I have been told that by many before, but truly, an old
religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, and in
his youth he lived in the courts and knew courtship
well – he even fell in love there. I have heard
him read many lectures against love, and I thank God
I am not a woman, afflicted with
all the giddiness that God has cursed their
entire sex with.
ORLANDO
Can you remember any of the principal evils that he
laid to the charge of women?
Can you remember the primary evils that he
blamed women for?
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.
None were primary. They were all alike,
like one half-pence coin is like another, and every fault seemed
monstrous until the next one came along and was just as bad.
ORLANDO
I prithee, recount some of them.
Please, tell me 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.
No, I will not give away my medicine to anyone except those that
are sick. There is a man who haunts this forest,
abusing the young trees by carving “Rosalind” on
the bark, hanging poems on the hawthorns and songs
on the brambles, all, really, making holy the name of
Rosalind. If I could meet that dreamer I would
give him good counsel: he seems to be
lovesick.
ORLANDO
I am he that is so love-shaked: I pray you tell me
your remedy.
I am that man that is so torn by love. Please, tell me
the 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.
You don’t seem to have any of my uncle’s symptoms – he
taught me how to know that a man is in love. In that cage
I am sure you are not a prisoner.
ORLANDO
What were his marks?
What were his symptoms?
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.
A thin chek, which you don’t have, a sad eye,
sunken in from not sleeping, which you don’t have, a touchy,
quickly irritated mood, which you don’t have, a messy beard,
which you don’t have – but I will excuse that, since
your thin beard is telling of you being a younger man.
Your stockings should be loose, your
hat falling off, your sleeves unbuttoned, your shoes
untied, and everything about you showing
that you are carless in your dress from being so upset. You are not such a man,
you are very well put-together in your dress, as
if you love yourself more than you seem to love anyone else.
ORLANDO
Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.
Young man, I wish I could make you believe that I am in 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?
Me believe it! You should be making sure that the woman you
love believes it – which I think she is more prone to
doing than she would admit. That is one of the
ways in which women trick their own
consciences. But really, are you the man
who is hanging poetry on trees, poetry that talks of Rosalind
so admiringly.
ORLANDO
I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of
Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he.
I swear to you, young man, by the pure white hand
of Rosalind, that I am that unfortunate, sad man.
ROSALIND
But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak?
But are you as in love as you say in your poems?
ORLANDO
Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.
Neither rhyme nor reason can tell how much I lover her.
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.
Love is just madness and, truly, deserves
a dark house and a whip, just like insane people do.
The only reason lovers are not punished and then cured
like that is because such insanity of love is so ordinary that the punishers
are in love, too. Yet I think one needs to cure it by being counseled.
ORLANDO
Did you ever cure any so?
Did you ever cure anyone like that?
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.
Yes, one person, and here is how: I had him imagine that I
was his love and mistress, and every day he had to
woo me. When he did, I acted as a fickle
youth and would cry, act effeminate, change my moods, long for him
and like him, act proud, dream, mock him, be shallow,
inconsistent, full of tears or full of smiles, act
passionate about everything and then about
nothing – as young boys and women are prone
to acting – would like him and then hate
him, would enjoy him and then curse him, would cry
for him and then spit at him, all until I drove the young man
away from this insane love and a toward a living
anger. He then swore off the entire
world and went to live in a monastery.
Thus, I cured him, and in this way I will take the job
of washing your liver as clean as a spotless sheep’s
heart, so that not a single spot of love is in it.
ORLANDO
I would not be cured, youth.
I can’t 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.
I can cure you, if you just call me Rosalind
and come every day to my cottage to woo me.
ORLANDO
Now, by the faith of my love, I will: tell me
where it is.
I swear by my love I will – tell me
where the cottage 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?
Come with me and I will show you, and on the way
you can tell me where in the forest you live.
Will you come?
ORLANDO
With all my heart, good youth.
Will all of my heart, youth.
ROSALIND
Nay you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you go?
No, you have to call me Rosalind. Come, sister, come with us.
Exeunt
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?
Come on, good Audrey. I will fetch your
goats, Audrey. What do you think, Audrey? Am I the man for you yet?
Do my simple features please you?
AUDREY
Your features! Lord warrant us! what features!
Your features! God help me! What features?
TOUCHSTONE
I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most
capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.
I am here with you and your goats, just like
that witty poet, good Ovid, was with the Goths.
JAQUES
[Aside] O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove
in a thatched house!
Poorly used knowledge is worse that God
kept 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.
When a man’s poetry is not understood, and
when a man’s good jokes are thrown away by the child named
Understanding, it feels worse than
getting a big bill for staying in a small room. Truly, I wish
the gods had made you more poetical.
AUDREY
I do not know what 'poetical' is: is it honest in
deed and word? is it a true thing?
I don’t know what “poetical” means. It is being honest
in action 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.
No, for the truest poetry often
fakes the most. Lovers tend to use poetry,
and whatever they swear in their poetry is often exaggerated.
AUDREY
Do you wish then that the gods had made me poetical?
And you wish that the gods 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.
I do, yes. Right now you swear to me that you are
honest and chaste – if you were a poet, I could
hope that you are lying.
AUDREY
Would you not have me honest?
You don’t want me to be chaste?
TOUCHSTONE
No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favoured; for
honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar.
No, really, unless you were not attractive.
Chastity alongside beauty is like having honey sweetened by adding sugar.
JAQUES
[Aside] A material fool!
This fool is logical at least.
AUDREY
Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods
make me honest.
Well I am not beautiful, so I pray that the gods
make me chaste.
TOUCHSTONE
Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut
were to put good meat into an unclean dish.
Yes, but to give chastity to a dirty slut
is like putting good meat on a dirty plate.
AUDREY
I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul.
I am not a slut, though I am thankful that I am dirty.
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.
Well God be praised for your dirtiness!
Maybe you will become a slut later. Regardless,
I will marry you, and to do so I have spoken
with Sir Oliver Martext, the vicar in the next
village, who has promised to meet us here
in the forest and marry us.
JAQUES
[Aside] I would fain see this meeting.
I won’t miss this meeting.
AUDREY
Well, the gods give us joy!
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.
Amen. A man, if he is scared,
might pause in this attempt – after all, there is no church
in the forest, no congregation except for horned beasts. But what
of it? I will be brave! As awful as horns are, they are
also
necessary. It is said, “Many men do not know how much
they have.” Exactly: many men have horns on their cheating wives,
and they do not know it. Well, that is the proper gift
a wife brings; it’s not something he gets himself. Horns?
Fine. And are they only for poor men? No, the noblest man
has them as much as the poor rascal does. So is the single man
blessed? No, just as a fortified city is more
valuable than a village, so too is the forehead of a
married man more honorable than the bare brow of a
bachelor. Similarly, it is better to know how to defend oneself rather
than to have no fighting skills at all – so it is more valuable to risk being cheated on
than to not be married. 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?
Greetings Sir Oliver Martext: will you
wed us here under the tree, or shall we go
with you to your chapel?
SIR OLIVER MARTEXT
Is there none here to give the woman?
And no one here will give the woman away?
TOUCHSTONE
I will not take her on gift of any man.
I will not take her as a gift from someone else.
SIR OLIVER MARTEXT
Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful.
She must be given or else the marriage won’t be lawful.
The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) Page 226