AS YOU LIKE IT

ORLANDO, the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys
OLIVER, the eldest son of Sir Rowland de Boys
JAQUES DE BOYS, the second son of Sir Rowland de Boys
ADAM, a servant to Oliver
DENNIS, a servant to Oliver

ROSALIND, Daughter of Duke Senior
CELIA, Daughter of Duke Frederick
TOUCHSTONE, a Fool

DUKE SENIOR (Ferdinand), living in exile

JAQUES, Lord attending the Duke Senior
AMIENS, Lord attending the Duke Senior

DUKE FREDERICK, the Duke's brother and the one who took over his lands
CHARLES, his wrestler
LE BEAU, a courtier serving Frederick

CORIN, Shepherd
SILVIUS, Shepherd
PHOEBE, a Shepherdess
AUDREY, a Country Girl
WILLIAM, a Country Guy, in love with Audrey
SIR OLIVER MARTEXT, a Vicar

A person representing HYMEN

Lords associated with the two Dukes; Pages, Foresters, and other attendants.

Enter Orlando and Adam.

ORLANDO.
As I recall, Adam, I was left a mere thousand crowns by will, and, as you say, my brother was instructed, under threat of his blessing, to raise me properly; and that’s where my sadness begins. My brother Jaques is being educated at school, and people say he’s doing really well. As for me, he keeps me stuck at home, or to put it more accurately, he keeps me here at home neglected; for what kind of “keeping” is it, for someone of my status, when it’s no different than the way an ox is kept? His horses are raised better, because besides being well-fed, they’re trained and have expensive riders; but I, his brother, gain nothing under his care but growth, and for the growth I have, his farm animals are just as much entitled to it as I am. Besides all the abundance he so generously provides me, what nature gave me, his presence seems to take away. He allows me to eat with his workers, denies me the status of a brother, and as much as he can, undermines my gentility and my education. This is what troubles me, Adam, and the spirit of my father, which I believe is within me, is starting to rebel against this servitude. I will no longer put up with it, though I still don’t know any wise way to escape it.

Enter Oliver.

ADAM.
Here comes my master, your brother.

ORLANDO.
Step aside, Adam, and you'll see how he's going to shake me up.

[Adam is retiring.]

OLIVER.
Now, sir, what are you doing here?

ORLANDO.
Nothing. I haven’t been taught to create anything.

OLIVER.
What troubles you then, sir?

ORLANDO.
Honestly, sir, I’m helping you ruin what God created, a worthless brother of yours, by being lazy.

OLIVER.
Seriously, sir, find better things to do and relax for a bit.

ORLANDO.
Should I take care of your pigs and eat scraps with them? What wasteful spending have I done that I ended up in such poverty?

OLIVER.
Do you know where you are, sir?

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

OLIVER.
Do you know who you're talking to, sir?

ORLANDO.
Yes, I'm better than him, and you should know who I am. I know you're my older brother, and being family, you should recognize me. Social conventions give you precedence since you're the firstborn, but that doesn't change our blood relationship, even if there were twenty brothers between us. I have just as much of our father in me as you do, but I admit your position as the elder brings you closer to his respect.

OLIVER.
What’s up, kid!

ORLANDO.
Come on, older brother, you’re too inexperienced for this.

OLIVER.
Are you really going to lay a hand on me, you thug?

ORLANDO.
I'm not a villain. I'm the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys; he was my father, and anyone who claims such a father raised villains is completely wrong. If you weren't my brother, I wouldn't stop until this hand was off your throat and this other one had pulled out your tongue for saying that. You're just attacking yourself.

ADAM.
[Stepping forward.] Gentle friends, please be patient. In honor of your father’s memory, let’s agree with one another.

OLIVER.
Let me go, I swear.

ORLANDO.
I won't wait until you say so. You need to listen to me. My father told you in his will to give me a good education. Instead, you've treated me like a peasant, keeping all the qualities of a gentleman hidden from me. My father's spirit is becoming stronger in me, and I can't take this any longer. So let me have the opportunities that are right for a gentleman, or give me the small inheritance my father left me in his will; with that, I'll go and make my own future.

OLIVER.
And what are you going to do? Beg when that runs out? Fine, go inside. I won't be dealing with you for much longer. You'll get some of what you want. Please just leave me alone.

ORLANDO.
I only upset you as much as is good for me.

OLIVER.
Go on with him, you old dog.

ADAM.
Is being called an “old dog” my reward? It's true, I've lost my teeth serving you. God be with my old master. He would never have said something like that.

[Orlando and Adam exit.]

OLIVER.
Is that really true? Are you starting to grow on me? I’ll deal with your unpleasantness, but I won't pay you a thousand crowns for it. Hey, Dennis!

Enter Dennis.

DENNIS
Calls you "your honor"?

OLIVER.
Wasn’t Charles, the Duke’s wrestler, here to talk to me?

DENNIS
He's here at the door and is asking to see you.

OLIVER.
Have him come in.

[Exit Dennis.]

It'll be a good time, and the wrestling is tomorrow.

Enter Charles.

CHARLES.
Good morning, your honor.

OLIVER.
Hey Monsieur Charles. What’s the latest news at the new court?

CHARLES.
There’s no new news at the court, sir, just the same old stuff. The old Duke has been exiled by his younger brother, the new Duke, and three or four loyal lords have chosen to go into voluntary exile with him, whose lands and income benefit the new Duke; so he’s fine with them wandering off.

OLIVER.
Can you tell if Rosalind, the Duke’s daughter, will be banished with her father?

CHARLES.
Oh, no; the Duke’s daughter, her cousin, loves her so much. They’ve been raised together since childhood, and she would have followed her into exile or would have died to stay with her. She’s at court and is just as loved by her uncle as his own daughter, and never have two ladies loved each other as they do.

OLIVER.
Where will the old Duke stay?

CHARLES.
They say he's already in the Forest of Arden, hanging out with a bunch of merry men; and they live like the old Robin Hood of England. They say many young guys join him every day and spend their time carefree, just like in the golden days.

OLIVER.
What, you’re wrestling tomorrow in front of the new Duke?

CHARLES.
Listen, I’m here to tell you something important. I’ve been told in confidence that your younger brother Orlando plans to come and challenge me to a wrestling match. Tomorrow, I’m wrestling for my reputation, and anyone who manages to walk away without getting hurt will have done well. Your brother is still young and inexperienced, and for your sake, I would hate to hurt him, but I have to defend my honor if he comes at me. So, out of respect for you, I came to let you know, so you can either stop him from going through with it or be prepared for the shame he might face, since this is something he’s chosen to do on his own and completely against my wishes.

OLIVER.
Charles, I appreciate your love for me, and you’ll see that I’ll return it kindly. I knew about my brother’s plan, and I tried to secretly talk him out of it, but he’s determined. I’ll tell you, Charles, he’s the most stubborn young guy in France, full of ambition, envious of everyone else’s good qualities, and secretly plotting against me, his own brother. So, be careful. I’d rather you break his neck than just his finger. You’d better watch out; if you give him any slight disrespect, or if he doesn’t impress you, he’ll try to poison you, trap you with some sneaky scheme, and won’t stop until he’s taken your life by some underhanded method. I swear to you (and I say this almost in tears) there isn’t a single young man alive today who is as villainous as he is. I’m speaking as a brother, but if I were to dissect his character for you, I’d have to blush and cry, and you’d be left looking pale and astonished.

CHARLES.
I’m really glad I came to see you. If he shows up tomorrow, I'll pay him. If he ever goes alone again, I won't compete for any prize again. So, take care of yourself.

[Log out.]

OLIVER.
Goodbye, Charles. Now it's time to stir things up with this player. I hope to see an end to him; for some reason—though I don't know why—I hate him more than anything else. Yet he’s kind, untrained but knowledgeable, full of noble ideas, loved by everyone, and especially by my people who know him best, which makes me feel completely misunderstood. But that won't last much longer; this wrestler will sort everything out. All I have to do now is provoke the boy, which is what I’ll go do.

[Log out.]

Enter Rosalind and Celia.

CELIA.
I beg you, Rosalind, my dear cousin, cheer up.

ROSALIND.
Dear Celia, I show more joy than I actually feel, and would you really like me to be happier? Unless you can help me forget my father who’s been exiled, you shouldn’t try to teach me how to remember any unusual happiness.

CELIA.
I can see that you don’t love me as deeply as I love you. If my uncle, your banished father, had banished your uncle, my father the Duke, then you would still be here with me. I could have taught my love to accept your father as my own. You would have done the same if your love for me was as genuine as mine is for you.

ROSALIND.
Alright, I’ll put aside my own situation to celebrate yours.

CELIA.
You know my father has no children but me, and there’s no chance he’ll have any more; and honestly, when he passes away, you’ll be his heir. For what he took from your father against his will, I’ll give back to you out of love. I swear on my honor I will! And if I break that promise, let me become a monster. So, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be happy.

ROSALIND.
From now on, I’ll, cousin, come up with some fun ideas. Let me see—what do you think about falling in love?

CELIA.
Seriously, please do it for fun; but don’t truly love any man, and only play around as long as you can maintain a pure blush to keep your honor intact.

ROSALIND.
What should we do for fun, then?

CELIA.
Let’s sit and laugh at good old Fortune and her wheel, so that her gifts can be shared more equally from now on.

ROSALIND.
I wish we could do that because her benefits are really misplaced, and that generous but blind woman is totally wrong about her gifts to women.

CELIA.
It's true, for those she makes attractive, she hardly makes honest, and those she makes honest, she makes very unattractive.

ROSALIND.
No, now you're moving from Fortune’s work to Nature’s. Fortune controls the gifts of the world, not the features of Nature.

Enter Touchstone.

CELIA.
No? When Nature has created a beautiful being, can’t she, by chance, end up in trouble? Although Nature has given us the intelligence to mock Fate, hasn’t Fate sent in this fool to end the conversation?

ROSALIND.
It’s true that sometimes luck is too much for nature, especially when luck makes nature’s own instincts cut off its own cleverness.

CELIA.
Perhaps this isn't the work of Fortune at all, but rather of Nature, who sees that our natural intelligence is too dull to engage with such goddesses and has sent this fool as our sharpening tool; because the foolishness of the fool always sharpens the wits. — So, wit, where are you wandering off to?

TOUCHSTONE.
Ma'am, you need to go back to your dad.

CELIA.
Did you become the messenger?

TOUCHSTONE.
No, I swear on my honor, but I was told to come for you.

ROSALIND.
Where did you learn that oath, fool?

TOUCHSTONE.
There was a knight who insisted on his honor that the pancakes were great, and on his honor that the mustard was bad. I’ll stick to my word, the pancakes were bad and the mustard was good, and yet the knight wasn’t lying.

CELIA.
How do you show that in all the knowledge you have?

ROSALIND.
Yes, now show your smarts.

TOUCHSTONE.
Step forward, both of you: stroke your chins and swear by your beards that I’m a trickster.

CELIA.
By our beards, if we had them, you are.

TOUCHSTONE.
By my trickery, if I had it, then I would be. But if you swear by something that isn’t real, then you’re not breaking your oath. This knight wasn’t swearing by his honor because he never had any; or if he did, he had already given it up before he ever saw those pancakes or that mustard.

CELIA.
Please, who are you talking about?

TOUCHSTONE.
One that old Frederick, your dad, loves.

CELIA.
My father's love is enough to honor him. That's enough! Don't talk about him anymore. You'll end up getting punished for taxes one of these days.

TOUCHSTONE.
It's a shame that fools can't speak wisely while wise men act foolishly.

CELIA.
Honestly, you’re right. Since the small amount of intelligence that fools have has been quieted, the little foolishness that wise men have really stands out. Here comes Monsieur Le Beau.

Enter Le Beau.

ROSALIND.
With his mouth filled with news.

CELIA.
Which he will feed us like pigeons feed their chicks.

Then we'll be overloaded with news.

CELIA.
That's great; we'll be more appealing to everyone.
Hello, Monsieur Le Beau. What's the latest?

LE BEAU.
Beautiful princess, you've missed out on a lot of fun.

CELIA.
Sport! What color?

LE BEAU.
What color, ma'am? How should I respond to you?

ROSALIND.
As luck and wit allow.

TOUCHSTONE.
Or as fate decides.

CELIA.
Well said. That was delivered with a heavy hand.

TOUCHSTONE.
No, if I don't maintain my status—

ROSALIND.
You're losing your old scent.

LE BEAU.
You impress me, ladies. I would have spoken to you about great wrestling, which you've completely overlooked.

ROSALIND.
So, tell us what happened in the wrestling match.

LE BEAU.
I'll share the beginning with you, and if it pleases you, you can witness the end, because the best is still to come; and right here, where you are, they are about to perform it.

CELIA.
Well, that's the past, gone and forgotten.

LE BEAU.
An old man shows up with his three sons—

CELIA.
I could connect this start with an old story.

LE BEAU.
Three well-dressed young men of great stature and charm.

ROSALIND.
With bills around their necks: “Let it be known to everyone through this announcement.”

LE BEAU.
The oldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the Duke’s wrestler, who quickly threw him and broke three of his ribs, leaving little hope for his survival. Then he faced the second brother, and then the third. Over there, they lie, while their poor father mourns over them so desperately that everyone watching feels compassion and weeps with him.

ROSALIND.
Unfortunately!

TOUCHSTONE.
But what’s the game, sir, that the ladies have lost?

LE BEAU.
Well, this is what I'm talking about.

TOUCHSTONE.
So people can get wiser every day. This is the first time I've ever heard that breaking ribs is a game for women.

CELIA.
Or I, I promise you.

ROSALIND.
But is there anyone else who wants to see this broken music in his sides? Is there someone else who's into rib-breaking? Shall we watch this wrestling, cousin?

LE BEAU.
You have to if you stay here because this is the spot set for the wrestling, and they’re ready to start.

CELIA.
Look, they’re definitely coming. Let’s stay and watch.

Flourish. Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, Orlando, Charles and Attendants.

DUKE FREDERICK.
Let’s go. Since the young man won’t listen, he’ll have to deal with the consequences of his boldness.

ROSALIND.
Is that the guy?

THE BEAUTIFUL.
Even he, ma'am.

CELIA.
Oh no, he’s too young. But he does look good.

DUKE FREDERICK.
What’s up, daughter and cousin? Have you come over to watch the wrestling?

ROSALIND.
Yes, my king, if it pleases you, please let us go.

DUKE FREDERICK.
I can tell you, you won't find much joy in it; there's such a difference in the man. Out of concern for the young challenger, I would like to talk him out of it, but he won't listen. Ladies, please speak to him; see if you can persuade him.

CELIA.
Please call him over, good Mr. Le Beau.

DUKE FREDERICK.
Go ahead; I won’t be here.

[Duke Frederick moves aside.]

LE BEAU.
Mister the challenger, the Princess is calling for you.

ORLANDO.
I go to them with all my respect and duty.

ROSALIND.
Hey, have you taken on Charles the wrestler?

ORLANDO.
No, beautiful princess. He's the main opponent. I'm just here like everyone else, to test my strength against him while I’m still young.

CELIA.
Young man, your confidence is too high for your age. You’ve experienced firsthand this man’s strength. If you could see yourself clearly or understand yourself well, the fear of this situation would advise you to choose a more balanced challenge. For your own sake, we urge you to prioritize your safety and abandon this effort.

ROSALIND.
Yes, young sir. Your reputation won’t be undervalued because of this. We will ask the Duke to prevent the wrestling from happening.

ORLANDO.
I beg you, don't punish me with your harsh thoughts, because I admit I'm guilty of denying such beautiful and wonderful ladies anything. But let your kind eyes and good wishes accompany me to my trial, where if I fail, only one who was never gracious will be ashamed; if I die, only one who is willing to die will be lost. I won't be doing my friends any wrong, because I have none to mourn for me; the world won't be harmed, because I have nothing in it. I'm just taking up space in the world, which can be better filled once I’m gone.

ROSALIND.
I wish I could share the little strength I have with you.

CELIA.
And mine to support her.

ROSALIND.
Goodbye. I really hope I'm wrong about you.

CELIA.
May your heart's desires be with you.

CHARLES.
Come on, where is this young guy who's so eager to lie with his mother earth?

ORLANDO.
I'm ready, sir; but his intentions are more subtle.

DUKE FREDERICK.
You will only get one chance.

CHARLES.
No, I assure you, your grace, you won't be able to convince him to try a second time after how strongly he's been dissuaded from even a first.

ORLANDO.
You plan to make fun of me now after you already did before. But go ahead.

ROSALIND.
Good luck to you, young man!

CELIA.
I wish I were invisible so I could catch that tough guy by the leg.

[Orlando and Charles grapple.]

ROSALIND.
O amazing guy!

CELIA.
If I had a lightning bolt in my eye, I can tell who would go down.

Charles is thrown. Shout.

DUKE FREDERICK.
No more, please.

ORLANDO.
Yes, I ask for your grace. I'm not feeling quite myself yet.

DUKE FREDERICK.
How are you, Charles?

LE BEAU.
He can't speak, my lord.

DUKE FREDERICK.
Take him away.

[Charles is taken away by Attendants.]

What is your name, young man?

ORLANDO.
Orlando, my lord, the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys.

DUKE FREDERICK.
I wish you had been the son of someone else.
People thought your father was respectable,
But I found him to be my enemy.
I would have preferred this act from you
If you were from a different family.
But goodbye, you are a brave young man.
I wish you had told me you had a different father.

[Exit Duke Frederick, Le Beau and Lords.]

CELIA.
If I were my father, cousin, would I do this?

ORLANDO.
I am prouder to be Sir Rowland’s son,
His youngest son, and I wouldn’t trade that for
Being the adopted heir to Frederick.

ROSALIND.
My dad loved Sir Rowland like his own soul,
And everyone else felt the same way about my dad.
If I had known this young man was his son,
I would have pleaded with him with tears
Before he would have dared to do this.

CELIA.
Hey, cousin,
Let’s go thank him and support him.
My father’s harsh and jealous nature
Makes me feel bad.—Sir, you’ve earned this.
If you keep your promises in love
As well as you’ve gone beyond them,
Your girlfriend will be happy.

ROSALIND.
Sir,

[Giving him a chain from her neck.]

Wear this for me—something that doesn’t fit with Fortune,
Which could give more but lacks the means to do so.—
Shall we go, cousin?

CELIA.
Ay.—Goodbye, handsome gentleman.

ORLANDO.
Can I not say thank you? All my better qualities
Are completely diminished, and what remains here
Is just a target, a mere lifeless object.

ROSALIND.
He’s calling us back. My pride disappeared along with my luck.
I’ll ask him what he wants.—Did you call, sir?—
Sir, you have wrestled well and defeated
More than just your enemies.

CELIA.
Are you going, cuz?

ROSALIND.
Take care. Goodbye.

[Rosalind and Celia exit.]

ORLANDO.
What passion keeps these heavy words from my mouth?
I can’t talk to her, yet she wanted to meet.
Oh poor Orlando, you’ve been defeated.
Either Charles or something weaker controls you.

Enter Le Beau.

LE BEAU.
Good sir, I advise you as a friend
To leave this place. Even though you deserve
High praise, genuine applause, and love,
The Duke's mood has changed
And he misunderstands everything you've done.
The Duke is unpredictable; it's better for you
To understand him than for me to explain.

ORLANDO.
Thank you, sir; and could you please tell me this:
Which of the two was the Duke's daughter
Who was here at the wrestling match?

LE BEAU.
Neither his daughter, judging by her manners,
But still, the younger one is his daughter.
The other is the daughter of the banished Duke,
And she’s being held here by her usurping uncle
To keep his daughter company, whose loves
Are more important than the natural bond of sisters.
But I can tell you that recently this Duke
Has grown displeased with his kind niece,
Based on no other reason
Than that the people praise her for her virtues
And feel sorry for her because of her good father;
And, I swear, his resentment against the lady
Will soon come to light. Sir, take care.
In a better world than this,
I will seek more love and understanding from you.

ORLANDO.
I owe you a lot; take care!

[Exit Le Beau.]

Thus I must go from smoke into suffocation,
From a tyrant Duke to a tyrant brother.
But heavenly Rosalind!

[Log out.]

Enter Celia and Rosalind.

CELIA.
Why, cousin, why, Rosalind! Come on, say something!

ROSALIND.
Not something you'd toss to a dog.

CELIA.
No, your words are too valuable to waste on insignificant people. Share some of them with me. Come on, give me some good reasons.

ROSALIND.
So, there were two cousins stuck, one should be crippled by logic and the other crazy for no reason at all.

CELIA.
But is all of this for your dad?

ROSALIND.
No, some of it is for my child's father. Oh, how full of thorns this everyday world is!

CELIA.
They are just annoyances, cousin, tossed at you in playful jest. If we don’t stick to the usual paths, our skirts will end up snagging on them.

ROSALIND.
I could brush them off my coat; these burrs are stuck in my heart.

CELIA.
Get rid of them.

ROSALIND.
I would give it a shot if I could just clear my throat and get his attention.

CELIA.
Come on, come on, grapple with your feelings.

ROSALIND.
Oh, they act like they're better wrestlers than I am.

CELIA.
Oh, I wish you well! You'll give it a shot eventually, even if you stumble. But putting aside these jokes, let's have a serious conversation. Is it really possible that you could suddenly develop such a strong affection for old Sir Rowland’s youngest son?

ROSALIND.
My father, the Duke, really cared for his father.

CELIA.
Does it follow that you should love his son deeply? By this reasoning, I should hate him, since my father hated his father dearly; yet I do not hate Orlando.

ROSALIND.
No, honestly, don’t hate him for my sake.

CELIA.
Why shouldn't I? Doesn't he deserve it?

Enter Duke Frederick with lords.

ROSALIND.
Let me love him for that, and you love him because I do.—Look, the Duke is coming.

CELIA.
With his eyes full of rage.

DUKE FREDERICK.
Lady, please leave our court as quickly and safely as you can.

Me, Uncle?

DUKE FREDERICK.
You, cousin.
If you're found within twenty miles of our public court in the next ten days, you'll die for it.

ROSALIND.
I really beg you, Your Grace,
Please let me carry the knowledge of my mistake.
If I understand myself,
Or know my own desires,
If I'm not just dreaming or out of my mind—
As I believe I'm not—then, dear uncle,
I have never offended Your Highness, not even in a thought that hasn't been born yet.

DUKE FREDERICK.
That's how all traitors act.
If their redemption depended on words,
They would be as innocent as grace itself.
Just know that I don't trust you.

ROSALIND.
But your mistrust can't turn me into a traitor.
Tell me what makes you think that.

DUKE FREDERICK.
You are your father’s daughter, that’s all that matters.

ROSALIND.
I felt the same when you took his dukedom;
I felt the same when you banished him.
Treason isn’t inherited, my lord,
And if we did get it from our friends,
What does that have to do with me? My father wasn’t a traitor.
So, please, my liege, don’t mistake me
To think my poverty is treacherous.

CELIA.
Dear ruler, listen to me.

DUKE FREDERICK.
Yes, Celia, we kept her here for you,
Otherwise, she would have gone off with her father.

CELIA.
I didn’t ask her to stay back then;
It was your choice and your own regret.
I was too young at that time to appreciate her,
But now I know her. If she’s a traitor,
Then so am I. We still slept together,
Woke up at the same time, learned, played, and ate together,
And wherever we went, like Juno’s swans,
We were always together and inseparable.

DUKE FREDERICK.
She’s too clever for you, and her charm,
Her very silence and patience
Speak to the people, and they feel sorry for her.
You’re a fool. She takes away your name,
And you’ll shine brighter and seem more virtuous
Once she’s gone. So don’t say a word.
My decision
That I’ve made about her is final.
She is banished.

CELIA.
Say that sentence to me, my lord.
I can't live without her company.

DUKE FREDERICK.
You're an idiot. You, niece, take care of yourself.
If you overstay your welcome, I swear by my honor
And the weight of my words, you will die.

[Exit Duke Frederick and Lords.]

CELIA.
Oh my poor Rosalind, where will you go?
Are you going to switch fathers? I’ll give you mine.
I ask you, don’t be more upset than I am.

I have more reasons.

CELIA.
You haven't, cousin.
Please be cheerful. Don't you know the Duke
Has banished me, his daughter?

He hasn't.

CELIA.
No, she doesn’t? Rosalind then lacks the love
That teaches you that you and I are one.
Shall we be separated? Shall we part, sweet girl?
No, let my father find another heir.
So let’s come up with a plan to escape,
Where to go, and what to take with us,
And don’t try to shoulder all your emotions,
To carry your sorrows alone and leave me out.
For, by this heaven, now that we’re both sad,
Say what you want, I’ll go wherever you go.

ROSALIND.
Why, where shall we go?

CELIA.
I’m going to find my uncle in the Forest of Arden.

ROSALIND.
Oh no, what trouble could we get into,
Being just young women, if we go too far?
Beauty attracts thieves faster than gold does.

CELIA.
I’ll dress in old and shabby clothes,
And smudge my face with a bit of dirt.
You do the same; that way we can go by
And never draw any attackers' attention.

ROSALIND.
Wouldn't it be better,
Since I’m taller than average,
If I dressed completely like a man?
A flashy sword at my side,
A spear in my hand, and in my heart
Whatever hidden fears of being a woman might be,
We’ll show off a brave and bold exterior,
Like so many other cowardly men
Who pretend to be tough with their appearances.

CELIA.
What should I call you when you're a man?

ROSALIND.
I won’t have a name worse than Jove’s own page,
So just call me Ganymede.
But what will you be called?

CELIA.
Something related to my situation:
I am no longer Celia, but Aliena.

ROSALIND.
But, cousin, what if we tried to sneak
The silly fool out of your father's court?
Wouldn't he be a comfort for our journey?

CELIA.
He'll travel across the world with me.
Just let me handle trying to win him over. Let's go,
And gather our jewels and our riches,
Plan the best time and the safest way
To hide from those who will chase us
After I leave. Now let's go happily
To freedom, and not into exile.

[Exit.]

Enter Duke Senior, Amiens and two or three Lords, dressed as forest workers.

DUKE SENIOR.
Now, my fellow exiles and brothers,
Hasn't old tradition made this life sweeter
Than that of superficial grandeur? Aren't these woods
Safer than the jealous court?
Here we don’t feel the consequences of Adam,
The seasonal changes, like the icy sting
And harsh bite of the winter wind,
Which, when it chills and blows against my body,
Even as I shiver from the cold, I smile and say:
"This isn't flattery. These are truths
That genuinely remind me of who I am.”
The benefits of hardship are sweet,
Which, like an ugly and poisonous toad,
Still wears a precious jewel on its head;
And this life of ours, away from the public eye,
Finds voices in trees, lessons in the flowing brooks,
Sermons in stones, and goodness in everything.

AMIENS.
I wouldn't change a thing. You’re lucky, your grace,
To turn the hard knocks of fate
Into such a calm and pleasant vibe.

DUKE SENIOR.
Come on, let's go hunt some deer.
But it bothers me that the poor spotted creatures,
Being native residents of this empty land,
Should be pierced in their own territory with sharpened antlers
And have their round hindquarters ripped apart.

FIRST LORD.
Indeed, my lord,
The sorrowful Jaques is upset about that,
And he swears that you take more power
Than your brother who has banished you.
Today, my lord of Amiens and I
Snuck up on him while he lay down
Under an oak tree, whose ancient roots stick out
By the stream that rushes through this wood;
To that spot, a poor secluded stag,
That had been injured by the hunter’s aim,
Came to rest; and indeed, my lord,
The miserable animal let out such groans
That they stretched his leather coat
Almost to bursting, and the big round tears
Rolled down his innocent nose
In a sad race. And so the foolish creature,
Noticed by the sorrowful Jaques,
Stood at the very edge of the swift stream,
Adding to it with his tears.

DUKE SENIOR.
But what did Jaques say?
Did he not reflect on this scene?

FIRST LORD.
Oh yes, into a thousand comparisons.
First, for his crying into the pointless stream:
“Poor deer,” he said, “you make a testament
Like people do, giving all your worth
To that which already has too much.” Then, being there alone,
Left and abandoned by his fancy friends:
“It’s true,” he said, “this is how misery separates
The flow of company.” Soon a careless herd,
Full from the pasture, jumps past him
And never stops to greet him. “Yeah,” said Jaques,
“Keep moving, you fat and greedy folks!
It’s just the trend. Why do you look
At that poor and broken bankrupt there?”
Thus, with sharp criticism, he cuts through
The heart of the country, city, court,
Yeah, and of our lives, claiming that we
Are nothing but usurpers, tyrants, and worse,
Scaring the animals and driving them out
From their proper and natural homes.

DUKE SENIOR.
Did you leave him in this state of thought?

SECOND LORD.
We did, my lord, crying and talking
About the sobbing deer.

DUKE SENIOR.
Show me the place.
I love to deal with him when he's in these gloomy moods,
Because then he’s deep in thought.

FIRST LORD.
I’ll take you to him right now.

[They exit.]

Enter Duke Frederick with lords.

DUKE FREDERICK.
Can it be possible that no one saw them?
It can't be! Some traitors in my court
Are involved and complicit in this.

FIRST LORD.
I haven't heard of anyone who saw her.
The ladies, her chamber attendants,
Saw her in bed, and early in the morning
They found the bed untouched by their mistress.

SECOND LORD.
My lord, the foolish clown you used to laugh at is also missing.
Hesperia, the princess’s lady-in-waiting,
Admits that she secretly overheard
Your daughter and her cousin praising
The skills and charms of the wrestler
Who recently defeated the strong Charles;
And she thinks that wherever they’ve gone,
That young man is definitely with them.

DUKE FREDERICK.
Send for his brother; bring that brave guy here.
If he’s not around, bring his brother to me.
I’ll make sure he finds him. Do this quickly!
And don’t let searching and questioning hold back
From bringing back these foolish runaways.

[Exit.]

Enter Orlando and Adam, meeting.

ORLANDO.
Who's there?

ADAM.
What’s up, my young master? Oh my kind master,
Oh my sweet master, oh you remind me
Of old Sir Rowland! Why are you here?
Why are you virtuous? Why do people love you?
And why are you gentle, strong, and brave?
Why do you want to beat
The charming favorite of the humorous Duke?
Your reputation has arrived back too quickly for you.
Don't you know, master, that for some people
Their qualities can become their enemies?
Yours do too. Your virtues, kind master,
Are like holy traitors to you.
Oh, what a world it is, when what is beautiful
Poisons the one who possesses it!

ORLANDO.
What’s wrong?

ADAM.
Oh, unhappy young man,
Don’t come inside these doors! Under this roof
Lives the enemy of all your virtues.
Your brother—no, not really a brother, yet the son—
But not a son; I won't call him that—
Of the man I was about to refer to as his father,
Has heard your praises, and tonight he plans
To burn the place where you usually sleep,
And you along with it. If that doesn’t work,
He’ll find other ways to get rid of you;
I overheard him and his schemes.
This is no safe place; this house is nothing but a slaughterhouse.
Hate it, fear it, don’t enter it.

ORLANDO.
Why, where do you want me to go, Adam?

ADAM.
No matter where you go, just don’t come here.

ORLANDO.
What, do you want me to go and beg for food,
Or fight for a living with a rough and noisy sword
On the streets like a thief?
I have to do one of those, or I don't know what to do.
Yet I won't do that, no matter what.
I’d rather face the anger
Of a twisted, vengeful brother.

ADAM.
But please don't. I have five hundred crowns,
The money I saved while working for your father,
Which I set aside to support me like a caregiver,
When I can’t work anymore and age is ignored in the corners.
Take this, and may the one who feeds the ravens,
And looks after the sparrow,
Bring comfort to my old age. Here is the gold.
I give you all of this. Let me be your servant.
Even though I look old, I’m still strong and healthy,
Because in my youth I never indulged
In anything that would have tainted my blood,
Nor did I shamelessly pursue
The things that lead to weakness and frailty.
So my old age is like a robust winter,
Chilly but gentle. Let me go with you.
I’ll handle the duties of a younger man
In all your tasks and needs.

ORLANDO.
Oh good old man, how well you represent
The steady service of the past,
When dedication was for duty, not for reward.
You don’t fit the trends of today,
Where no one works hard unless it’s for a promotion,
And once they get that, it stifles their effort
Even with the prize. It’s not that way with you.
But, poor old man, you’re trimming a dying tree,
That can’t even produce a single blossom
In return for all your hard work and care.
But come on, let’s go together,
And before we spend all your youthful earnings,
We’ll find some peaceful satisfaction.

ADAM.
Master, go ahead and I will follow you
To the very end with honesty and loyalty.
I’ve lived here for almost eighty years,
But now I’m done living here.
At seventeen, many look for their fortunes,
But by eighty, it’s too late for that.
Still, fortune cannot reward me better
Than to die well and not owe my master anything.

[Exit.]

Enter Rosalind as Ganymede, Celia as Aliena, and Touchstone.

ROSALIND.
Oh Jupiter, how tired my spirits are!

TOUCHSTONE.
I don’t care about my mood, as long as my legs aren’t tired.

ROSALIND.
I could bring myself to be ashamed of my man's clothes and cry like a woman, but I have to support the weaker vessel, as a doublet and hose should be strong for a petticoat. So, be brave, good Aliena.

CELIA.
Please be patient with me, I can't go on any longer.

TOUCHSTONE.
Honestly, I'd rather put up with you than get rid of you. But I wouldn't have to suffer at all if I did get rid of you, because I don’t think you have any money in your wallet.

ROSALIND.
Well, this is the Arden forest.

TOUCHSTONE.
Yeah, now I’m in Arden, what a fool I am! When I was at home, I was in a better spot, but travelers have to make do.

Enter Corin and Silvius.

ROSALIND.
Yeah, that’s right, good Touchstone. Look who’s coming here? A young guy and an old man having a serious conversation.

CORIN.
That's how you’ll make her look down on you even more.

SILVIUS.
Oh Corin, if only you knew how much I love her!

CORIN.
I can somewhat relate, because I've loved before.

SILVIUS.
No, Corin, you can't know what it's like to be old,
Even though in your youth you were as genuine a lover
As anyone who ever sighed on a midnight pillow.
But if your love was ever anything like mine—
As I'm sure no man has ever loved so deeply—
How many silly things have you done because of your imagination?

CORIN.
Into a thousand that I have forgotten.

SILVIUS.
Oh, you never loved so deeply!
If you don’t remember the smallest mistake
That love ever made you run into,
You haven’t truly loved.
Or if you haven’t sat like I am now,
Pouring out praise for your crush,
You haven’t truly loved.
Or if you haven’t abruptly left a gathering
Like my feelings make me do right now,
You haven’t truly loved.
Oh Phoebe, Phoebe, Phoebe!

[Exit Silvius.]

ROSALIND.
Oh no, poor shepherd, while looking for your wound,
I’ve accidentally discovered my own.

TOUCHSTONE.
And I mine. I remember when I was in love, I broke my sword on a stone and told him to take that for coming at night to Jane Smile; and I remember kissing her hand, and the cow’s teats that her pretty little hands had milked; and I remember wooing a peapod instead of her, from which I took two peas, and, giving them back to her, said with weeping tears, “Wear these for my sake.” We true lovers do some pretty silly things. But just like everything in nature, love is also foolish and temporary.

ROSALIND.
You speak more wisely than you realize.

TOUCHSTONE.
No, I’ll never be aware of my own cleverness until I trip over it.

ROSALIND.
Jove, Jove, this shepherd’s passion
Really matches my vibe.

TOUCHSTONE.
And mine, but it's getting a bit old for me.

CELIA.
Please, one of you ask that man
If he’ll give us any food for money.
I’m almost fainting from hunger.

TOUCHSTONE.
Hey, you fool!

ROSALIND.
Chill out, idiot, he's not your relative.

CORIN.
Who’s calling?

TOUCHSTONE.
Your superiors, sir.

CORIN.
Otherwise, they are very miserable.

ROSALIND.
Calm down, I say.—Good evening to you, friend.

CORIN.
And to you, kind sir, and to all of you.

ROSALIND.
Please, shepherd, if love or money
Can buy us some hospitality in this desolate place,
Take us somewhere we can rest and eat.
Here’s a young woman who’s worn out from traveling,
And she's fainting for help.

CORIN.
Good sir, I feel sorry for her
And wish, more for her sake than for my own,
That my situation was better to help her.
But I’m just a shepherd for someone else
And don’t handle the sheep I tend.
My master is quite rude
And doesn’t care about finding his way to heaven
By practicing hospitality.
Also, his barn, his flocks, and grazing land
Are all for sale, and right now at our sheepfold,
Due to his absence, there’s nothing
For you to eat. But whatever there is, come see,
And you’ll be most welcome in my voice.

ROSALIND.
Who is going to buy his flock and pasture?

CORIN.
That young guy you saw here just a little while ago,
He doesn't care at all about buying anything.

ROSALIND.
Please, if it's the right thing to do,
Buy the cottage, the pasture, and the flock,
And you can pay us for it.

CELIA.
And we'll increase your pay. I really like this place,
And I could easily spend my time here.

CORIN.
Definitely, the thing is up for sale.
Come with me. If you're interested in what you've heard
About the land, the profit, and this lifestyle,
I will be your loyal provider,
And buy it quickly with your money.

[They exit.]

Enter Amiens, Jaques and others.

AMIENS.
[Performing.]

Under the greenwood tree,
        Who loves to relax with me
        And sing his happy tune
        To the sweet bird's song,
    Come here, come here, come here!
        Here he'll find
        No enemy
    Except for winter and bad weather.

JAQUES.
More, more, please, more.

AMIENS.
It’s going to make you feel sad, Monsieur Jaques.

JAQUES.
I appreciate it. Please, more. I can draw out sadness from a song like a weasel sucks eggs. More, I ask you, more.

AMIENS.
My voice is rough. I know I can't make you happy.

JAQUES.
I don't need you to please me; I want you to sing. Come on, give me more, another stanza. Do you call them stanzas?

AMIENS.
Whatever you say, Monsieur Jaques.

JAQUES.
No, I don't care about their names. They owe me nothing. Will you sing?

AMIENS.
More to meet your request than to satisfy my own desires.

JAQUES.
Alright then, if I ever thank anyone, it’ll be you; but what they call a compliment is like the meeting of two monkey-like dogs. And when someone thanks me sincerely, it feels like I’ve given him a penny, and he gives me this pathetic thanks in return. Come on, sing; and if you won’t, just be quiet.

AMIENS.
Alright, I’ll finish the song. —Gentlemen, take a break for now. The Duke will drink under this tree; he has been looking for you all day.

JAQUES.
And I've been trying to avoid him all day. He's too argumentative for my taste. I think about just as many things as he does, but I’m grateful to God and don't brag about it. Come on, sing.

AMIENS.
[Performing.]

Who avoids ambition
        And loves to live in the sun,
        Seeking the food he eats
        And happy with what he gets,
    Come here, come here, come here.
        Here he will see
        No enemy
    Except for winter and bad weather.

JAQUES.
I’ll give you a line to this note that I wrote yesterday, despite my creativity.

AMIENS.
And I’ll sing it.

JAQUES.
And that's how it goes:

If it happens
        That any man becomes a fool,
        Leaving his wealth and comfort
        A stubborn desire to please,
    Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame;
        Here he will see
        Big fools like him,
    If he decides to come to me.

AMIENS.
What’s “ducdame”?

JAQUES.
It's a Greek way of summoning fools into a circle. I'll try to sleep if I can; if I can't, I'll complain about all the first-born of Egypt.

AMIENS.
And I’ll go find the Duke; his banquet is ready.

[Exit individually.]

Enter Orlando and Adam.

ADAM.
Dear master, I can't go on any longer. Oh, I’m starving! Here I lie down and mark my grave. Goodbye, kind master.

ORLANDO.
Hey, Adam! What's going on? Is there no fight left in you? Just hang in there, find some comfort, and perk yourself up a bit. If this strange forest has anything wild, I’ll either become its meal or bring it back for you to eat. You’re closer to giving up than you are to finding strength. For my sake, stay positive. Keep death at arm's length for a little while. I’ll be right back with you, and if I don’t bring you something to eat, you can choose to give up. But if you die before I get back, you’re making a mockery of my efforts. That’s the spirit, you look a little better now, and I’ll be with you soon. Still, you’re lying here in this cold air. Come on, I’ll take you to some shelter, and you won’t go hungry if there’s anything alive in this wilderness. Stay strong, good Adam!

[Exit.]

Enter Duke Senior, Amiens and Lords as rebels.

DUKE SENIOR.
I think he's turned into a beast,
Because I can't find him anywhere that seems human.

FIRST LORD.
My lord, he just left here;
He was happy, listening to a song.

DUKE SENIOR.
If he, filled with good vibes, gets into a musical mood,
We'll soon have chaos in the universe.
Go find him and let him know I want to talk to him.

Enter Jaques.

FIRST LORD.
He saves me work by coming to me directly.

DUKE SENIOR.
Well, what’s going on, my friend? What kind of life is this
That your poor friends have to beg for your company?
What’s with that cheerful look?

JAQUES.
A fool, a fool! I met a fool in the forest,
A jester. What a miserable world!
As I live by food, I came across a fool,
Who laid down and soaked up the sun,
And complained about Lady Fortune in a clever way,
In a well-phrased manner, and still a jester.
“Good morning, fool,” I said. “No, sir,” he replied,
“Don’t call me a fool until heaven has sent me fortune.”
Then he pulled out a sundial from his pocket,
And, looking at it with a dull gaze,
Said wisely, “It’s ten o’clock.
So we can see,” he said, “how the world goes.
It was just an hour ago that it was nine,
And in one hour more it will be eleven.
And so from hour to hour we ripen and ripen,
And then from hour to hour we decay and decay,
And that’s where the story hangs.” When I heard
The jester moralizing about time,
I couldn’t help but crow like a rooster,
That fools should be so deep in thought,
And I laughed nonstop
For an hour by his sundial. Oh noble fool!
A worthy fool! Jesters are the only ones to wear.

DUKE SENIOR.
Who's this fool?

JAQUES.
Oh, noble fool!—One who has been a courtier,
And says if women are just young and beautiful,
They have the ability to realize it. And in his mind,
Which is as empty as the leftover biscuit
After a journey, he has odd ideas packed
With observations, which he expresses
In twisted ways. Oh, how I wish I were a fool!
I long for a colorful coat.

You'll have one.

JAQUES.
It’s my only request,
As long as you get rid of any judgments
That are clouded by the opinions
That grow wild in you
That I’m wise. I need the freedom
To have as much room as the wind,
To blow wherever I want, just like fools do.
And those who are most hurt by my foolishness
Must laugh the loudest. And why, sir, is that?
The answer is as clear as the path to the parish church.
He who hits a fool wisely
Is actually being foolish himself, even if he feels
He’s avoiding looking foolish. If not,
The wise man’s foolishness is exposed
Even by the careless glances of the fool.
Dress me in my motley. Let me speak my mind,
And I will thoroughly
Cleanse the filthy body of this infected world,
If they will patiently accept my remedy.

DUKE SENIOR.
Shame on you! I can see what you're trying to do.

JAQUES.
What good could I possibly do instead?

DUKE SENIOR.
Most wicked and troublesome sin, in accusing sin;
For you yourself have been a libertine,
As indulgent as the most savage beast,
And all the painful wounds and evil deeds
That you, with the freedom to act as you please, have gathered
Would you spit out into the wider world.

JAQUES.
Why is it that those who criticize pride
Can't point to any specific person?
Doesn't it flow as powerfully as the ocean
Until the exhausted means finally run dry?
Which woman in the city am I talking about
When I say the city woman carries
The burdens of princes on unworthy backs?
Who can walk in and assume I'm talking about her,
When someone like her exists beside her?
Or who among the lowest ranks
Claims that his arrogance isn't funded by me,
Thinking that I'm referring to him, but really,
His foolishness matches the tone of my words?
So then. How then, what then? Let me understand how
My words have offended him. If I'm right,
Then he’s the one who’s done himself wrong. If he’s free,
Then my criticism flies like a wild goose
Without anyone claiming it. But who’s coming here?

Enter Orlando with sword drawn.

ORLANDO.
Hold back, and eat less.

JAQUES.
Well, I haven't eaten any yet.

ORLANDO.
You won’t until the need arises.

JAQUES.
What kind of rooster is this supposed to be?

DUKE SENIOR.
Are you really that bold, man, because of your struggles?
Or are you just someone who disregards good manners,
That you seem so lacking in courtesy?

ORLANDO.
You hit a nerve with me from the start. The painful reality
Of my distress has stripped away my polite facade; yet I was raised
in a decent environment and know some manners. But stop, I say!
Anyone who touches this fruit will die
before my matters are settled.

JAQUES.
If you won’t respond with logic, then I have no choice but to die.

DUKE SENIOR.
What do you want? Your kindness will persuade us
More than your strength will make us kind.

ORLANDO.
I'm starving, so just give me the food.

DUKE SENIOR.
Come sit down and eat, and welcome to our table.

ORLANDO.
Do you speak so gently? I apologize, truly.
I thought everything here was harsh and wild,
So I adopted a stern expression.
But whoever you are,
Here in this isolated desert,
Under the shade of sorrowful branches,
Let the creeping hours of time slip away,
If you have ever experienced better days,
If you've ever been where church bells rang,
If you've ever sat at a good person's feast,
If you've ever wiped a tear from your eyes,
And understand what it means to feel compassion and be compassionate,
Let gentleness replace my strong resolve,
In which hope I blush and conceal my sword.

DUKE SENIOR.
It's true that we've seen better days,
And have been called to church by the holy bell,
And sat at feasts with good people, wiping our eyes
From tears that came from true compassion.
So please, sit down with kindness,
And accept whatever help we can offer
To address your needs.

ORLANDO.
Then hold off on your food for a bit,
While I go find my deer and give it some food. There’s an old, poor man
Who has limped many weary steps after me
Out of pure love. Until he’s taken care of,
Burdened by two struggles, age and hunger,
I won’t eat a thing.

DUKE SENIOR.
Go find him,
And we won't waste any time until you get back.

ORLANDO.
Thank you, and be blessed for your kind support.

[Leave.]

DUKE SENIOR.
You see we are not the only ones who are unhappy.
This vast and universal stage
Displays more sorrowful performances than the scene
In which we find ourselves.

JAQUES.
The whole world’s a stage,
And all the men and women are just actors;
They have their entrances and exits,
And one person in their lifetime plays many roles,
Their acts being seven stages. First, the infant,
Whining and throwing up in the nurse’s arms;
Then the complaining schoolboy, with his backpack
And bright morning face, creeping like a snail
Reluctantly to school. Then the lover,
Sighing like a furnace, with a sad ballad
Created for his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like a leopard,
Jealous about honor, quick to argue,
Chasing a fleeting reputation
Even in the mouth of cannon. And then the judge,
With a plump belly lined with good food,
With serious eyes and a neatly trimmed beard,
Full of wise sayings and contemporary examples;
And so he plays his part. The sixth stage shifts
Into the lean and slippered old man,
With glasses on his nose and a bag at his side,
His youthful socks, well saved, a world too big
For his shrunken legs, and his deep manly voice,
Turning back toward childish treble, piping
And whistling in his speech. The last scene of all,
That wraps up this strange, eventful story,
Is second childhood and complete forgetfulness,
Without teeth, without eyes, without taste, without anything.

Enter Orlando with Adam.

DUKE SENIOR.
Welcome. Put down your heavy load,
And let him eat.

ORLANDO.
I really appreciate you for him.

ADAM.
So you needed it;
I can hardly express my gratitude for myself.

DUKE SENIOR.
Welcome, fall in. I won’t bother you
Yet to ask about your fortunes.
Let's have some music, and come on, cousin, sing.

TUNE.

AMIENS. (Sings.)
Blow, blow, you winter wind,
You aren’t so cruel
As man’s ingratitude.
Your bite is not so sharp,
Because you can’t be seen,
Although your breath is harsh.
Heigh-ho, sing heigh-ho, to the green holly.
Most friendships are fake, most love is just foolishness.
So, heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is pretty cheerful.

Freeze, freeze, you bitter sky,
        That doesn’t sting as much
            As forgotten benefits.
        Though you warp the waters,
        Your bite isn’t as sharp
            As a friend who isn’t remembered.
Heigh-ho, sing heigh-ho, to the green holly.
Most friendships are fake, and most love is just foolishness.
        So, heigh-ho, the holly!
            This life is really joyful.

DUKE SENIOR.
If you really are Sir Rowland’s son,
As you’ve quietly claimed you are,
And as I see your likeness
So clearly in your face,
You’re very welcome here. I’m the Duke
Who loved your father. Come tell me about the rest of your fortune.
Good old man,
You’re just as welcome as your master.
Help him by the arm. [To Orlando.] Give me your hand,
And let me know all about your fortunes.

[Exit.]

Enter Duke Frederick, Lords and Oliver.

DUKE FREDERICK.
You haven’t seen him since? Sir, that’s impossible.
If I weren’t so focused on being merciful,
I wouldn’t be hunting for someone who’s not here
As a way to get my revenge against you, who is. But be warned:
Find your brother wherever he is.
Search for him with a light. Bring him back, dead or alive,
Within the next year, or you won’t be welcome
To make a living in our territory anymore.
All of your lands and everything you claim as yours
Will be seized by us,
Until you can clear your name by speaking through your brother
About what we suspect against you.

OLIVER.
Oh, if only you knew what was in my heart:
I have never loved my brother at all.

DUKE FREDERICK.
You're more of a villain. Just push him out the door,
And have my officers take control of his house and land.
Do this quickly, and make sure he leaves.

[Leave the stage.]

Enter Orlando with a document.

ORLANDO.
Stay here, my words, as proof of my love.
     And you, queen of the night with your crown of stars, look down
With your pure gaze, from your pale space above,
     At the name of the huntress who holds my heart.
Oh Rosalind, these trees will be my books,
     And I’ll etch my thoughts into their bark,
So that everyone who looks in this forest
     Will see your goodness reflected everywhere.
Run, run, Orlando, carve into every tree
The beautiful, the pure, and the unspeakable she.

[Log out.]

Enter Corin and Touchstone.

CORIN.
So what do you think of this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone?

TOUCHSTONE.
Honestly, shepherd, in its own right, it’s a good life; but considering it’s a shepherd’s life, it’s not great. I enjoy it because it’s solitary, but because it’s so private, it’s pretty miserable. Being in the fields is nice, but the fact that it’s not in the court makes it boring. It suits my personality since it's a simple life, but the lack of abundance really bothers me. Do you have any philosophy in you, shepherd?

CORIN.
I just know that the more someone feels unwell, the less comfortable they are; and that someone who lacks money, resources, and happiness is missing out on three great friends; that rain is meant to wet things, and fire is meant to burn; that good grass makes sheep fat; and that one big reason for the night is the absence of the sun; that if someone hasn't learned any cleverness naturally or through study, they might as well complain about their upbringing or come from a really dull family.

TOUCHSTONE.
Someone like that is a natural philosopher. Have you ever been to court, shepherd?

CORIN.
No, seriously.

TOUCHSTONE.
Then you are damned.

CORIN.
No, I hope.

TOUCHSTONE.
Honestly, you're finished, like a poorly cooked egg, all messed up on one side.

CORIN.
Is it because you weren't at court? What's your excuse?

TOUCHSTONE.
Well, if you’ve never been to court, you’ve never seen good manners; if you’ve never seen good manners, then your manners must be bad, and bad behavior is a sin, and sin leads to damnation. You’re in a pretty serious situation, shepherd.

CORIN.
Not at all, Touchstone. What’s considered good manners at court seems just as silly in the country as the country folk’s behavior is laughable at court. You mentioned that you don’t bow at the court but instead kiss your hands. That would be pretty unsightly if courtiers were shepherds.

TOUCHSTONE.
Example, briefly. Come, example.

CORIN.
Well, we’re still taking care of our sheep, and their wool, as you know, is greasy.

TOUCHSTONE.
Why, don't your courtier’s hands sweat? And isn't the grease from a mutton just as good for you as a man's sweat? Superficial, superficial. I say there's a better example. Come.

CORIN.
Besides, our hands are tough.

TOUCHSTONE.
You'll notice them on your lips sooner. Shallow again. A more solid example, please.

CORIN.
And they're often covered in the grease from our sheep; would you have us kiss that? The courtier’s hands smell nice, like civet.

TOUCHSTONE.
What a shallow person you are! You’re nothing but worm food compared to a decent piece of meat! Listen to the wise and think about it. Civet is of a lower quality than tar, the filthy discharge of a cat. Improve your argument, shepherd.

CORIN.
You have a way with words that’s too refined for me. I’ll take a break.

TOUCHSTONE.
Are you going to stay damned? God help you, shallow man! God cut into you, you’re so unrefined.

CORIN.
Sir, I’m a hardworking guy. I earn what I eat, get what I wear, don’t hate anyone, envy no one’s happiness, feel happy for others’ good fortune, and am okay with my own troubles; and my biggest source of pride is watching my sheep graze and my lambs nurse.

TOUCHSTONE.
That's another simple sin in you, bringing the ewes and the rams together and trying to make a living off the mating of livestock; to be a pimp for a leading ram and to betray a she-lamb of a year to a crooked-headed, old, cuckolded ram, totally out of any reasonable match. If you aren’t damned for this, then the devil himself won’t have any shepherds. I can't see how else you’d escape.

Enter Rosalind as Ganymede.

CORIN.
Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother.

ROSALIND.
[Reads.]
         From the east to western India
         No jewel compares to Rosalind.
         Her worth, lifted high on the wind,
         Carries Rosalind throughout the world.
         All the most beautiful images
         Are just dull compared to Rosalind.
         Let no other face come to mind
         Except the beauty of Rosalind.

TOUCHSTONE.
I’ll rhyme with you for eight years straight, minus meals and sleep. It's the right job for butter sellers to be out in the market.

ROSALIND.
Get lost, fool!

TOUCHSTONE.
         For a taste:
         If a deer lacks a mate,
         Let him look for Rosalind.
         If the cat follows its kind,
         Then surely Rosalind will too.
         Winter clothes need lining,
         So does delicate Rosalind.
         Those who harvest must gather and bind,
         Then take it to the cart with Rosalind.
         The sweetest nut has the sourest shell,
         And that's exactly what Rosalind is.
         He who seeks the sweetest rose
         Must also face love’s thorn, and Rosalind.
This is the utterly incorrect rhythm of verses. Why do you burden yourself with them?

ROSALIND.
Chill out, you boring idiot, I found them on a tree.

TOUCHSTONE.
Honestly, the tree produces bad fruit.

ROSALIND.
I’ll join it with you, and then I’ll join it with a medlar. Then it will be the earliest fruit in the country, because you’ll be overripe before you’re even halfway ripe, and that’s the true nature of the medlar.

TOUCHSTONE.
You've spoken, but whether it was smart or not, let the forest decide.

Enter Celia as Aliena, reading a document.

ROSALIND.
Hold on, my sister is coming, reading. Step aside.

CELIA.
[Reads.]
            Why should this place feel like a desert?
                Is it really unpopulated? No!
            I’ll hang messages on every tree
                That will share wise thoughts.
            Some will talk about how short human life is
                As we stumble through our journey,
            Like a span of time
                That compresses our entire age;
            Some will speak of broken promises
                Between the souls of friends.
            But on the fairest branches,
                Or at the end of every line,
            I will write “Rosalinda,”
                Teaching everyone who reads to understand
            The essence of every spirit
                That heaven would display in a small way.
            Therefore, heaven instructed nature
                To fill one being
            With all kinds of expanded grace.
                Nature immediately crafted
            Helen's beauty, but not her heart,
                Cleopatra’s regal presence;
            Atalanta’s best qualities,
                And the modesty of sad Lucretia.
            Thus, Rosalind was created
                By a divine assembly,
            With many faces, eyes, and hearts
                To hold the most cherished traits.
            Heaven wanted her to have these gifts,
                And I to live and die as her devoted servant.

ROSALIND.
Oh most gentle Jupiter, what long-winded talk about love have you tired out your listeners with, and never said “Have patience, good people!”

CELIA.
Hey! Step back, friends. Shepherd, move aside for a bit. You too, go with him.

TOUCHSTONE.
Come on, shepherd, let’s make a dignified exit, though not with all our stuff, just with a little pouch and some supplies.

[Corin and Touchstone exit.]

CELIA.
Did you hear these verses?

ROSALIND.
Oh yes, I heard everything, and even more, because some of them had more syllables than the lines could handle.

CELIA.
That doesn't matter. The feet could carry the lines.

ROSALIND.
Yeah, but the feet were weak and couldn't stand on their own without the verse, so they ended up limping through the verse.

CELIA.
But did you hear without wondering how your name got carved and hung on these trees?

ROSALIND.
I was out of the wonder for seven of the nine days before you showed up; just look at what I found on a palm tree. I haven't been this poetic since the time of Pythagoras when I was an Irish rat, which I can barely remember.

CELIA.
Do you know who did this?

ROSALIND.
Is it a guy?

CELIA.
And a chain that you used to wear around his neck. Change your color?

ROSALIND.
I beg you, who?

CELIA.
Oh Lord, it’s tough for friends to connect; but mountains can be moved by earthquakes, so they can meet.

ROSALIND.
No, but who is it?

CELIA.
Is it doable?

ROSALIND.
Come on, please, I beg you, tell me who it is.

CELIA.
Oh amazing, amazing, so incredibly amazing, and yet again amazing, and after that, out of all the excitement!

ROSALIND.
Oh my goodness! Do you really think that just because I’m dressed like a man, I have the personality of one? Just one more second of waiting feels like a huge adventure. Please, tell me who it is quickly, and don’t hold back. I wish you could stutter so you could spill this secret about the guy as easily as wine comes out of a bottle—either all at once or not at all. Please take the cork out of your mouth so I can hear your news.

CELIA.
So you can have a man inside you.

ROSALIND.
Is he made by God? What kind of man is he? Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard?

CELIA.
No, he just has a little bit of a beard.

ROSALIND.
Well, God will send more if the guy is grateful. Let me hold back the growth of his beard, as long as you don’t keep me from seeing his chin.

CELIA.
It's young Orlando, who brought down the wrestler and captured your heart all at once.

ROSALIND.
No, but screw being sarcastic! Speak with a serious face and be honest, girl.

CELIA.
I swear, cousin, it’s him.

Orlando?

CELIA.
Orlando.

ROSALIND.
Oh no, what should I do with my outfit? What did he do when you saw him? What did he say? How did he look? Where did he go? Why is he here? Did he ask for me? Where is he now? How did he leave you? And when will you see him again? Just give me a simple answer.

CELIA.
You have to borrow Gargantua’s mouth first. It’s a word too big for any mouth this age can handle. Saying yes and no to these details is more than just answering in a catechism.

ROSALIND.
But does he know that I'm in this forest and dressed as a man? Does he look as fresh as he did the day he wrestled?

CELIA.
It's just as easy to count tiny particles as it is to figure out a lover's thoughts. But try to enjoy my discovery of him, and appreciate it fully. I found him under a tree, like a fallen acorn.

ROSALIND.
It can definitely be called Jove’s tree when it produces such fruit.

CELIA.
Grant me an audience, madam.

ROSALIND.
Go ahead.

CELIA.
There he was, lying there like a wounded knight.

ROSALIND.
Even though it’s sad to see such a sight, it suits the ground well.

CELIA.
Shout “hey!” to your tongue, please. It’s getting a bit wild. He looked like a hunter.

ROSALIND.
Oh, no! He’s here to break my heart.

CELIA.
I would sing my song freely. You throw me off key.

ROSALIND.
Don't you know I'm a woman? When I think, I have to speak. Go ahead, keep talking.

Enter Orlando and Jaques.

CELIA.
You bring me to life. Is he not coming here?

ROSALIND.
It's him! Sneak by and observe him.

[Rosalind and Celia move aside.]

JAQUES.
I appreciate your company, but honestly, I would have preferred to be alone.

ORLANDO.
I appreciate your company as well, even though I really don't need to.

JAQUES.
Goodbye, let's try to meet as infrequently as possible.

ORLANDO.
I really wish we could be better off as strangers.

JAQUES.
Please don’t carve any more trees with love songs.

ORLANDO.
Please, stop ruining my poems by reading them so poorly.

JAQUES.
Is Rosalind your love's name?

ORLANDO.
Yeah, that's right.

JAQUES.
I dislike her name.

ORLANDO.
She wasn't named with any intention of pleasing you.

JAQUES.
What’s her height?

ORLANDO.
Just as high as my heart.

JAQUES.
You've got a lot of clever responses. Haven't you met any goldsmiths' wives and flirted your way into getting some rings?

ORLANDO.
Not at all; but I respond to you like a painted backdrop, from where you have learned your questions.

JAQUES.
You have a quick mind. I think it was made from Atalanta's speed. Will you sit down with me? We can complain about our mistress, the world, and all our suffering.

ORLANDO.
I won’t criticize anyone in the world except myself, because I know my own faults best.

JAQUES.
Your biggest flaw is being in love.

ORLANDO.
It's a flaw I won't change for your greatest quality. I'm tired of you.

JAQUES.
Honestly, I was looking for a fool when I found you.

ORLANDO.
He's drowned in the stream. Just take a look, and you'll see him.

JAQUES.
There I will see my own reflection.

ORLANDO.
I consider him either a fool or a nobody.

JAQUES.
I won’t stay any longer with you. Goodbye, good Sir Love.

ORLANDO.
I'm glad you're leaving. Goodbye, good Mr. Melancholy.

Exit Jaques. Celia and Rosalind step forward.

ROSALIND.
I'll talk to him like a cheeky servant, and under that disguise, I'll play the trickster with him.
Do you hear me, forester?

ORLANDO.
Sounds good. What do you want?

ROSALIND.
Excuse me, what time is it?

ORLANDO.
You should ask me what time it is. There’s no clock in the forest.

ROSALIND.
Then there’s no real lover in the forest, because if there were, the constant sighing and groaning would reveal how slowly time is passing, just like a clock.

ORLANDO.
And why not the quick passage of time? Wouldn't that have been just as fitting?

ROSALIND.
Not at all, sir. Time moves at different speeds for different people. I'll tell you who time takes it easy with, who time moves along with, who time races with, and who time just stands still with.

ORLANDO.
I beg you, who is he hanging out with?

ROSALIND.
Seriously, he’s moving fast with a young woman between the agreement for her marriage and the day it actually happens. Even if the wait is only a week, it feels so long that it seems like seven years.

ORLANDO.
Who takes their time?

ROSALIND.
With a priest who doesn’t know Latin and a wealthy man who isn’t suffering from gout; the priest sleeps soundly because he has no studies to stress over, and the rich man lives happily because he feels no pain; one free from the burden of shallow and wasted knowledge, the other unaware of the struggles of heavy, tedious poverty. Time drags along with both of them.

ORLANDO.
Who is he riding with?

ROSALIND.
With a thief headed to the gallows; for even if he walks as softly as he can, he feels he’s there too soon.

ORLANDO.
Who keeps it still, though?

ROSALIND.
With lawyers on break; they sleep between terms, and then they don’t notice how time passes.

ORLANDO.
Where do you live, pretty youth?

ROSALIND.
With this shepherdess, my sister, here in the edge of the forest, like a fringe on a skirt.

ORLANDO.
Are you local?

ROSALIND.
Like the rabbit that you see living where she was born.

ORLANDO.
Your accent is something more refined than you could buy in such a remote place.

ROSALIND.
I've heard that from many people. But honestly, an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak. He was once a country guy who knew a lot about romance because he fell in love there. I've listened to him give numerous lectures against it, and I thank God I’m not a woman, to be affected by so many silly mistakes that he constantly criticizes in all women.

ORLANDO.
Can you recall any of the main accusations he made against women?

ROSALIND.
There weren't any main ones. They were all just like each other, as similar as pennies, with each flaw looking huge until its counterpart showed up to balance it out.

ORLANDO.
Please tell me some of them.

ROSALIND.
No. I will not waste my medicine on anyone who isn't sick. There's a guy who roams the forest, ruining our young plants by carving “Rosalind” into their bark; he hangs poems on the hawthorns and sad verses on the brambles; all, seriously, just to glorify the name of Rosalind. If I ever meet that love-struck fool, I would give him some solid advice, because he clearly has love on his mind all the time.

ORLANDO.
I’m the one who’s so shaken up by love. Please, tell me your solution.

ROSALIND.
You don’t have any of my uncle’s traits. He taught me how to recognize a man in love, and I’m sure you’re not locked up in that cage of rushes.

ORLANDO.
What were his grades?

ROSALIND.
You don’t have a lean cheek; you don’t have a blue eye and sunken features; you lack an undeniable spirit; your beard is well-kept, and you don’t have that scruffy look I expected—but I’ll let that slide, since having a beard is just a perk of being the younger brother. Your hose should be sagging, your hat should be askew, your sleeve should be unbuttoned, your shoe should be untied, and everything about you should show a carefree neglect. But you’re not like that at all. You’re rather fashionable in your outfit, more in love with yourself than with anyone else.

ORLANDO.
Hey there, I wish I could make you believe that I love you.

ROSALIND.
Do I believe it? You might as well try to make her believe you love her, which I bet she’s more likely to do than admit she does. That’s one of the things that women often deny even to themselves. But honestly, are you the one who hangs those verses on the trees, where Rosalind is so admired?

ORLANDO.
I swear to you, young man, by Rosalind's fair hand, I am the one, that unfortunate one.

ROSALIND.
But are you really as in love as your poems say?

ORLANDO.
Neither rhyme nor reason can explain how much.

ROSALIND.
Love is just a kind of madness, and honestly, it deserves a dark room and a whip just like madmen do; and the reason why they aren't punished or treated is that the madness is so common that the ones doing the punishing are in love too. Still, I do claim that it can be cured by advice.

ORLANDO.
Have you ever healed anyone like that?

ROSALIND.
Yes, one, and here's how. He was supposed to imagine me as his love, his mistress, and every day I had him wooing me; at which point, being just a moody young guy, I would grieve, be sensitive, change my mind, be longing and affectionate, proud, whimsical, silly, superficial, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles; for every feeling something and for no feeling truly anything, just like most boys and women are often like this; I would like him one moment, then hate him the next; then entertain him, then reject him; now cry for him, then spit at him; I drove my suitor from his crazy love to a living madness that meant turning away from the full world and living in a secluded, almost monastic way. And this is how I cured him, and in this way I will cleanse your heart as pure as a healthy sheep's heart, so there won't be a single trace of love left in it.

ORLANDO.
I wouldn't be healed, young one.

ROSALIND.
I would heal you if you would just call me Rosalind and come to my place every day to court me.

ORLANDO.
Now, I swear by my love, I will. Just tell me where it is.

ROSALIND.
Come with me, and I’ll show it to you; and along the way, you can tell me where you live in the forest. Will you go?

ORLANDO.
With all my heart, my friend.

ROSALIND.
No, you have to call me Rosalind. Come on, sister, are you ready to go?

[Exit.]

Enter Touchstone and Audrey; Jaques observing them from afar.

TOUCHSTONE.
Come on, good Audrey. I'll go get your goats, Audrey. So, how about it, Audrey? Am I good enough for you yet? Do my plain looks please you?

AUDREY.
Your looks, my lord! What looks?

TOUCHSTONE.
I'm here with you and your goats, just like the unpredictable poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.

JAQUES.
[Aside.] Oh, knowledge poorly kept, worse than Zeus living in a thatched house!

TOUCHSTONE.
When a man's poetry can't be understood, and a man's cleverness isn't backed up by that eager kid, understanding, it hits a man harder than a huge bill in a tiny space. Honestly, I wish the gods had made you more poetic.

AUDREY.
I don't know what "poetical" means. Is it sincere in action and speech? Is it something real?

TOUCHSTONE.
No, really; because the most genuine poetry is often the most deceptive, and lovers are drawn to poetry, and what they swear in poetry can be said, as lovers, that they are just pretending.

AUDREY.
Do you wish that the gods had made me a poet?

TOUCHSTONE.
I really do, because you swear to me that you are honest. Now, if you were a poet, I might have some hope that you were pretending.

AUDREY.
Would you not want me to be honest?

TOUCHSTONE.
No, really, unless you were unattractive; because honesty paired with beauty is like having honey as a sauce for sugar.

JAQUES.
[Aside.] A real fool!

AUDREY.
Well, I'm not pretty, so I ask the gods to make me honest.

TOUCHSTONE.
Honestly, throwing away honesty on a dirty woman would be like putting good food into a filthy plate.

AUDREY.
I’m not a slut, but I’m glad I’m seen as unappealing.

TOUCHSTONE.
Well, thank the gods for your ugliness; being messy might come later. But regardless, I’m going to marry you. To that end, I’ve talked to Sir Oliver Martext, the vicar from the next village, who has promised to meet me here in the forest and to marry us.

JAQUES.
[Aside.] I would really like to see this meeting.

AUDREY.
Well, the gods bring us joy!

TOUCHSTONE.
Amen. A man might, if he’s of a timid nature, hesitate in this endeavor, because here we have no temple other than the woods and no gathering except for deer. But so what? Have courage! Even if horns are unpleasant, they are essential. It’s said, “Many a man has more possessions than he knows what to do with.” True. Many men have strong horns and are oblivious to their limits. Well, that’s the dowry of his wife; it’s not something he earned himself. Horns? Exactly. Only poor men? No, even the noblest deer have horns as large as the ordinary ones. Is the single man therefore blessed? No. Just as a fortified town is worth more than a village, so is a married man's forehead more respected than the bare brow of a bachelor. And just as defense is better than no skill, having horns is far more valuable than being without them.

Enter Sir Oliver Martext.

Here comes Sir Oliver. Sir Oliver Martext, it's good to see you. Are we staying under this tree, or will we go with you to your chapel?

MARTEXT.
Is there no one here to help the woman?

TOUCHSTONE.
I won't accept her as a gift from any man.

MARTEXT.
Honestly, she has to be given, or the marriage isn't valid.

JAQUES.
[Stepping forward.] Go ahead, go ahead. I’ll handle this.

TOUCHSTONE.
Good evening, Master What-ye-call’t, how are you, sir? It's great to see you. Thank you for your last visit. I'm really glad to see you. Just a little something I have here, sir. Please, keep your hat on.

JAQUES.
Are you getting married, motley?

TOUCHSTONE.
Just like the ox has his bow, the horse has his bit, and the falcon has her bells, a man has his desires; and just as pigeons peck at each other, marriage would be munching away.

JAQUES.
And will you, being a man of your background, get married under a bush like a beggar? Go to church and find a good priest who can explain what marriage really is. This guy will just put you together like they join planks; then one of you will end up as a warped panel, and like green wood, start to bend and twist.

TOUCHSTONE.
[Aside.] I think I'd be better off marrying him than someone else, because he’s not likely to find a good match for me, and if I’m not well-married, it’ll be a good reason for me to leave my wife later on.

JAQUES.
Come with me, and let me give you some advice.

TOUCHSTONE.
Come on, sweet Audrey. We either need to get married, or we’ll just be living in sin.
Goodbye, good Master Oliver. Not
             Oh sweet Oliver,
             Oh brave Oliver,
         Don’t leave me behind.
But
             Go away,—
             Leave me alone, I say,
         I won’t marry you.

[Exit Touchstone, Audrey and Jaques.]

MARTEXT.
It doesn't matter. Not one of those ridiculous fools will push me out of my role.

[Log Out.]

Enter Rosalind and Celia.

ROSALIND.
Don’t talk to me, I’ll cry.

CELIA.
Please, I beg you, still have the decency to remember that tears don't suit a man.

ROSALIND.
But do I not have a reason to cry?

CELIA.
For a good reason to cry; so go ahead and weep.

ROSALIND.
His hair is a fake color.

CELIA.
Something browner than Judas’s. Honestly, his kisses are just like Judas’s own kids.

ROSALIND.
Honestly, his hair is a nice color.

CELIA.
That's a great color. Your chestnut has always been the best color.

ROSALIND.
And his kiss is as pure as the touch of holy bread.

CELIA.
He has bought a pair of fake lips from Diana. A nun of winter’s sisterhood kisses with no more devotion; the very essence of purity is in them.

ROSALIND.
But why did he promise he would come this morning and still hasn't shown up?

CELIA.
No, definitely, he's not being truthful.

ROSALIND.
You think so?

CELIA.
Yes. I don't think he's a pickpocket or a horse thief, but when it comes to his honesty in love, I believe he's as hollow as a covered cup or a worm-eaten nut.

ROSALIND.
Not real in love?

CELIA.
Yes, when he's around, but I don't think he's here now.

ROSALIND.
You’ve heard him swear that he definitely was.

CELIA.
“Was” isn’t “is.” Also, a lover’s promise isn’t any stronger than a bartender's word. They both confirm false assumptions. He’s here in the forest with your father, the Duke.

ROSALIND.
I ran into the Duke yesterday and we talked a lot. He asked me about my background. I told him it was as good as his, and he laughed and let me leave. But why are we even talking about fathers when there's someone like Orlando?

CELIA.
Oh, that’s a courageous guy! He writes powerful poetry, speaks boldly, makes strong promises, and breaks them fearlessly, right through the heart of his lover, like a weak jouster who only spurs his horse on one side and breaks his lance like a silly goose. But everything is bold when youth rides and foolishness leads. Who’s here?

Enter Corin.

CORIN.
Master and mistress, you have often asked
About the shepherd who complained about love,
The one you saw sitting with me on the grass,
Praising the proud, dismissive shepherdess
Who was his mistress.

CELIA.
So, what about him?

CORIN.
If you want to see a performance that's genuinely about
The pale look of true love
And the bright red of scorn and proud disdain,
Come a bit closer, and I’ll show you,
If you’re willing to pay attention.

ROSALIND.
Oh, come on, let’s get out of here.
Seeing lovers makes those in love feel even more in love.
Take us to this scene, and you’ll see
I’ll be an eager participant in their story.

[Exit.]

Enter Silvius and Phoebe.

SILVIUS.
Sweet Phoebe, please don't scorn me, don't, Phoebe.
Say that you don't love me, but don't say it
With bitterness. The common executioner,
Whose heart grows tough from seeing death often,
Doesn't bring the axe down on the bent neck
Without first asking for forgiveness. Will you be
Stricter than he who lives and dies by bloodshed?

Enter Rosalind, Celia and Corin, in the background.

PHOEBE.
I won’t be the one to punish you;
I’m staying away from you because I don’t want to hurt you.
You say there’s murder in my eyes.
It’s kind of amusing and very likely
That eyes, the most delicate and gentle things,
Which close themselves against tiny particles,
Should be called tyrants, butchers, murderers.
Now I’m frowning at you with all my heart,
And if my eyes can hurt, let them kill you now.
Now pretend to faint; come on, fall down;
Or if you can’t, oh, for shame, for shame,
Don’t lie and say my eyes are murderers.
Now show me the wound my eye has caused in you.
Just scratch yourself with a pin, and there will still be
A scar left; lean on a reed,
And your palm will hold its mark for a moment. But now my eyes,
Which I have shot at you, do not hurt you;
And I’m sure there’s no power in eyes
That can cause harm.

SILVIUS.
Oh dear Phoebe,
If ever—as that ever might happen—
You encounter in some new face the magic of attraction,
Then you'll understand the unseen wounds
That love's sharp arrows create.

PHOEBE.
But until then,
Don’t come near me. And when that time comes,
Torment me with your teasing, don’t feel sorry for me,
Because until that time, I won’t feel sorry for you.

ROSALIND.
[Walking closer.] And why is that? Who could be your mother,
That you mock, rejoice, and do it all at once,
Over the miserable? Just because you have no beauty—
As honestly, I see nothing more in you
Than someone who would go to bed in the dark without a candle—
Do you have to be so proud and heartless?
What does this mean? Why are you looking at me?
I see no more in you than what’s average
From nature’s discount aisle. Oh my goodness,
I think she’s trying to blind me too!
No, honestly, proud lady, don’t expect it.
It’s not your dark brows, your black silky hair,
Your shiny eyes, or your creamy cheeks,
That can charm my spirit into worshipping you.
You silly shepherd, why do you chase after her,
Like a foggy south wind, full of rain?
You are a thousand times a better-looking man
Than she is a woman. It’s fools like you
That fill the world with unattractive children.
It’s not her looks but you that flatter her,
And through you, she sees herself as more attractive
Than any of her features can show her.
But, lady, know yourself; get down on your knees,
And thank heaven, sincerely, for a good man’s love.
Because I must tell you nicely,
Sell when you can; you’re not for everyone.
Plead for the man, love him, take his offer;
Being rude is foulest when you’re being a scoffer.
So take her for yourself, shepherd. Goodbye.

PHOEBE.
Sweet young man, I ask you to argue with me for a year!
I'd rather listen to you argue than hear this guy try to win me over.

ROSALIND.
He’s fallen in love with your ugliness, and she’ll fall in love with my annoyance. If that's the case, as quickly as she responds to you with scowls, I’ll hit her back with harsh words. Why are you looking at me like that?

PHOEBE.
I won't hold any grudges against you.

ROSALIND.
Please don't fall in love with me,
Because I'm less trustworthy than promises made while drunk.
Besides, I'm not really into you. If you want to find my place,
It’s at the cluster of olive trees nearby.
Are you coming, sister? Shepherd, pursue her.
Come on, sister. Shepherdess, give him a chance,
And don’t act all high and mighty. Even if everyone in the world watched,
No one could be more mistreated than he.
Come, join our flock.

[Exit Rosalind, Celia and Corin.]

PHOEBE.
Dead shepherd, now I find your powerful saying:
“Whoever loved, didn't love at first sight?”

Sweet Phoebe—

PHOEBE.
Ha, what do you say, Silvius?

SILVIUS.
Sweet Phoebe, have mercy on me.

PHOEBE.
I’m sorry for you, kind Silvius.

SILVIUS.
Wherever there is sorrow, there should be relief.
If you feel sadness for my heartache in love,
By giving love, your sadness and my heartache
Would both be eliminated.

PHOEBE.
You have my love. Isn't that friendly?

SILVIUS.
I want you.

PHOEBE.
Well, that would be greedy.
Silvius, there was a time I couldn’t stand you;
And still, it’s not that I love you;
But since you can talk about love so well,
I’ll put up with your company, which once annoyed me,
And I’ll use you too.
But don’t expect any more reward
Than the happiness you get from being useful.

SILVIUS.
My love is so pure and perfect,
And I'm so lacking in grace,
That I’ll consider it a huge blessing
To pick up the leftover bits after the guy
Who gets the main harvest. Just toss me
A few scattered smiles now and then, and that’s enough for me.

PHOEBE.
Do you know the guy who talked to me earlier?

SILVIUS.
Not great, but I’ve run into him often,
And he has purchased the cottage and the land
That the old guy used to own.

PHOEBE.
Don't think I love him just because I ask for him.
He’s just a whiny boy—though he does talk nicely.
But what do I care about words? Still, words work
When the person speaking them pleases the listeners.
He’s a pretty young guy—not overly pretty—
But he’s definitely proud, and his pride suits him.
He’ll grow into a fine man. The best thing about him
Is his complexion; and quicker than his tongue
Could cause offense, his eyes heal it up.
He’s not very tall, but for his age he is tall;
His legs are okay, but they’re decent.
There was a nice redness in his lips,
A bit riper and more lively than the flush
In his cheeks. It was just the difference
Between a steady red and a mixed rosy hue.
Some women, Silvius, if they had seen him
Up close like I did, might have nearly
Fallen in love with him; but for me,
I neither love him nor hate him; yet
I have more reasons to hate him than to love him.
Why did he have to scold me?
He said my eyes were black and my hair was black,
And now that I think about it, it just mocked me.
I wonder why I didn’t respond.
But that doesn’t matter: ignoring it is not the same as forgiveness.
I’ll write him a very teasing letter,
And you’ll deliver it. Will you, Silvius?

Phoebe, I love you completely.

PHOEBE.
I’ll say it clearly,
This is on my mind and in my heart.
I will be angry with him and brief.
Come with me, Silvius.

[Exit.]

Enter Rosalind, Celia and Jaques.

JAQUES.
I beg you, dear young one, let me get to know you better.

ROSALIND.
They say you’re a bit of a sad guy.

JAQUES.
I really do; I love it more than laughing.

ROSALIND.
Those who are at either extreme are terrible people and expose themselves to every modern criticism worse than drunkards.

JAQUES.
Well, it’s good to be sad and not say anything.

ROSALIND.
Well then, it’s good to be a messenger.

JAQUES.
I don't have the scholar's sadness, which is about competition; nor the musician's, which is about being whimsical; nor the courtier's, which is about pride; nor the soldier's, which is about ambition; nor the lawyer's, which is about being strategic; nor the lady's, which is about being dainty; nor the lover's, which combines all of these; but I have a sadness that belongs to me, made up of many simple things, drawn from various experiences, and really from the different thoughts about my travels, where my constant reflection wraps me in a strangely amusing sadness.

ROSALIND.
A traveler! Honestly, you have every reason to be sad. I worry you’ve sold your own land just to see other people’s. Then to have seen so much and to have nothing is to have wealthy eyes and empty hands.

JAQUES.
Yeah, I've gained my experience.

ROSALIND.
And your experiences make you sad. I'd rather have a fool to cheer me up than experiences that bring me down—and to have to go through all that too.

Enter Orlando.

ORLANDO.
Hello and hope you’re doing well, dear Rosalind!

JAQUES.
Well then, good luck to you if you’re going to talk in blank verse.

ROSALIND.
Goodbye, Monsieur Traveller. Just look at you, speaking oddly and wearing weird outfits; rejecting all the advantages of your own country; being turned off by where you come from, and almost blaming God for making you look the way you do, or I can hardly believe you've actually rode in a gondola.

[Exit Jaques.]

Why, what’s going on, Orlando? Where have you been all this time? You’re a lover! If you pull a stunt like that again, never show your face to me again.

ORLANDO.
My lovely Rosalind, I’m almost there—just about an hour to go.

ROSALIND.
Break a promise in love for just an hour? Someone who can split a minute into a thousand parts and only break a tiny piece of that in matters of love, you could say that Cupid has tapped him on the shoulder, but I can guarantee he’s still emotionally intact.

ORLANDO.
Excuse me, dear Rosalind.

ROSALIND.
No, if you're going to be so slow, don't come in front of me again. I'd rather be pursued by a snail.

ORLANDO.
About a snail?

ROSALIND.
Yeah, like a snail, because even though he moves slowly, he carries his home on his back—a better deal, I think, than what you offer a woman. Plus, he comes with his own fate.

ORLANDO.
What’s that?

ROSALIND.
Well, horns, which people like you have to rely on your wives for. But he comes equipped with his own fortune and avoids the shame brought on by his wife.

ORLANDO.
Being virtuous doesn’t make one a matchmaker, and my Rosalind is definitely virtuous.

And I’m your Rosalind.

CELIA.
He likes calling you that, but he has a Rosalind with a better look than you.

ROSALIND.
Come on, flirt with me, flirt with me, because I'm in a great mood right now and might just say yes. What would you say to me if I were your one and only Rosalind?

ORLANDO.
I would kiss before I said anything.

ROSALIND.
No, it’s better if you speak first, and when you run out of things to say, you can take the chance to kiss. Good speakers, when they’re out of words, end up spitting; and for lovers who are short on—heaven help us—topics, the cleanest move is to kiss.

ORLANDO.
What if the kiss is refused?

ROSALIND.
Then she starts asking you for favors, and that's where new things begin.

ORLANDO.
Who could be out here, in front of his beloved mistress?

ROSALIND.
Honestly, you should do that if I were your girlfriend, or I’d think my honesty was worse than my intelligence.

ORLANDO.
What about my suit?

ROSALIND.
Not by your clothes, but still out of your look. Am I not your Rosalind?

ORLANDO.
I'm happy to say you are here because otherwise, I'd be talking about her.

ROSALIND.
Well, I’m saying I don’t want you.

ORLANDO.
Then, I die.

ROSALIND.
No way, die by someone else's hand. The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all that time, no man has actually died because of love. Troilus had his brains smashed in with a Greek club, yet he tried to die from love first, and he's considered a classic example of love. Leander, he would have lived many more good years even if Hero had become a nun, if it hadn't been for a hot midsummer night; because, poor guy, he just went out for a swim in the Hellespont and, getting cramp, drowned; and the foolish historians of that time blamed it all on Hero of Sestos. But these are all lies. Men have died from time to time and have been eaten by worms, but not because of love.

ORLANDO.
I wouldn’t want my true Rosalind to feel this way because I swear her scowl could finish me off.

ROSALIND.
I swear, it won’t hurt a fly. But come on, I’ll be your Rosalind in a friendlier way, so ask me whatever you want, and I’ll agree to it.

ORLANDO.
Then love me, Rosalind.

ROSALIND.
Yes, for sure, I will, Fridays, Saturdays, and all.

ORLANDO.
Will you have me?

Sure, and twenty more.

ORLANDO.
What do you say?

ROSALIND.
Are you okay?

ORLANDO.
I hope so.

ROSALIND.
So, can you really want too much of a good thing?—Come on, sister, you'll be the officiant and marry us.—Give me your hand, Orlando.—What do you think, sister?

ORLANDO.
Please, marry us.

CELIA.
I can't say the words.

ROSALIND.
You need to start with “Will you, Orlando—”

CELIA.
Come on.—Will you, Orlando, marry this Rosalind?

ORLANDO.
I will.

ROSALIND.
Yeah, but when?

ORLANDO.
Why is she trying to marry us off so quickly?

ROSALIND.
Then you have to say, “I choose you, Rosalind, as my wife.”

ORLANDO.
I take you, Rosalind, as my wife.

ROSALIND.
I could ask you for your proposal. But I do accept you, Orlando, as my husband. A girl goes ahead of the priest, and certainly a woman's thoughts lead her actions.

ORLANDO.
So do all thoughts. They have wings.

ROSALIND.
Now tell me how long you would keep her after you have had her.

ORLANDO.
Forever.

ROSALIND.
Say “a day” without the “ever.” No, no, Orlando, guys are like April when they’re trying to win you over, and December when they settle down. Girls are like May when they’re single, but everything changes when they become wives. I’ll be more jealous of you than a Barbary cock-pigeon is of his hen, louder than a parrot during a downpour, trendier than an ape, and more reckless in my desires than a monkey. I’ll cry over nothing, like Diana in the fountain, even when you’re in the mood to celebrate. I’ll laugh like a hyena, and that’ll be when you’re ready to sleep.

ORLANDO.
But will my Rosalind act like that?

ROSALIND.
Honestly, she'll do whatever I do.

ORLANDO.
Oh, but she is wise.

ROSALIND.
Otherwise, she wouldn't have the cleverness to pull this off. The smarter she is, the more unpredictable she becomes. Close off a woman’s intelligence, and it’ll escape through the window. Close that, and it’ll slip out through the keyhole. Block that, and it’ll go up with the smoke through the chimney.

ORLANDO.
A man who had a wife with such a sharp wit, he might say, “Wit, where are you going?”

ROSALIND.
No, you should save that for when you find your wife's cleverness in someone else's bed.

ORLANDO.
And what kind of cleverness could defend that?

ROSALIND.
Honestly, she came to look for you there. You won’t get her without her response unless you take her without her ability to speak. Oh, a woman who can't blame her mistakes on her husband's actions should never raise her own child, because she'll raise it to be foolish.

ORLANDO.
For these next two hours, Rosalind, I will leave you.

ROSALIND.
Oh no, my dear, I can't bear to be without you for two hours.

ORLANDO.
I have to go to dinner with the Duke. I’ll be back with you by two o’clock.

ROSALIND.
Yeah, go ahead, do your thing. I knew how this would turn out. My friends warned me about you, and I believed them. Your smooth talk got to me. It's just one throwaway moment, and so, let it be! Is two o’clock your time?

ORLANDO.
Oh, sweet Rosalind.

ROSALIND.
Honestly, and seriously, and may God help me, and by all the sweet promises that are safe, if you break even a tiny part of your promise or show up even a minute late, I will think of you as the most disappointing promise-breaker, the emptiest lover, and the least deserving of the one you call Rosalind, out of all the unfaithful people. So be careful about my judgment, and stick to your promise.

ORLANDO.
With just as much devotion as if you were truly my Rosalind. So, goodbye.

ROSALIND.
Well, time is the old judge that looks into all such offenders, so let's let time decide. Goodbye.

[Exit Orlando.]

CELIA.
You’ve totally misused our gender in your talk about love! We need to take off your doublet and hose and let everyone see what you’ve done to your own home.

ROSALIND.
Oh cousin, cousin, cousin, my sweet little cousin, if only you knew how deeply in love I am! But it’s impossible to measure; my feelings have an endless depth, just like the Bay of Portugal.

CELIA.
Or rather, it's endless, because no matter how much love you pour in, it just drains away.

ROSALIND.
No, that same wicked little brat of Venus, who was created from thought, born out of spite, and brought into the world of madness, that blind little troublemaker who makes everyone misjudge love because he can’t see himself, let him decide how deeply I’m in love. I’ll tell you, Aliena, I can’t be away from Orlando’s sight. I’ll go find a place to hide and sigh until he arrives.

CELIA.
And I’m going to sleep.

[Exit.]

Enter Jaques and Lords, like woodsmen.

Who shot the deer?

FIRST LORD.
It was me, sir.

JAQUES.
Let’s introduce him to the Duke like a Roman conqueror, and it would be good to put the deer’s antlers on his head as a symbol of victory. Don’t you have a song, forester, for this occasion?

SECOND LORD.
Yes, sir.

JAQUES.
Sing it. It doesn’t matter how it sounds, as long as it makes enough noise.

TRACK

SECOND LORD.
[Sings.]
  What will he get for killing the deer?
        His leather skin and horns to wear.
                  So let’s sing him home:
  [The rest shall bear this burden.]
            Don’t be ashamed to wear the horn.
            It was a symbol long before you were born.
                  Your grandfather wore it
                  And your father had it too.
            The horn, the horn, the proud horn
            Is not something to mock or scorn.

[Exit.]

Enter Rosalind and Celia.

ROSALIND.
What do you think now? Isn't it past two o’clock? And here comes Orlando.

CELIA.
I bet you, with his heart full of love and his mind in turmoil, he’s taken his bow and arrows and gone off to sleep.

Enter Silvius.

Look who’s here.

SILVIUS.
I'm here for you, kind young man.
My dear Phoebe asked me to give you this.

[Handing over a letter.]

I don't know what's in it, but from the serious look on her face and her sharp movements while she was writing,
I can tell it has a pretty harsh tone. Forgive me,
I’m just an innocent messenger.

ROSALIND.
Even someone as patient as she would be shocked by this letter
And act all bold. Endure this, endure everything!
She says I’m not pretty, that I have no charm;
She calls me arrogant, and that she couldn’t love me,
Even if a man were as rare as a phoenix. Oh my goodness,
Her love isn’t something I’m chasing after.
Why does she write to me like this? Well, shepherd, well,
This is a letter of your own making.

SILVIUS.
No, I swear, I don’t know what it says.
Phoebe wrote it.

ROSALIND.
Come on, you're being ridiculous,
And you've gone to the extreme with your love.
I saw her hand. It's rough like leather,
And a grayish color. I honestly thought
She was wearing her old gloves, but it's just her hands.
She has a housewife's hands—but that's beside the point.
I say she didn't write this letter;
This is a man's creation, and his handwriting.

SILVIUS.
Of course, it's hers.

ROSALIND.
Why, it’s a loud and brutal way of speaking,
A way meant for rivals. She’s challenging me,
Like a Turk to a Christian. A woman’s gentle mind
Could never come up with such rough and harsh ideas,
Such terrible words, darker in their impact
Than in their appearance. Do you want to hear the letter?

SILVIUS.
If it pleases you, I’ve never heard it before,
But I’ve heard way too much about Phoebe’s cruelty.

ROSALIND.
She makes me feel like Phoebe. Look at the way the tyrant writes.

[Reading.]

Are you a god turned shepherd,
            That a maiden’s heart has burned?
Can a woman speak like this?

SILVIUS.
Is this what you call railing?

ROSALIND.
            Why do you act like a god,
            Fighting with a woman’s heart?
Have you ever heard such insults?
            While men were pursuing me,
            That could do nothing to me.
They think I’m an animal.
            If the scorn in your bright eyes
            Can create such love in me,
            Oh dear, what strange effects
            Would they have if you were gentle?
            While you scolded me, I loved,
            So how might your prayers affect me?
            He who brings this love to you
            Doesn’t know the love in me;
            And through him, decide your heart,
            Whether your youth and nature
            Will accept the faithful offer
            Of me and all I can give,
            Or if you’ll deny my love through him,
            Then I’ll figure out how to die.

SILVIUS.
Is this what you call chiding?

CELIA.
Poor shepherd, what a pity.

ROSALIND.
Do you feel sorry for him? No, he doesn't deserve any sympathy.—Will you really love someone like that? What, to turn you into a tool and play false notes with you? That’s unacceptable! Well, go ahead to her, because I see love has turned you into a docile snake, and tell her this: if she loves me, I command her to love you; if she won’t, I’ll never have her unless you ask for her. If you’re a true lover, go now, and don’t say a word, because more people are coming.

[Exit Silvius.]

Enter Oliver.

OLIVER.
Good morning, beautiful ones. Please, if you know,
Where in the edges of this forest there's
A sheep pen surrounded by olive trees?

CELIA.
West of here, down in the neighboring valley;
The thick osiers by the babbling stream,
On your right, will lead you to the spot.
But at this hour, the house is empty.
There’s no one inside.

OLIVER.
If a person can be recognized by their words,
Then I should know you by your description,
With those clothes and your age. “The boy is attractive,
Charming like a young woman, and presents himself
Like a confident sister; the woman is short,
And darker than her brother.” Are you not
The owner of the house I asked about?

CELIA.
It's not bragging, when asked, to say that we are.

OLIVER.
Orlando sends his regards to both of you,
And to the young woman he calls his Rosalind,
He sends this bloody napkin. Are you him?

ROSALIND.
I am. What do we need to make of this?

OLIVER.
If you want to know about me, my shame is part of it.
What kind of man I am, and how I became this way, and why, and where
This handkerchief got stained.

CELIA.
Please share it.

OLIVER.
The last time the young Orlando left you,
He promised to come back again
Within an hour, and while walking through the forest,
Thinking about both sweet and bitter ideas,
Guess what happened. He turned his gaze aside,
And noticed something. Under an oak tree, whose branches were covered in moss
And whose high top was bare with age,
A miserable, ragged man with unkempt hair
Was sleeping on his back; around his neck,
A green and gilded snake had wrapped itself,
Which, with a threatening head, was moving toward
The opening of his mouth. But suddenly,
Seeing Orlando, it unwound itself
And slipped away into a bush; beneath that bush’s shade
A lioness, with empty udders,
Lay crouched, head on the ground, watching patiently
For the sleeping man to move. For it’s
The royal nature of that creature
To prey on anything that appears to be dead.
Seeing this, Orlando approached the man
And discovered it was his brother, his older brother.

CELIA.
Oh, I've heard him talk about that same brother,
And he described him as the most unnatural
Person who lived among men.

OLIVER.
And he definitely could do that,
Because I know he was unnatural.

ROSALIND.
But, about Orlando: did he leave him there,
Food for the hungry lioness?

OLIVER.
He turned his back twice and intended to leave;
But kindness, always nobler than revenge,
And nature, stronger than his rightful cause,
Made him confront the lioness,
Who quickly fell before him; in that struggle,
I awoke from my miserable slumber.

CELIA.
Are you his sibling?

ROSALIND.
Did he rescue you?

CELIA.
Wasn't it you who kept trying to kill him?

OLIVER.
It was me; but it’s not me anymore. I’m not ashamed
To share what I used to be, since my change
Feels so nice, being the person I am now.

But, what about the bloody napkin?

OLIVER.
Eventually.
When from the beginning to the end between us two
Tears from our stories had most kindly mingled—
Like how I ended up in that barren place—
In short, he took me to the kind Duke,
Who gave me new clothes and hospitality,
Entrusting me to my brother’s care,
Who immediately took me to his cave,
There he stripped down, and on his arm
The lioness had torn away some flesh,
Which had been bleeding all this time; and now he fainted,
And cried in his weakness for Rosalind.
In short, I revived him, bandaged his wound,
And after a little while, being strong in spirit,
He sent me here, being a stranger,
To tell this story so you might forgive
His broken promise, and to give this napkin,
Dyed in his blood, to the shepherd boy
Who playfully calls him Rosalind.

[Rosalind faints.]

CELIA.
Hey there, Ganymede, my sweet Ganymede!

OLIVER.
Many will faint when they see blood.

CELIA.
There's more to this. Cousin—Ganymede!

OLIVER.
Look, he's recovering.

ROSALIND.
I wish I were at home.

CELIA.
We’ll take you there.
Please, will you take his arm?

OLIVER.
Stay positive, young one. Are you a man? You don’t have the heart of a man.

ROSALIND.
I admit it, I really do. Oh, come on, you’d think this was really fake. Please let your brother know how well I pulled this off. Sigh.

OLIVER.
This wasn't fake. There's too much evidence in your expression that it was a genuine feeling.

ROSALIND.
Fake, I assure you.

OLIVER.
Well then, have courage and pretend to be a man.

ROSALIND.
Yeah, I do. But honestly, I should have been a woman by now.

CELIA.
Come on, you look more and more pale. Please, let’s head back home. Good sir, come with us.

OLIVER.
I will do that, because I need to report back
How you justify my brother, Rosalind.

ROSALIND.
I’ll come up with something. But please, tell him I’m just pretending. Will you go?

[Exit.]

Enter Touchstone and Audrey.

TOUCHSTONE.
We will find a time, Audrey; just be patient, sweet Audrey.

AUDREY.
The priest was decent enough, despite what the old man kept saying.

TOUCHSTONE.
A really terrible Sir Oliver, Audrey, a truly despicable Martext. But Audrey, there’s a guy here in the forest who claims you.

AUDREY.
Yeah, I know who it is. He doesn't have any interest in me at all.

Enter William.

Here comes the guy you’re talking about.

TOUCHSTONE.
It brings me joy to see a clown. Honestly, we who are smart have a lot to answer for. We're going to be mocking; we just can't help it.

WILLIAM.
Good evening, Audrey.

AUDREY.
Good evening, William.

WILLIAM.
Good evening, sir.

TOUCHSTONE.
Good evening, my friend. Put on your hat, put on your hat. No, please, cover yourself. How old are you, friend?

WILLIAM.
Twenty-five, sir.

TOUCHSTONE.
A perfect age. Is your name William?

WILLIAM.
William, yes, sir.

TOUCHSTONE.
That's a lovely name. Were you born in this forest?

WILLIAM.
Yes, sir, I thank God.

TOUCHSTONE.
“Thank God.” That's a good response. Is art valuable?

WILLIAM.
Faith, sir, it's okay.

TOUCHSTONE.
"Okay" is fine, really fine, really excellent. And yet it isn't, it's just okay. Are you wise?

WILLIAM.
Yeah, sir, I have a pretty quick mind.

TOUCHSTONE.
Well said. I now remember a saying: “A fool thinks he's wise, but a wise person knows he’s a fool.” The ancient philosopher, when he wanted to eat a grape, would open his mouth to put it in, meaning that grapes are made to be eaten and mouths to be opened. You care for this girl?

WILLIAM.
I do, sir.

TOUCHSTONE.
Give me your hand. Are you educated?

WILLIAM.
Nah, sir.

TOUCHSTONE.
So here’s something to understand: to have is to have. It's a rhetorical figure that when drink is poured from a cup into a glass, filling one empties the other. Every writer agrees that ipse means “he.” Now, you are not ipse, because I am he.

WILLIAM.
Which one, sir?

TOUCHSTONE.
He's the one who has to marry this woman. So, you fool, leave—what people usually say is “go away”—the company—what most people call “the company”—of this lady—what is commonly known as “woman”; basically, leave the company of this lady, or, fool, you'll end up dead; or to make it clearer, you'll die; or to put it simply, I’ll kill you, take your life away, turn your freedom into slavery. I’ll use poison on you, or give you a beating, or go for a knife. I’ll compete with you politically; I’ll outsmart you with strategy. I can kill you in a hundred and fifty ways! So, shake in fear and get out.

AUDREY.
Sure thing, William.

WILLIAM.
May you rest in peace, sir.

[Leave.]

Enter Corin.

CORIN.
Our boss and lady are looking for you. Come on, let’s go.

TOUCHSTONE.
Hurry up, Audrey, hurry up! I’m here, I’m here.

[Leave the stage.]

Enter Orlando and Oliver.

ORLANDO.
Is it really possible that you like her after knowing her for such a short time? That just by seeing her, you could fall in love? And then, in love, you would try to win her over? And she would agree to it? Are you really committed to pursuing her?

OLIVER.
Don’t doubt the craziness of it, her poverty, our little connection, my sudden proposal, or her quick agreement. Just say that I love Aliena; say that she loves me; agree with us both that we can be together. It will benefit you, because I’ll give you my father’s house and all the wealth that belonged to the late Sir Rowland, and I’ll live and die as a shepherd here.

Enter Rosalind.

ORLANDO.
You have my approval. Let your wedding be tomorrow. I will invite the Duke and all his happy followers. Go and get Aliena ready; look, here comes my Rosalind.

ROSALIND.
God bless you, brother.

OLIVER.
And you, lovely sister.

[Leave.]

ROSALIND.
Oh my dear Orlando, it pains me to see you wearing your heart on your sleeve!

ORLANDO.
It's my arm.

ROSALIND.
I thought your heart had been hurt by a lion's claws.

ORLANDO.
It’s wounded, but it has the eyes of a woman.

ROSALIND.
Did your brother tell you how I pretended to faint when he showed me your handkerchief?

ORLANDO.
Yeah, and even more amazing things than that.

ROSALIND.
Oh, I know what you mean. Honestly, it's true. There's never been anything so sudden as a fight between two rams or Caesar's arrogant claim of “I came, I saw, I conquered.” As soon as your brother and my sister met, they exchanged glances; as soon as they looked, they fell in love; as soon as they loved, they sighed; as soon as they sighed, they questioned the reason; as soon as they figured out the reason, they searched for a solution; and through all these steps, they have built a path to marriage, which they will soon walk, or else act impulsively before getting married. They are in the heat of love, and they will be together. No one can tear them apart.

ORLANDO.
They’re getting married tomorrow, and I’ll invite the Duke to the wedding. But oh, how painful it is to see happiness through someone else’s eyes! The more I see my brother happy with what he wants, the more I will feel the weight of my own sorrow.

ROSALIND.
So, I can't help you with Rosalind tomorrow?

ORLANDO.
I can't keep living this way by just thinking.

ROSALIND.
I won’t keep you any longer with pointless chatter. Just so you know—I’m being direct here—I recognize that you’re a gentleman of good standing. I’m not saying this to make you think highly of my knowledge, because I genuinely know you are. I'm also not trying to gain more prestige than what might make you believe I can help you, and not to make me look good. So believe, if you want, that I can do amazing things. Since I was three years old, I’ve been talking to a magician who is very skilled in his art but not evil. If you truly love Rosalind as much as it seems, then when your brother marries Aliena, you will marry her too. I know the difficult situation she’s in, and it’s not impossible for me, if it doesn’t inconvenience you, to have her in front of you tomorrow, just as human as she is, and without any risk.

ORLANDO.
Are you speaking seriously?

ROSALIND.
Honestly, I do, and I care about it a lot, even though I call myself a magician. So get dressed up, invite your friends; because if you want to get married tomorrow, you can, and to Rosalind, if that's what you desire.

Enter Silvius and Phoebe.

Look, here comes someone I love and someone she loves.

PHOEBE.
Young man, you have treated me very unfairly
By revealing the letter I wrote to you.

ROSALIND.
I don’t care if I do; my aim
Is to act spiteful and unkind to you.
You are being pursued by a loyal shepherd.
Look at him, love him; he adores you.

PHOEBE.
Good shepherd, tell this young man what it means to love.

SILVIUS.
It's all going to be about sighs and tears,
And that's how I feel about Phoebe.

PHOEBE.
And I for Ganymede.

ORLANDO.
And I for Roz.

And I for no woman.

SILVIUS.
It’s all about faith and service,
And that’s how I feel about Phoebe.

PHOEBE.
And I for Ganymede.

ORLANDO.
And I for Rosalind.

ROSALIND.
And I'm not for any woman.

SILVIUS.
It's all about fantasy,
All about passion, and all about wishes,
All adoration, duty, and respect,
All humility, all patience, and impatience,
All purity, all testing, all observance,
And that’s how I feel about Phoebe.

PHOEBE.
And so am I for Ganymede.