Por. Thou mayst, I warrant: We shall have old That they did give the rings away to men; [swearing But we'll outface them, and outswear them too. Away, make haste; thou know'st where I will tarry. Ner. Come, good Sir, will you shew me to this house? SCENE I-BELMONT. ACT V. [Exeunt. Avenue to PORTIA's House. Enter LORENZO and JESSICA. Lor. The moon shines bright:-in such a night as When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, [this, And they did make no noise; in such a night, Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls, And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents, Where Cressid lay that night. Jes. In such a night Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew; And saw the lion's shadow ere himself, And ran dismay'd away. Lor. In such a night Stood Dido with a willow in her hand Upon the wild sea-banks, and waved her love To come again to Carthage. Jes. In such a night Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs That did renew old Eson. Lor. In such a night Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew; And with an unthrift love did run from Venice, Jes. And in such a night Did young Lorenzo swear he loved her well; Lor. And in such a night Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew, Jes. I would out-night you, did nobody come: Enter STEPHANO. Lor. Who comes so fast in silence of the night? Steph. A friend. [friend? Lor. A friend? what friend? your name, I play you, Steph. Stephano is my name; and I bring word, My mistress will before the break of day Be here at Belmont: she doth stray about By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays For happy wedlock hours. Lor. Who comes with her? Steph. None, but a holy hermit, and her maid. I pray you, is my master yet return'd? Lor. He is not, nor we have not heard from him. But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica, And ceremoniously let us prepare Some welcome for the mistress of the house. Laun. Tell him there's a post come from my master, with his horn full of good news; my master will be here ere morning. [Exit. Lor. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Sit, Jessica: look, how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold; There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st, Come, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn; With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear, And draw her home with music. Jes. I am never merry when I hear sweet music. [Music. Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive: You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, By the sweet power of music: therefore the poet Enter PORTIA and NERISSA, at a distance. Ner. When the moon shone, we did not see the can- Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it, Madam. How many things by season season'd are Lor. That is the voice, Or I am much deceived, of Portia. [Music ceases. Por. He knows me, as the blind man knows the By the bad voice. Lor. Dear lady, welcome home. [cuckoo, Por. We have been praying for our husband's welWhich speed, we hope, the better for our words. [fare, Are they return'd? Lor. Madam, they are not yet; But there is come a messenger before, To signify their coming. Por. Go in, Nerissa; Give order to my servants that they take No note at all of our being absent hence; Nor you, Lorenzo;--Jessica, nor you. [A tucket sounds. Lor. Your husband is at hand; I hear his trumpet: We are no tell-tales, Madam; fear you not. Por. This night, methinks, is but the daylight sick; It looks a little paler; 'tis a day, Such as the day is when the sun is hid. Enter BASSANIO, ANTONIO, GRATIANO, and their Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes, If you would walk in absence of the sun. Por. Let me give light, but let me not be light; For a light wife doth make a heavy husband, And never be Bassanio so for me; But God sort all!-You are welcome home, my lord. To whom I am so infinitely bound. Por. You should in all sense be much bound to him, For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. Ant. No more than I am well acquitted of. Por. Sir, you are very welcome to our house: It must appear in other ways than words, Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy. [GRATIANO and NERISSA seem to talk apart. Gra. By yonder moon I swear you do me wrong; In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk: Would he were gelt that had it, for my part, Since you do take it, love, so much at heart. Por. A quarrel, ho, already? what's the matter? Gra. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring The clerk will ne'er wear hair on his face that had it. Gra. Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth, A kind of boy; a little scrubbed boy, No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk; A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee; I could not for my heart deny it him. Por. You were to blame, I must be plain with you, I dare be sworn for him, he would not leave it, Bass. Why, I were best to cut my left hand off, Gra. My lord Bassanio gave his ring away Unto the judge that begg'd it, and indeed Deserved it too; and then the boy, his clerk, [Aside. That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine: And neither man nor master would take aught But the two rings. Por. What ring gave you, my lord? Not that, I hope, which you received of me. I would deny it; but you see, my finger Hath not the ring upon it,-it is gone. Por. Even so void is your false heart of truth. By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed Until I see the ring. Ner. Nor I in yours, Till I again see mine. Bass. Sweet Portia, If you did know to whom I gave the ring, Bass. No, by mine honour, Madam, by my soul, Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady? I was enforced to send it after him; I was beset with shame and courtesy; My honour would not let ingratitude So much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady; Had you been there, I think you would have begg'd Por. Let not that doctor e'er come near my house: Since he hath got the jewel that I loved, And that which you did swear to keep for me, I will become as liberal as you; I'll not deny him anything I have, No, not my body, nor my husband's bed: Know him I shall, I am well sure of it: Lie not a night from home; watch me like Argus: Now, by mine honour, which is yet mine own, Ner. And I his clerk; therefore be well advised Ant. I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels. Por. Sir, grieve not you; you are welcome notwithstanding. Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong; I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes, Por. Mark you but that! In both my eyes he doubly sees himself: Bass. Nay, but hear me: Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear I never more will break an oath with thee. Ilad quite miscarried: I dare be bound again, Ant. Here, lord Bassanio; swear to keep this ring. Ner. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano; For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk, In lieu of this, last night did lie with me. Gra. Why, this is like the mending of highways In summer, when the ways are fair enough: What are we cuckolds, ere we have deserved it? Por. Speak not so grossly.-You are all amazed: Here is a letter, read it at your leisure; It comes from Padua, from Bellario: There you shall find that Portia was the doctor; Nerissa there, her clerk: Lorenzo here Lor. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way Of starved people. After his death, of all he dies possess'd of. Por. It is almost morning, And yet I am sure you are not satisfied Gra. Let it be so. The first inter'gatory [Exeunt and other Attendants. SCENE,-First, near OLIVER's House; afterwards, partly in the Usurper's Court, and partly in the Forest of ARDEN. 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 a poor thousand crowns; and, as thou say'st, 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 it is, 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. [Coming forward.] Sweet masters, be patient; for your father's remembrance, be at accord. Oli. Let me go, I say. The 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. 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. 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. Hola, Dennis! Enter CHARLES. Cha. Good morrow to your worship. Oli. Good monsieur Charles!-what's the new news at the new court? 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? 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 underposition to come in disguised against me to try a fall. stand that your younger brother, Orlando, hath a disTo-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 vilianous this day living. I speak but brotherly of him; but should I anatomise him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder. 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. [Exit. SCENE II-A Lawn before the DUKE's Palace. Enter ROSALIND and CELIA. Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. Ros. Dear Celia, I shew 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 pleasure. Cel. Herein, I see, thou lovest 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 to take thy father for mine: so wouldst thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously tempered as inine is to thee. Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to rejoice in yours. Cel. 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 me turn monster: therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry. Ros. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. Let me see; what think you of falling in love? Cel. Marry, I pr'ythee, 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. Ros. What shall be our sport then? Cel. Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally. Ros. 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. Cel. 'Tis true: for those that she makes fair, she scarce makes honest; and those that she makes honest, she makes very ill-favouredly. Ros. Nay, now thou goest from fortune's office to nature's fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of nature. Enter ТоtспSTONE. Cel. 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? Ros. Indeed, there is fortune too hard for nature: when fortune makes nature's natural the cutter off of nature's wit. Cel. Peradventure this is not fortune's work neither, but nature's; who, perceiving our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, hath sent this natural for our whetstone: for always the dulness of the fool is the whetstone of his wits.-How now, wit? whither wander you? Touch. Mistress, you must come away to your father. Cel. Were you made the messenger? Touch. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come for you. Ros. Where learned you that oath, fool? Touch. Of a certain knight, that swore by his honour they were good pancakes, and swore by his honour the mustard was naught: now, I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught, and the mustard was good; and yet was not the knight forsworn. Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge? Ros. Ay, marry; now unmuzzle your wisdom. Touch. Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave. Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou art. Touch. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were: but if you swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn: no more was this knight, swearing by his honour, for he never had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away before ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard. Cel. Pr'ythee, who is 't that thou meanest? Touch. One that old Frederick, your father, loves. Cel. My father's love is enough to honour him. Enough! speak no more of him; you'll be whipped for taxation one of these days. Touch. The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely, what wise men do foolishly. Cel. By my troth, thou say'st true: for since the little wit that fools have was silenced, the little foolery that wise men have makes a great show. Here comes Monsieur Le Beau. Enter LE BEAL. Ros. With his mouth full of news. Cel. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young. Ros. Then shall we be news-crammed. Cel. All the better; we shall be the more marketable. Bon jour, Monsieur Le Beau: what's the news? Le Beau. Fair princess, you have lost much good sport. Cel. Sport? of what colour? Le Beau. What colour, Madam? How shall I answer you? Ros. As wit and fortune will. Touch. Or as the destinies decree. Cel. Well said; that was laid on with a trowel. Le Beau. You amaze me, ladies: I would have told you of good wrestling, which you have lost the sight of. Ros. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling. Le Beau. I will tell you the beginning, and, if it please your ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is yet to do; and here, where you are, they are coming to perform it. Cel. Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried Le Beau. There comes an old man and his three sons, Cel. I could match this beginning with an old tale. Le Beau. Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence ; Ros. With bills on their necks,-"Be it known unto all men by these presents,". Le Beau. The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the duke's wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him, and broke three of his ribs, that there is little hope of life in him: so he served the second, and so the third. Yonder they lie; the poor old man, their father, making such pitiful dole over them, that all the beholders take his part with weeping. Ros. Alas! Touch. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies have lost? Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of, Touch. Thus men may grow wiser every day! it is the first time that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport for ladies. Cel. Or I, I promise thee. Ros. But is there any else longs to see this broken music in his sides? is there yet another dotes upon rib breaking?-Shall we see this wrestling, cousin? Le Beau. You must, if you stay here: for here is the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to perform it. Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming: let us now stay and see it. Flourish. Enter Duke FREDERICK, Lords, ORLANDO, Duke F. Come on; since the youth will not be entreated, his own peril on his forwardness. Ros. Is yonder the man? Le Beau. Even he, Madam. Cel. Alas, he is too young: yet he looks successfully. Duke F. How now, daughter, and cousin? are you crept hither to see the wrestling? Ros. Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave. Duke F. You will take little delight in it, I can tell you, there is such odds in the men. 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. Cel. Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau. Duke F. Do so: I'll not be by. [Duke goes apart. Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the princesses call for you. Orl. No, fair princess; he is the general challenger: I come but in, as others do, to try with him the strength of my youth. Cel. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your years. You have seen cruel proof of this man's strength: if you saw yourself with your eyes, or knew yourself with your judgment, the fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own safety, and give over this attempt. Ros. Do, young Sir; your reputation shall not therefore be misprised: we will make it our suit to the duke, that the wrestling might not go forward. Orl. 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 that 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. Ros. The little strength that I have, I would it were with you. Cel. And mine, to eke out hers. Ros. Fare you well. Pray heaven I be deceived in you! Cel. Your heart's desires be with you. Cha. Come, where is this young gallant, that is so desirous to lie with his mother earth? Orl. Ready, Sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working. Duke F. You shall try but one fall. Cha. No, I warrant your grace; you shall not entreat him to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him from a first. Orl. You mean to mock me after; you should not have mocked me before: but come your ways. Ros. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man! Cel. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the leg. [CHARLES and ORLANDO wrestle. Ros. O excellent young man! Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should down. [CHARLES is thrown. Shout. Duke F. No more, no more. Orl. Yes, I beseech your grace; I am not yet well breathed. Duke F. How dost thou, Charles? Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord. Duke F. Bear him away. [CHARLES is borne out.] What is thy name, young man? Orl. Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Bois. But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth; Ros. My father loved Sir Rowland as his soul, Cel. Gentle cousin, Let us go thank him and encourage him: But justly, as you have exceeded promise, Ros. Gentleman, [Giving him a chain from her neck. Cel. Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman. Orl. Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts Are all thrown down; and that which here stands up, Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. Ros. He calls us back: my pride fell with my fortunes: I'll ask him what he would.-Did you call. Sir?- I cannot speak to her, yet she urged conference. O poor Orlando! thou art overthrown; That he misconstrues all that you have done. Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by man- I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. SCENE III-A Room in the Palace. Enter CELIA and ROSALIND. [Exit. Cel. Why, cousin; why, Rosalind;-Cupid have mercy!--Not a word? Ros. Not one to throw at a dog. 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 for my child's father. O, how full of briers is this working-day world! 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. |