As You Like It Read online

  Heaven thanks and make no boast of them.

  Come, warble, come.

  Song. All together here

  Who doth ambition shun

  And loves to live i’th’sun36,

  Seeking the food he eats

  And pleased with what he gets,

  Come hither, come hither, come hither:

  Here shall he see etc.40

  JAQUES    I’ll give you a verse to this note

  Hands Amiens a paper

  That I made yesterday in despite of my invention42.

  AMIENS    And I’ll sing it. Thus it goes:

  Sings

  If it do come to pass

  That any man turn ass,

  Leaving his wealth and ease,

  A stubborn will to please,

  Ducdame48, ducdame, ducdame:

  Other lords gather around him in a circle, examining the paper

  Here shall he see gross49 fools as he,

  An if50 he will come to me.

  What’s that ‘ducdame’?

  JAQUES    ’Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle52. I’ll

  go sleep, if I can. If I cannot, I’ll rail against all the first-born53

  of Egypt.

  AMIENS    And I’ll go seek the duke. His banquet55 is prepared.

  Exeunt [separately]

  Act 2 Scene 6

  running scene 7 continues

  Enter Orlando and Adam

  ADAM    Dear master, I can go no further.

  Lies down

  O, I die for food! Here lie I down,

  And measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master.

  ORLANDO    Why, how now, Adam? No greater heart in thee?

  Live a little, comfort5 a little, cheer thyself a little. If this

  uncouth6 forest yield anything savage, I will either be food for

  it or bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit7 is nearer death than

  thy powers. For my sake be comfortable8, hold death awhile at

  the arm’s end. I will here be with thee presently9, and if I bring

  thee not something to eat, I will give thee leave to die. But if

  thou diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well

  said! Thou look’st cheerly12, and I’ll be with thee quickly. Yet

  thou liest in the bleak air. Come, I will bear thee to some

  shelter, and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live

  anything in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam!

  Exeunt

  Act 2 Scene 7

  running scene 7 continues

  Enter Duke Senior and Lord[s], like outlaws

  DUKE SENIOR    I think he be transformed into a beast,

  For I can nowhere find him like a man.

  FIRST LORD    My lord, he is but even now gone hence:

  Here was he merry, hearing of a song.

  DUKE SENIOR    If he, compact of jars5, grow musical,

  We shall have shortly discord in the spheres6.

  Go, seek him: tell him I would speak with him.

  Enter Jaques

  FIRST LORD    He saves my labour by his own approach.

  DUKE SENIOR    Why, how now, monsieur! What a life is this,

  That your poor friends must woo your company?

  What, you look merrily.

  JAQUES    A fool, a fool! I met a fool i’th’forest,

  A motley13 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 terms17, and yet a motley fool.

  ‘Good morrow, fool’, quoth I. ‘No, sir,’ quoth he,

  ‘Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune19.’

  And then he drew a dial from his poke20,

  And looking on it with lack-lustre eye,

  Says very wisely, ‘It is ten o’clock,

  Thus we may see’, quoth he, ‘how the world wags23.

  ’Tis but an hour ago since it was nine24,

  And after one hour more ’twill be eleven,

  And so, from hour to hour, we ripe26 and ripe,

  And then, from hour to hour, we rot27 and rot,

  And thereby hangs a tale28.’ When I did hear

  The motley fool thus moral29 on the time,

  My lungs began to crow like chanticleer30,

  That fools should be so deep contemplative31,

  And I did laugh sans32 intermission

  An hour by his dial. O noble fool!

  A worthy fool! Motley’s the only wear34.

  DUKE SENIOR    What fool is this?

  JAQUES    O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier,

  And says, if ladies be but young and fair,

  They have the gift to know it. And in his brain,

  Which is as dry as the remainder39 biscuit

  After a voyage, he hath strange places40 crammed

  With observation, the which he vents41

  In mangled forms. O, that I were a fool!

  I am ambitious for a motley coat.

  DUKE SENIOR    Thou shalt have one.

  JAQUES    It is my only suit45,

  Provided that you weed46 your better judgements

  Of all opinion that grows rank47 in them

  That I am wise. I must have liberty

  Withal, as large a charter49 as the wind,

  To blow on whom I please, for so fools have.

  And they that are most gallèd51 with my folly,

  They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so?

  The ‘why’ is plain as way to parish church53:

  He that a fool doth very wisely hit54

  Doth very foolishly, although he smart55,

  Seem senseless of the bob56. If not,

  The wise man’s folly is anatomized57

  Even by the squandering glances58 of the fool.

  Invest59 me in my motley, give me leave

  To speak my mind, and I will through and through

  Cleanse61 the foul body of th’infected world,

  If they will patiently receive my medicine.

  DUKE SENIOR    Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do.

  JAQUES    What, for a counter64, would I do but good?

  DUKE SENIOR    Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin.

  For thou thyself hast been a libertine66,

  As sensual as the brutish sting67 itself;

  And all th’embossèd sores and headed evils68

  That thou with licence of free foot hast caught

  Wouldst thou disgorge70 into the general world.

  JAQUES    Why, who cries out on pride71,

  That can therein tax any private party72?

  Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,

  Till that the weary very means do ebb74?

  What woman in the city do I name,

  When that I say the city woman bears

  The cost of princes77 on unworthy shoulders?

  Who can come in78 and say that I mean her,

  When such a one as she, such is her neighbour?

  Or what is he of basest function80

  That says his bravery is not on my cost81,

  Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits82

  His folly to the mettle83 of my speech?

  There then, how then, what then? Let me see wherein

  My tongue hath wronged him: if it do him right85,

  Then he hath wronged himself. If he be free86,

  Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies,

  Unclaimed of any man. But who comes here?

  Enter Orlando

  Draws his sword

  ORLANDO    Forbear89, and eat no more.

  JAQUES    Why, I have eat none yet.

  ORLANDO    
Nor shalt not, till necessity be served.

  JAQUES    Of what kind should this cock come of?92

  DUKE SENIOR    Art thou thus boldened, man, by thy distress,

  Or else a rude94 despiser of good manners,

  That in civility thou seem’st so empty?

  ORLANDO    You touched my vein at first96. The thorny point

  Of bare distress hath ta’en from me the show

  Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred98

  And know some nurture99. But forbear, I say:

  He dies that touches any of this fruit

  Till I and my affairs are answerèd101.

  JAQUES    An you will not be answered with reason102, I must die.

  DUKE SENIOR    What would you have? Your gentleness103 shall force

  More than your force move us to gentleness.

  ORLANDO    I almost die for food, and let me have it.

  DUKE SENIOR    Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.

  ORLANDO    Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you.

  I thought that all things had been savage here,

  And therefore put I on the countenance109

  Of stern commandment. But whate’er you are

  That in this desert inaccessible,

  Under the shade of melancholy112 boughs,

  Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time,

  If ever you have looked on better days,

  If ever been where bells have knolled115 to church,

  If ever sat at any good man’s feast,

  If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear

  And know what ’tis to pity and be pitied,

  Let gentleness my strong enforcement119 be:

  In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.

  Sheathes his sword

  DUKE SENIOR    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:

  And therefore sit you down in gentleness,

  And take upon command126 what help we have

  That to your wanting127 may be ministered.

  ORLANDO    Then but forbear your food a little while,

  Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn

  And give it food. There is an old poor man,

  Who after me hath many a weary step

  Limped in pure love: till he be first sufficed,

  Oppressed with two weak133 evils, age and hunger,

  I will not touch a bit.

  DUKE SENIOR    Go find him out.

  And we will nothing waste136 till you return.

  ORLANDO    I thank ye, and be blest for your good comfort!

  [Exit]

  DUKE SENIOR    Thou see’st we are not all alone unhappy138:

  This wide and universal theatre

  Presents more woeful pageants than the scene

  Wherein we play in.

  JAQUES    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 acts146 being seven ages. At first the infant,

  Mewling147 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 pard153,

  Jealous in154 honour, 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 capon157 lined,

  With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,

  Full of wise saws and modern instances159.

  And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts

  Into the lean and slippered pantaloon161,

  With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,

  His youthful hose163, well saved, a world too wide

  For his shrunk shank164, and his big manly voice,

  Turning again toward childish treble, pipes

  And whistles in his166 sound. Last scene of all,

  That ends this strange eventful history167,

  Is second childishness and mere168 oblivion,

  Sans teeth, sans eyes169, sans taste, sans everything.

  Enter Orlando, with Adam

  DUKE SENIOR    Welcome. Set down your venerable burden,

  And let him feed.

  Sets down Adam

  ORLANDO    I thank you most for him.

  ADAM    So had you need.

  I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.

  DUKE SENIOR    Welcome, fall to175. I will not trouble you

  As yet, to question you about your fortunes.—

  Give us some music, and, good cousin, sing.

  Song

  Blow, blow, thou winter wind,

  Thou art not so unkind179

  As man’s ingratitude.

  Thy tooth is not so keen181,

  Because thou art not seen,

  Although thy breath be rude183.

  Heigh-ho, sing heigh-ho, unto the green holly.

  Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:

  The hey-ho, the holly.

  This life is most jolly.

  Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky

  That dost not bite so nigh189

  As benefits forgot:

  Though thou the waters warp191,

  Thy sting is not so sharp

  As friend remembered not.

  Hey-ho, sing, etc.

  To Orlando

  DUKE SENIOR    If that you were the good Sir Rowland’s son,

  As you have whispered faithfully196 you were,

  And as mine eye doth his effigies197 witness

  Most truly limned198 and living in your face,

  Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke

  That loved your father. The residue of your fortune,

  Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man,

  Thou art right welcome as thy master is.

  Support him by the arm. Give me your hand,

  And let me all your fortunes204 understand.

  Exeunt

  Act 3 Scene 1

  running scene 8

  Enter Duke [Frederick], Lords and Oliver

  DUKE FREDERICK    Not see him1 since? Sir, sir, that cannot be:

  But were I not the better part made2 mercy,

  I should not seek an absent argument3

  Of my revenge, thou present4. But look to it:

  Find out thy brother, wheresoe’er he is.

  Seek him with candle. Bring him dead or living

  Within this twelvemonth, or turn7 thou no more

  To seek a living in our territory.

  Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine

  Worth seizure10 do we seize into our hands,

  Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother’s mouth11

  Of what we think against thee.

  OLIVER    O, that your highness knew my heart in this!

  I never loved my brother in my life.

  DUKE FREDERICK    More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors,

  And let my officers of such a nature16

  Make an extent upon17 his house and lands.

  Do this expediently and turn him going18.

  Exeunt

  Act 3 Scene 2

  running scene 9

  Enter Orlando

  With a paper

  ORLANDO    Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love:

 
; And thou, thrice-crownèd queen of night2, survey

  With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above,

  Thy huntress’ name that my full life doth sway4.

  O Rosalind! These trees shall be my books,

  And in their barks my thoughts I’ll character6,

  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 and unexpressive10 she.

  Exit

  Enter Corin and Clown [Touchstone]

  CORIN    And how like you this shepherd’s life, Master

  Touchstone?

  TOUCHSTONE    Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life;

  but in respect that it is a shepherd’s life, it is naught. In

  respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that

  it is private16, it is a very vile life. Now in respect it is in the

  fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not in the court,

  it is tedious. As it is a spare life, look you, it fits my humour18

  well; but as there is no more plenty19 in it, it goes much against

  my stomach20. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd?

  CORIN    No more but that I know the more one sickens the

  worse at ease he is: and that he that wants22 money, means

  and content is without three good friends: that the property

  of rain is to wet and fire to burn: that good pasture makes fat

  sheep: and that a great cause of the night is lack of the sun:

  that he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art26 may

  complain of27 good breeding or comes of a very dull kindred.

  TOUCHSTONE    Such a one is a natural28 philosopher. Wast ever in

  court, shepherd?

  CORIN    No, truly.

  TOUCHSTONE    Then thou art damned.

  CORIN    Nay, I hope32.

  TOUCHSTONE    Truly thou art damned, like an ill-roasted egg: all33

  on one side.

  CORIN    For not being at court? Your reason.

  TOUCHSTONE    Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never

  saw’st good manners37. If thou never saw’st good manners,

  then thy manners must be wicked, and wickedness is sin,

  and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous39 state, shepherd.

  CORIN    Not a whit, Touchstone. Those that are good