there cannot be.

But look to it.

Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is. Seek him with candle.

Bring him dead or living within this 12 months 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 brother's mouth of what we think

against thee.

Oh, that your highness knew my heart in this.

I never loved my brother in my life.

More villain thou.

We'll 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 good.

Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love.

And thou, thrice crowned queen of knights, 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 witnessed

everywhere.

Run, run, Orlando.

Carve on every tree the fair, the chaste, the unexpressive sheer.

No jewel is like Rosaline. For worse, being mounted on the wind,

through all the world bears Rosaline.

All the pictures' fairest lines are but black to

Rosaline.

Let no face be kept in mine.

I'll rhyme you so, eight years together.

Dinners and suppers and sleeping hours accepted.

Out with it!

For a taste.

If a heart do lack a hind, let him seek out Rosaline.

Oh, stop!

If the cat will after kind, so be sure, will Rosaline.

Oh, stop fool!

Winter garments must be lined, so must slender Rosaline.

Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, such a nut is Rosaline.

He that sweetest rose will find must find love's prick and Rosaline.

Love, you dull fool.

This is a very false gallop of verses.

Why do you infect yourself with them?

I found them on a tree.

Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.

Peace.

Helen's cheek, but not her heart.

Cleopatra's majesty.

Atalanta's bitter part.

Sad Lucretia's modesty.

Rosalind, of many parts, thy 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.

Oh, most gentle pulpit of sweet friends.

Shepherd, go off a little.

Shepherd, go off a little. Go with him.

Didst thou hear without wondering how thy name should be hanged and carved

upon these trees? I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you

came. Look here what I found on a palm tree.

I was never so bewrimed since Pythagoras' time, when I was an Irish

rat, which I can hardly remember.

Trow you who has done this?

Is it a man? And a chain you once wore about his neck.

Change your colour?

I privy. Oh, is it possible?

May I privy now with most petitionary vehemence?

Listen, like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition.

One inch of the lame ore is a south sea of discovery.

Quickly and speak apace, oh, I would thou could stammer, that thou mightst

pour this concealed man out of thy mouth as wine comes out of an arrow-mouthed

bottle, either too much at once or none at all.

I pray thee, take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may drink thy tidy.

So you may put a man in your bed. What manner of man?

Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard?

Nay, he hath but a little beard.

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.

It is. It who?

Young. Young who?

Orlando.

Orlando?

There. What shall I do with my devilish lord?

What did he, when thou saw'st him?

What said he?

How looked he?

What makes he here? Did he ask for me?

And shalt thou see him again? Answer me in one word.

You must borrow me Gagantua's mouth first.

But take a taste.

I found him under a tree. A tree, like a dropped acorn.

May well be called Job's tree, when it drops forth such fruit.

There lay he, stretched along like a wounded knight.

Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground.

I holler to thy tongue, I prithee. Thou bring'st me out of tune.

I'm a woman when I think I must speak.

Sweet say all.

No, you bring me up.

for your company, but good faith I had as a leaf of being myself alone.

And so had I.

But yet for fashion's sake, I thank you too for your society.

God be with you.

Let's meet as little as we can.

I do desire we may be better strangers.

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

pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading them in favor, then.

Rosalind is your love's name.

Yes, just.

I do not like her name.

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

What statue is she of?

Just as high as my heart.

You're full of pretty answers.

I am weary of you. I'll tarry no longer with you.

Farewell, good Signor Love.

I am glad of your departure.

Adieu, good Monsieur Melancholy.

Hola, Forrester. Do you hear?

Well, what would you?

I pray you, what is the clock?

You should ask what time of day. There is no clock in the forest.

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.

What will you, pretty Jew?

With this shepherdess, my sister.

You're in the skirts of the forest like fringe upon a petticoat. Your accent is

something finer than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling.

I have been told so of many.

But indeed an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak.

He was in his youth an inland man.

Won that new courtship too well, for there he fell in love.

I've heard him read many lectures against it.

And I thank God I'm not a woman to be touched with so many giddy offenses.

Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid to the charge of

women? I pray that he recounts some of them.

No.

I will not cast away my physic for 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, and

all forsooth defying 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.

I am he that is so love-shaped.

I pray you, tell me your remedy.

There is none of my uncle's marks upon you.

He taught me how to know a man in love.

What were his marks?

A lean cheek, which you have not.

A blue eye, unsunken, which you have not. A beard neglected, which you have

not.

And your hose should be ungarthed.

Your bonnet unbended, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and

everything 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. I swear to the youth by the white hand of

Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he.

But are you as much in love as your rhymes speak?

Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.

Love is merely a madness.

Yet I profess curing it by counsel.

Did you ever cure any so?

One.

And in this manner he wants to imagine me his love, his mistress.

And I set him every day to woo me.

At which time I...

Being but a moonish youth would now like him, now loathe him, then entertain him,

then forswear him, now weep for him, now spit at him.

That I'd rave my suitor from his mad humor of love into a living humor of

madness.

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 lovent. I would not be

cured, you.

But I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosaline, and come every

day to my cot to woo me.

Now, by the faith of my love, I will.

Tell me where it is.

Go with me and I'll show it to you.

And by the way, you can tell me where in the forest you live.

Will you go?

With all my heart, good youth.

Nay.

You must call me Rosalind.

Rosalind.

Oh, sister, will you go?

With a hey and a ho and a hey, nonny no.

For love is crowned with a prime.

In springtime, in springtime, the only pretty

ringtime. When the birds do sing, hey, ding-a-ding-a-ding, hey, ding-a

-ding-a-ding, sweet lovers love the spring.

How now, Audrey, am I the man yet?

Doth my simple features content you?

Lord, what features?

Truly I would the gods had made thee poetical.

I do not know what poetical is.

Is it honest in word and deed?

Nay, truly, for the truest poetry is the most feigning.

Do you wish then that the gods had made me poetical?

I do, truly, for thou swearest to me thou art honest.

Now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst fail.

Would you not have me, Arne?

Nay, truly, unless thou wert hard favoured.

Never talk to me, I will win.

You, I predict.

But yet have the grace to consider that tears do not become a man.

But have I not cause to weep?

As good a cause as one would desire.

Therefore weep. His very hair is of dissembling color.

Even browner than Judas's.

Mary, his kisses are Judas's own children.

His hair is of a good color.

An excellent color.

Your chestnut was ever the only color.

And his kissing is as...

full of sanctity, as the touch of holy bread.

The very ice of chastity is in love. But why, why did he swear I would come this

morning and comes not?

Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.

Not true in love?

Yes, when he is in.

I think he's not in.

You ever heard him swear downright he was?

Was, is not, is.

Besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster.

He attends here in the forest on the duke, your father.

I met the Duke yesterday.

He asked me of what parentage I was.

I told him of as good as he knew.

He laughed and let me go.

But what talk will fathers when there is such a man as Orlando?

Mistress and master, if you will see a pageant 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.

O come, let us remove.

The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.

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

Say that you love me not, but say not so in bitterness.

I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.

Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eyes.

Tis pretty sure and very probable.

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

Now counterfeit the swoon.

Why, now fall down.

Oh, if thou canst not.

Oh, for shame, for shame.

Lie not to say mine eyes are murderers. Oh, dear Phoebe.

If ever, as that ever may be near, you meet in some fresh cheek the power of

fancy, then shall you know the wounds invisible that love's keen arrows make.

But till that time, come not thou near me.

And when that time comes, afflict me with thy mocks. Pity me not, for till

that time I shall not pity thee.

And why, I pray you, who might be your mother, that you insult, exalt, and all

it was? Once over the wretched.

What? Though you have no beauty, must you therefore be proud and pitiless?

Why, what means this?

Why, look at me.

How's my little life? I think she means to tangle my eyes too.

No, faith-proud mistress.

Hope not after it.

"'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair, "'your bugle-eye balls, nor

your cheek of cream "'that can entail my spirits to your worship.

"'You foolish shepherd!

"'Wherefore do you follow her, "'like foggy south puffing with wind and rain?

"'You are a thousand times a properer man than she a woman.

"'Tis not her glass but you that flatters her.'"

But, mistress, know yourself.

Down on your knees, thank heaven fasting for a good man's love.

For I must tell you, friendly, in your ears,

tell when you can, you are not for all market.

So take her to the shepherd.

Fare you well.

Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together. I had rather hear you chide

than this.

I pray you do not fall in love with me, for I am falser than vows made

in wine.

Besides, I like you not.

Come, sister, let us go.

Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind.

Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind.

Where have you been all this while?

Such another trick never come in my sight anymore.

My fair Rosalind, I came within an hour of my promise.

Break an hour's promise in love?

He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts... and break but a part

of a thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love.

It may be said of him that Cupid has clapped him on the shoulder.

But I'll warrant him heart-whole.

Pardon me, dear Rosalind. Nay.

He's so tardy, come no more in my sight.

I had his leaf be a wood of a snail.

Of a snail?

Oh, of a snail.

Though he comes slowly, he carries his house on his head.

A better jointure, I think, than you make a woman.

Besides,

he brings his destiny with him. What's that?

Virtue is no horn maker, and mine Rosalind is virtuous.

And I am your Rosalind.

Come woo me, woo me.

For now I am in a holiday humor and like enough to consent.

What would you say to me now?

And I were your very, very Rosalind.

I would kiss before I spoke.

Nay.

You had better speak first.

Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit.

And for lovers, like in matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.

Who could be out being before his beloved mistress?

Marry that should you, if I were your mistress.

And not I, your Rosalind.

I take some joy to say you are, because I will be talking of her.

Well, and in her person, lest say, you will not have.

Then in mine own person, I die. No, Faye.

Died by a journey.

The poor world is almost 6,000 years old. And in all this time, there was not

any man died in his own person. In a love cause.

Men have died from time to time.

And worms have eaten them from time to time.

But not for love.

I would not have my right, Rosalind, of this mind, for I protest her frown might

kill me. No.

By this hand.

It will not kill a fly.

But come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition.

And ask me what you will.

I will grant it. Then love me, Rosalind.

Yes, Faith, will I.

Fridays, Saturdays, and all days.

And wilt thou have me? Aye, and twenty such.

What sayst thou?

Are you not good?

I hope so.

Why then?

Can one desire too much of a good thing?

Sister! Sister, you shall be the priest and marry us.

Give me your hand, Orlando.

What do you say, sister?

Pray thee, marry us.

I cannot say the words.

You must begin.

Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind? Go to.

Will you?

Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind.

I will. Why now? As fast as she can marry her.

Then you must say, I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.

I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.

I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband.

Tell me, Orlando.

Where did you have her after you've possessed her?

Forever and a day.

Say a day without the ever.

Oh, no, Orlando.

Men are April when they woo and December when they wed.

Maids are maids when they are maids.

But the sky changes when they are wives.

But will my Rosalind do so?

By my life, she'll do as I do.

Oh, but she is wise.

She's wise.

Otherwise, in a way, what a... For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee.

But, yes, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. I must attend that you could

dinner. By two o'clock I will be with thee again.

your hour. Aye, sweetheart.

By my troth, and in good earnest, and to God mend me, and by all pretty old

Sedano dangerous, if you break but one jot of your promise, or come one minute

behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetic to break promise, and the

most hollow lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind.

Therefore beware and keep your promise.

With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind.

So adieu. Adieu.

Adieu!

Adieu!

At two!

Two o'clock!

At two o'clock!

Two o'clock!

At two o'clock!

Oh, I'll go, find a shadow, and sigh till

he comes.

And I'll sleep.

me where is fancy bread or in the heart or in the head how be god how

nourish head reply reply it is

I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he hath ta'en his bow

and arrows, and is gone forth to sleep.

Good morrow, fair ones.

Are not you the owners of this house?

It is no boast being asked to say we are.

Orlando doth commend him to you both.

And to that youth he calls his Rosalind, he sends this blood-stained napkin.

Are you he?

I am?

What must we understand by this?

Some of my shame, if you would know of me what man I am, and how and why and

where this handkerchief was stained.

I pray you, tell it.

When last the young Orlando parted from you, he left a promise to return again

within the hour.

And pacing through the forest, lo, what befell.

Under an oak, a wretched, ragged man lay sleeping on his back.

About his neck, a green and gilded snake had wreathed itself.

But suddenly, seeing Orlando, it unlinked itself and slipped away into a

bush, under which, bushish shade, a lioness lay crouching, head on ground,

with cat-like watch, whenever the sleeping man should stir.

This scene, Orlando did approach the man, and found it was his brother, his

elder brother.

Oh, I've heard him speak of that same brother, and he did render him the most

unnatural that lived amongst men.

And well might he so do, for well I know he was unnatural.

But for Orlando, did he leave him there?

Twice did he turn his back and purpose so.

But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, made him give battle to the lioness,

which quickly fell before him, in which hurtling from miserable slumber I

awaked.

Are you his brother? Was't you he rescued?

Was't you the did so oft contrive to kill him?

T'was I, but tis not I.

I do not shame to tell you what I was.

since my conversion so sweetly tastes being the thing I am.

But for this blood-stained napkin? By and by.

When, from the first to last, betwixt us two, tears our accountments had most

kindly bathed, as how I came into that desert place, in brief, he led me to the

gentle duke, who gave me fresh array and entertainment, committing me unto my

brother's love, who led me instantly into his cave, there stripped himself,

and here, upon his arm, The lioness had torn some flesh away, which all this

while had bled.

And now he fainted, and cried in fainting upon Rosaline.

Oh, why, how now, Ganymede!

Sweet Ganymede!

Many will swoon when they do look on blood. There is more in it.

Cousin, Ganymede!

Look, here are covers.

We'll lead you thither.

I pray you, will you take him by the arm?

Be of good cheer, youth.

You a man.

You lack a man's heart.

I'll do so.

I confess it.

I pray you, sir, tell your brother how well I counterfeit.

This is not counterfeit. There is too great testimony in your complexion. It

is a passion of earnest.

Counterfeit, I assure you.

Well, then take a good heart and counterfeit to be a man.

So I do.

But if faith, I should have been a woman by right.

Come, you look paler and paler. Pray you draw homewards.

Good sir, go with us.

That will I.

Audrey, there is a youth in the forest here, lays claim to you.

Aye, I know who it is.

He hath no interest in me in the world.

Here comes the man, you mean.

It is meat and drink to me to meet a clown.

We shall be flouting. We cannot hold.

Good evening, Audrey.

God, you good evening, William.

And good even to you, sir.

Good even, gentle friend.

Cover thy head, cover thy head. Nay, prithee, be covered.

How old are you, friend?

Five-and-twenty, sir.

A ripe age.

Is thy name William?

William, sir.

A fair name.

Was't born near the forest here?

Ay, sir, I thank God.

Thank God.

A good answer.

Art thou wise?

Aye, sir, I have a pretty wit.

Faith thou sayest well.

I do now remember a saying, the fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man

knows himself to be a fool.

You do love this maid.

I do, sir.

Give me your hand.

Art thou learned?

No, sir. Then learn this of me.

To have is to have.

For it is a figure in rhetoric that drink being poured out of a cup into a

glass, by filling the one, doth empty the other.

And all your writers do consent that Ipse is he.

Now you are not he, because I am he.

Which he, sir? He, sir, that must marry this woman.

Therefore, you clown, abandon the society of this female, or, clown, thou

perishest, or, to thy better understanding, diest.

Or to wit, I kill thee. Make thee away.

Translate thy life into death.

I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways.

Therefore, tremble and depart.

Do good, William.

God rest you merry, sir.

Is it possible that on so little acquaintance, that but seeing Eliana you

should love her, and loving woo and wooing she should grant?

Neither call in question my sudden wooing nor her sudden consenting. But

say with me, I love Eliana.

Let your wedding be tomorrow.

Thither will I invite the Duke and all his contented followers.

Go you and prepare early, eh?

To tell you, brother.

And you, fair sister.

Oh, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me.

to see thee wear thy heart in a scarf.

It is my arm.

I thought thy heart had been wounded by the claws of a lion.

Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady.

Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited the swoon when he showed

me your handkerchief? Aye, and greater wonders than that. I know where you are.

Nay, it is true, there was never anything so sudden.

For your brother and my sister, they are in a very wrath of love. They will

together clap... Cubs cannot pardon.

They shall be married tomorrow.

And I will bid the duke to the nuptial.

But oh, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's

eyes.

By so much the more shall I tomorrow be at the height of heart heaviness.

By how much I shall think my brother happy in having what he wishes for.

Why then, tomorrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind?

I can live no longer by thinking.

I will weary you then no longer with idle talking.

Know of me then that I can do strange things.

I have, since I was three years old, conversed

with a magician.

And if you do love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture cries it out, you

shall marry her.

When your brother marries Eliana, it is not impossible for me to set her before

your eyes tomorrow, human as she is, and without any danger.

Speaks thou in sober meaning?

I do, by my life, which I tender dearly, though I say I am a

magician.

Therefore, put you on your best array. Bid your best friends.

For if you will be married tomorrow, you shall.

And to Rosaline.

If you will.

Youse, you have done me much ungentleness.

I care not if I am.

It is my study to seem despiteful and ungentle to you.

You are there followed by a faithful shepherd.

Look upon him, love him, he worships you.

Oh, good shepherd, tell this youse what tis to love.

Tis to be all made of sighs and tears.

And so am I for Phoebe.

And I for Ganymede.

And I for Rosalind.

And I for no woman.

It is to be all made of faith and service.

And so am I for Phoebe.

And I for Ganymede.

And I for Rosalind. And I for no woman.

It is to be all made of fantasy.

All made of passion and all made of wishes.

All adoration, duty and observance.

all humbleness, all patience and impatience, all purity, all trial and

all obedience.

And so am I for Phoebe.

And so am I for Ganymede.

And so am I for Rosalind. And so am I for no woman.

Trail no more of this.

It is like the howling of Irish wolves against the moon.

I will help you.

if I can.

I would love you if I could.

Tomorrow, meet me all together.

I will marry you, if ever I marry woman.

And I'll be married tomorrow.

I'll satisfy you, if ever I satisfy man.

And you shall be married tomorrow.

I'll content you.

If what pleases you contents you, then you shall be married tomorrow.

As you love Rosalind, meet.

As you love Phoebe, meet.

And as I love no woman, I'll meet.

So fare you well. I've left you command.

I'll not fail if I live.

Would you receive thy daughter?

Hymen from heaven brought her.

I brought her hither, that thou might join her hand and his,

whose heart within his bosom is.

If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter.

If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosaline. If sight and shape be true.

Why, then, my love, adieu.

I'll have no father if you be not he.

I'll have no husband if you be not he.

Nor ne'er wed woman if you be not she.

Oh, my dear niece, welcome thou art to me.

Even daughter welcome in no less degree.

I will not eat my word, now thou art mine.

Thy face, my fancy to thee, doth combine.

Thank you.

Let me have audience for a word or two.

Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day men of great worth resorted to this

forest, addressed a mighty power which were on foot in his own conduct,

purposely to take his brother here and put him to the sword.

And to the skirts of this wild wood he came, where, meeting with an old

religious man after some question with him, was converted both from his

enterprise and from the world.

his crown bequeathing to his banished brother, and all their lands restored to

them again that were with him exiled.

Welcome, young man.

Thou offerest fairly to my daughter's wedding.

Meantime, forget this new-fallen dignity and fall into our rustic revelry.

Proceed. Proceed. We will begin these rites as we do trust Dalen.

In true delight.

good bushes, and good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues.

What a case am I in, then, that I am neither a good epilogue nor cannot

insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play.

I am not furnished like a beggar, therefore to beg will not become me.

My way is to conjure you.

And I'll begin with the women.

I charge you, oh women, for the love you bear to men,

to like as much of this play as please

you.

And I charge you, oh men, for the love you bear

to women.

that between you and the women, the play may please.