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The Arden Shakespeare Complete Works

Page 63

by William Shakespeare


  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

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  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.

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  Enter OLIVER.

  ORLANDO Go apart Adam, and thou shalt hear how he

  will shake me up.

  OLIVER Now sir, what make you here?

  ORLANDO Nothing. I am not taught to make anything.

  OLIVER What mar you then sir?

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  ORLANDO Marry sir, I am helping you to mar that

  which God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours,

  with idleness.

  OLIVER Marry sir, be better employed, and be naught

  awhile.

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  ORLANDO Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks with

  them? What prodigal portion have I spent that I

  should come to such penury?

  OLIVER Know you where you are sir?

  ORLANDO O sir, very well: here in your orchard.

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  OLIVER Know you before whom sir?

  ORLANDO Ay, better than him 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

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  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.

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  OLIVER [striking him] What, boy!

  ORLANDO [putting a wrestler’s grip on him] Come, come,

  elder brother, you are too young in this.

  OLIVER Wilt thou lay hands on me villain?

  ORLANDO I am no villain. I am the youngest son of Sir

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  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.

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  ADAM Sweet masters be patient. For your father’s

  remembrance, be at accord.

  OLIVER Let me go I say.

  ORLANDO I will not till I please: you shall hear me. My

  father charged you in his will to give me good

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  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

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  the poor allottery my father left me by testament; with

  that I will go buy my fortunes.

  OLIVER 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

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  leave me.

  ORLANDO I will no further offend you than becomes me

  for my good.

  OLIVER Get you with him, you old dog.

  ADAM Is old dog my reward? Most true, I have lost my

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  teeth in your service. God be with my old master! – he

  would not have spoke such a word.

  Exeunt Orlando and Adam.

  OLIVER Is it even so? Begin you to grow upon me? I will

  physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand

  crowns neither. Holla Dennis!

  85

  Enter DENNIS.

  DENNIS Calls your worship?

  OLIVER Was not Charles the Duke’s wrestler here to

  speak with me?

  DENNIS So please you, he is here at the door and

  importunes access to you.

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  OLIVER Call him in. Exit Dennis.

  ’Twill be a good way. And tomorrow the wrestling is.

  Enter CHARLES.

  CHARLES Good morrow to your worship.

  OLIVER Good Monsieur Charles! What’s the new news

  at the new court?

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  CHARLES 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,

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  therefore he gives them good leave to wander.

  OLIVER Can you tell if Rosalind the Duke’s daughter

  be banished with her father?

  CHARLES O no; for the Duke’s daughter her cousin so

  loves her, being ever from their cradles bred together,

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  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.

  OLIVER Where will the old Duke live?

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  CHARLES 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.

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  OLIVER What, you wrestle tomorrow before the new

  Duke?

  CHARLES 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

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  to come in disguised against me to try a fall.

  Tomorrow, 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

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  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

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  will.

  OLIVER 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;

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  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 villainous contriver against me his natural

  brother. Therefore use thy discretion; I had as lief

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  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

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  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 villainous 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

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  must look pale and wonder.

  CHARLES I am 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 more. And

  so God keep your worship.

  155

  OLIVER Farewell good Charles. Exit 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

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  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,

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  which now I’ll go about. Exit.

  1.2 Enter ROSALIND and CELIA.

  CELIA I pray thee Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.

  ROSALIND Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am

  mistress of, and would you yet I were merrier? Unless

  you could teach me to forget a banished father, you

  must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary

  5

  pleasure.

  CELIA Herein I see thou lov’st me not with the full

  weight that I love thee. If my uncle thy banished father

  had banished thy uncle the Duke my father, so thou

  hadst been still with me, I could have taught my love

  10

  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.

  ROSALIND Well, I will forget the condition of my estate,

  to rejoice in yours.

  15

  CELIA You know my father hath no child but I, nor

  none is like to have; 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 in affection.

  By mine honour I will, and when I break that oath, let

  20

  me turn monster. Therefore my sweet Rose, my dear

  Rose, be merry.

  ROSALIND From henceforth I will, coz, and devise

  sports. Let me see, what think you of falling in love?

  CELIA Marry I prithee do, to make sport withal. But

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  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.

  ROSALIND What shall be our sport then?

  CELIA Let us sit and mock the good hussif Fortune

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  from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be

  bestowed equally.

  ROSALIND I would we could do so; for her benefits are

  mightily misplaced, and the bountiful blind woman

  doth most mistake in her gifts to women.

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  CELIA ’Tis true, for those that she makes fair, she scarce

  makes honest; and those that she makes honest, she

  makes very ill-favouredly.

  ROSALIND Nay now thou goest from Fortune’s office to

  Nature’s; Fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in

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  the lineaments of Nature.

  CELIA No? When Nature hath made a fair creature, may

  she not by Fortune fall into the fire? Though Nature

  hath given us wit to flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune

  sent in this fool to cut off the argument?

  45

  Enter TOUCHSTONE.

  ROSALIND Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature,

  when Fortune makes Nature’s natural the cutter-off of

  Nature’s wit.

  CELIA Peradventure this is not Fortune’s work neither,

  but Nature’s, who perceiveth our natural wits too dull

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  to reason of such goddesses, and hath sent this natural

  for our whetstone; for always the dullness of the fool is

  the whetstone of the wits. How now Wit, whither

  wander you?

  TOUCHSTONE Mistress, you must come away to your

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  father.

  CELIA Were you made the messenger?

  TOUCHSTONE No by mine honour, but I was bid to

  come for you.

  CELIA Where learned you that oath, fool?

 

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