Never to part with it; and here he stands: Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia. Dear lady, welcome home. Por. We have been praying for our husbands' welfare, Which speed, we hope, the better for our words. Are they return'd? Madam, they are not yet; [A tucket sounded. Lor. Your husband is at hand: I hear his trumpet. We are no tell-tales, madam; fear you not. Por. This night, methinks, is but the daylight sick; Enter BASSANIO, ANTONIO, GRATIANO, and their Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes, Por. Let me give light, but let me not be light; But God sort all:-You are welcome home, my lord. This is the man, this is Antonio, To whom I am so infinitely bound. Nor pluck it from his finger for the wealth [off, If you did know to whom I gave the ring, Por. You should in all sense be much bound to him, Or half her worthiness that gave the ring, For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. Ant. No more than I am well acquitted of. It must appear in other ways than words, Or your own honour to retains the ring, Gra. [To NERISSA.] By yonder moon, I swear, you To urge the thing held as a ceremony? do me wrong; In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk: Would he were gelt that had it, for my part, Por. A quarrel, ho, already! what's the matter? Ner. What talk you of the poesy, or the value? Gra. Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth, A kind of boy; a little scrubbed boy, No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk; A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee: I could not for my heart deny it him. Nerissa teaches me what to believe: Bass. No, by mine honour, madam, by my soul, No woman had it; but a civil doctor, Even he that had held up the very life Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady? I was enforc'd to send it after him: I was beset with shame and courtesy; My honour would not let ingratitude Por. Let not that doctor e'er come near my house. I will become as liberal as you: I'll not deny him any thing I have; No, not my body, nor my husband's bed. Know him I shall, I am well sure of it: Lie not a night from home; watch me like Argus; Por. You were to blame, I must be plain with you, If you do not, if I be left alone, To part so slightly with your wife's first gift; A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger, And so riveted with faith unto your flesh. I gave my love a ring, and made him swear Now, by mine honour, which is yet mine own, Ner. And I his clerk; therefore, be well advis'd 1 Flourish of a trumpet. 2 Not in f. e. 3 So the quartos: the folio "the." 4 So the quartos; the folio: "but well I know." tain in f. e. 5 con Gra. Well, do you so: let not me take him then; For, if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen. Ant. I am th' unhappy subject of these quarrels. Por. Sir, grieve not you; you are welcome notwithstanding. Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong; I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes, Por. Mark you but that! Bass. Ant. I once did lend my body for his wealth, Por. Then, you shall be his surety. Give him this, And bid him keep it better than the other. Ant. Here, lord Bassanio; swear to keep this ring. Bass. By heaven! it is the same I gave the doctor. Por. I had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio, For by this ring the doctor lay with me. Ner. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano, For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk, In lieu of this last night did lie with me. Gra. Why, this is like the mending of highways There you shall find, that Portia was the doctor; 1 where in f. e. And even but now return'd: I have not yet I am dumb. Bass. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow: When I am absent, then, lie with my wife. Ant. Sweet lady, you have given me life and living, Gra. Let it be so: the first inter'gatory, [Exeunt. The SCENE lies, first, near Oliver's House; afterwards in the Usurper's Court, and in the Forest of Arden. ACT I. SCENE I.—An Orchard, near OLIVER's House. Orl. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion: he bequeathed me by will' but a poor thousand crowns; and, as thou say'st, charged my brother on his blessing to breed me well: and there begins my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit: for my part, he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more properly, stays me here at home unkept; for call you that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that differs not from the stalling of an ox? His horses are bred better; for, besides that they are fair with their feeding, they are taught their manage, and to that end riders dearly hired: but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth, for the which his animals on his dunghills are as much bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the something that nature gave me, his countenance2 seems to take from me: he lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a brother, and, as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit of my father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny against this servitude. I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it. Adam. Yonder comes my master, your brother. Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up. [ADAM retires.3 Enter OLIVER, Oli. Now, sir! what make you here? Orl. Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing. Oli. What mar you then, sir? Orl. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idle ness. Oli. Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile.* Orl. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them? What prodigal portion have I spent that I should come to such penury? Oli. Know you where you are, sir? I Orl. Ay, better than he I am before knows me. know, you are my eldest brother; and, in the gentle condition of blood, you should so know me. The cour tesy of nations allows you my better, in that you are the first-born; but the same tradition takes not away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt us. I have as much of my father in me, as you, albeit, I confess, your coming before me is nearer to his reverence. Óli. What, boy! Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this. Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? Orl. I am no villain: I am the youngest son of sir Rowland de Bois; he was my father, and he is thrice a villain, that says, such a father begot villains. Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy throat, till this other had pulled out thy tongue for saying so. [Shaking him3.] Thou hast railed on thyself. Adam. [Coming forward.] Sweet masters, be patient: for your father's remembrance, be at accord. Óli. Let me go, I say. Orl. I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. My father charged you in his will to give me good education: you have trained me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities: the spirit of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer endure it; therefore, allow me such ex* A petty malediction. 1 it was upon this fashion bequeathed, &c. 2 Behavior. 3 Not in f. e. 5 Not in f. e. ercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor allottery my father left me by testament: with that I will go buy my fortunes. Oli. And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent? Well, sir, get you in: I will not long be troubled with you; you shall have some part of your will. I pray you, leave me. Orl. I will no further offend you, than becomes me for my good. Oli. Get you with him, you old dog. Adam. Is old dog my reward? Most true, I have lost my teeth in your service.-God be with my old master! he would not have spoke such a word. [Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM. Oli. Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? I will physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. Hola, Dennis! Enter DENNIS. Den. Calls your worship? Oli. Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, here to speak with me? Den. So please you, he is here at the door, and importunes access to you. Oli. Call him in. [Exit DENNIS.]'T will be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is. Enter CHARLES. Cha. Good morrow to your worship. Oli. Good monsieur Charles, what's the new news at the new court? Cha. There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news; that is, the old duke is banished by his younger brother the new duke, and three or four loving lords have put themselves into voluntary exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke; therefore he gives them good leave to wander. Oli. Can you tell, if Rosalind, the old1 duke's daughter, be banished with her father? Cha. O! no; for the new2 duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves her, being ever from their cradles bred together, that she would have followed her exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at the court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter; and never two ladies loved as they do. Oli. Where will the old duke live? Cha. They say, he is already in the forest of Arden, and a many merry men with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England. They say, many young gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world. Oli. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke? Cha. Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand, that your younger brother, Orlando, hath a disposition to come in disguised against me, to try a fall. Tomorrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit, and he that escapes me without some broken limb shall acquit him well. Your brother is but young, and tender; and, for your love, I would be loath to foil him, as I must for my own honour if he come in: therefore, out of my love to you I came hither to acquaint you withal, that either you might stay him from his intendment, or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into, in that it is a thing of his own search, and altogether against my will. Oli. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which, thou shalt find, I will most kindly requite. I had myself notice of my brother's purpose herein, and have, by underhand means, laboured to dissuade him from it; but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles: it is Oli. Farewell good Charles.-Now will I stir this gamester. I hope, I shall see an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than he: yet he 's gentle; never schooled, and yet learned; full of noble device; of all sorts enchantingly beloved, and, indeed, so much in the heart of the world, and especially of my own people, who best know him, that I am altogether misprised. But it shall not be so long; this wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains, but that I kindle the boy thither, which now I'll go about. [Exit. SCENE II.-A Lawn before the DUKE's Palace. Enter ROSALIND and CELIA. Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. Ros. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of, and would you yet I3 were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget a banished father, you must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure. Cel. Herein, I see, thou lovest me not with the full weight that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father, had banished thy uncle, the duke my father, so thou hadst been still with me, I could have taught my love to take thy father for mine: so wouldst thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously tempered, as mine is to thee. Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to rejoice in yours. Cel. You know, my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to have; and, truly, when he dies, thou shalt be his heir: for what he hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render thee again in affection: by mine honour, I will; and when I break that oath let me turn monster. Therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry. Ros. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. Let me see; what think you of falling in love? Cel. Marry, I pr'ythee, do, to make sport withal: but love no man in good earnest; nor no further in sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou may'st in honour come off again. Ros. What shall be our sport then? Cel. Let us sit, and mock the good housewife, Fortune, from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally. Ros. I would, we could do so; for her benefits are mightily misplaced, and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her gifts to women. Cel. 'Tis true, for those that she makes fair, she 1 This is not in f. e. 2 This word is not in f. e. 3 I, was added by Pope. scarce makes honest; and those that she makes honest, she makes very ill-favoured. Ros. Nay, now thou goest from fortune's office to nature's fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of nature. Enter TOUCHSTONE. Cel. No when nature hath made a fair creature, may she not by fortune fall into the fire?-Though nature hath given us wit to flout at fortune, hath not fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument? Ros. Indeed, there is fortune too hard for nature, when fortune makes nature's natural the cutter off of nature's wit. Cel. Peradventure, this is not fortune's work neither, but nature's; who, perceiving our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, hath sent this natural for our whetstone : for always the dulness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits.-How now, wit? whither wander you? Touch. Mistress, you must come away to your father. Cel. Were you made the messenger? Touch. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come for you. Ros. Where learned you that oath, fool? Touch. Of a certain knight, that swore by his honour they were good pancakes, and swore by his honour the mustard was naught now, I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught, and the mustard was good, and yet was not the knight forsworn. Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge? Ros, Ay, marry: now unmuzzle your wisdom. Touch. Stand you both forth now; stroke your chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave. Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou art. Touch. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were; but if you swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn: no more was this knight, swearing by his honour, for he never had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away before ever he saw those pancakes, or that mustard. Cel. Pr'ythee, who is 't that thou mean'st? Touch. One that old Frederick, your father, loves. Ros1. My father's love is enough to honour him enough. Speak no more of him: you'll be whipped for taxation2, one of these days. Touch. The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely, what wise men do foolishly. Cel. By my troth, thou say'st true; for since the little wit that fools have was silenced, the little foolery that wise men have makes a great show. Here comes monsieur Le Beau. Enter LE BEAU. Ros. With his mouth full of news. Cel. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young. Ros. Then shall we be news-cramm'd. Cel. All the better; we shall be the more marketable. Bon jour, monsieur Le Beau: what's the news? Le Beau. Fair princess, you have lost much good sport. Cel. Spot? Of what colour? 4 Le Beau. You amaze me, ladies: I would have told you of good wrestling, which you have lost the sight of. Ros. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling. Le Beau. I will tell you the beginning; and, if it please your ladyships, you may see the end, for the best is yet to do: and here, where you are, they are coming to perform it. Cel. Well,-the beginning, that is dead and buried. Le Beau. There comes an old man, and his three sons, Cel. I could match this beginning with an old tale. Le Beau. Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence; Ros. With bills on their necks,-"Be it known unto all men by these presents," Le Beau. The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the duke's wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him, and broke three of his ribs, that there is little hope of life in him: so he served the second, and so the third. Yonder they lie, the poor old man, their father, making such pitiful dole over them, that all the beholders take his part with weeping. Ros. Alas! Touch. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies have lost? Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of. Touch. Thus men may grow wiser every day! it is the first time that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport for ladies. Cel. Or I, I promise thee. Ros. But is there any else longs to see this broken music in his sides? is there yet another dotes upon rib-breaking ?-Shall we see this wrestling, cousin? Le Beau. You must, if you stay here; for here is the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to perform it. Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming: let us now stay and see it. Flourish. Enter Duke FREDERICK, Lords, ORLANDO, CHARLES, and Attendants. Duke F. Come on: since the youth will not be entreated, his own peril on his forwardness. Ros. Is yonder the man? Le Beau. Even he, madam. Cel. Alas! he is too young: yet he looks successfully. Duke F. How now, daughter, and cousin! are you crept hither to see the wrestling? Ros. Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave. Duke F. You will take little delight in it, I can tell you, there is such odds in the men. In pity of the challenger's youth, I would fain dissuade him, but he will not be entreated: speak to him, ladies; see if you can move him. Cel. Call him hither, good monsieur Le Beau. Duke F. Do so: I'll not be by. [DUKE goes apart. Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the princess calls for you. Orl. I attend them with all respect and duty. Ros. Young man, have you challenged Charles the wrestler ? Orl. No, fair princess; he is the general challenger: Le Beau. What colour, madam? How shall II come but in, as others do, to try with him the strength answer you? Ros. As wit and fortune will. Touch. Or as the destinies decree. Cel. Well said: that was laid on with a trowel. Touch. Nay, if I keep not my rank, Ros. Thou losest thy old smell. of my youth. Cel. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your years. You have seen cruel proof of this man's strength: if you saw yourself with our' eyes, or knew yourself with our judgment, the fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal enterprise. We 1 Some eds. give this speech to Celia. 2 Scandal. 3 sport: in f. e. 4 Confuse. 5 A kind of pike, or halbert. 6 man in f. e. 7 8 your: in f. e. |