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As You Like It

1 hour 37 minutes

[dramatic orchestral music]


[light orchestral music]


[ducks quacking and chickens clucking]

[bell tolling 11 times]

As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion my father bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand crowns and charged my brother on his blessing to breed me well, and there begins my sadness. He stays me at home unkept. For call you that "keeping" for a gentleman of my birth, that differs not from the stalling of an ox? 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.

[whispering] Sh, Master Orlando.

Yonder he comes.

[chickens clucking]

Stay apart, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up.

(Oliver) Now, sir, what make you here? Nothing; I am not taught to make anything. Marry, sir; be better employed. Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks with them?

(Oliver) Know you where you are, sir? I know you are my eldest brother, and in the gentle condition of blood, you should so know me. I have as much of my father in me as you!

What, boy? [slaps]

Come, come, elder brother, you are too young for this. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? I am no villain. I am the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys, 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. Sweet masters, be patient. For your father's remembrance, be at accord. Let me go, I say! I will not till I please. You shall hear me. My father charged you by his will to give me good education. You have trained me like a peasant. And the spirit of my father grows strong within me, and I will no longer endure it. Therefore, give me the poor allottery my father left me by testament. With that, I will go buy my fortune. 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. I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good. Get you with him, you old dog. Is "old dog" my reward? Most true, I have lost my teeth in your service. I will physic your rankness and yet give no thousand crowns neither.


(Oliver) Holla, Dennis! Calls your worship? Was not Charles, the Duke's wrestler, here to speak with me? So please you, he is here at the door. Call him in. Good day to your worship. Good, Monsieur Charles. What's the new news at the new court? There is no news at the court, sir, but the old news. That is, the old Duke is banished by his younger brother, the new Duke. Where will the old Duke live? They say he's already in the Forest of Arden and a many merry men with him, and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England. You wrestle tomorrow before the new Duke? Marry, do I, sir, and I came to acquaint you with the matter. I am given, sir-- secretly-- to understand that your younger brother, Orlando, comes 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. And therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you that you might stay him. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which I will most kindly requite. Oh. I'll tell thee, Charles, my brother is the stubbornest young fellow of France, a secret and villainous contriver against me, his natural brother. Therefore, use thy discretion. I had as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger. I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come tomorrow, I'll give him his payment. If ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize more. And so, God keep your worship. Farewell, good Charles. I hope I shall see an end of him, for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than he. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of. Unless you could teach me to forget a banished father, you must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure. Herein, I see thou lov'st me not with the full weight that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father, had banished my uncle, the Duke, thy 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. Well, I will forget. You know my father hath no child but I, 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 honor, I will, and when I break that oath, let me turn monster. Therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. Let me see; what think you of falling in love? Marry, I prithee do, to make sport withal. But love no man in good earnest nor no further in sport neither than with safety of a pure blush thou mayst in honor come off again. What shall be our sport then?

(Celia) Oh, here comes Monsieur Le Beau. With his mouth full of news. Bonjour, Monsieur Le Beau. What's the news? Fair princess, you are going to lose much good sport. Sport? Of what color? What color, Madam? How shall I answer you? As wit and fortune will.

[speaking French]

Good wrestling, ladies. And they are ready to perform. Let us see it, coz.

[dynamic music]


[trumpet fanfare playing]


Come on! Since this youth will not be entreated, his own peril on his forwardness. Is yonder the man? Even he, Madam. Alas, he is too young.

(Frederick) How now, daughter and cousin. Are you crept hither to see the wrestling? Aye, my liege, so please you, give us leave. You will take little delight in it, I can tell you. There is such odds in the man. 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. I'll not be by. Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the princess calls for you. I attend them with all respect and duty. Young man, have you challenged Charles the wrestler? No, fair Princess, he is the general challenger; I come but in, as others do, to try with him the strength of my youth. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your years. We pray you for your own sake to give over this attempt. Do, young sir. I beseech you, punish me not with your hard thoughts, wherein I confess me much guilty to deny so fair and excellent ladies anything. But let your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my trial, wherein, if I be foiled, there is but one shamed who was never gracious, if killed, but one dead that is willing to be so. I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me; the world no injury, for in it, I have nothing. Only in the world I fill up a place which may be better supplied when I have made it empty.

[trumpet fanfare]

The little strength I have, I would it were with you. And mine to eke out hers.


Come! Where is this young gallant that is so desirous to lie with his Mother Earth? You mean to mock me after. You should not have mocked me before. But come your ways.

[crowd cheering]

Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the leg. No more. No more. How dost thou, Charles?


(Le Beau) He cannot speak, my lord. Bear him away.

[crowd laughing]

What is thy name, young man? Orlando, my liege, the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys. I would thou hadst been son to some man else. The world esteemed thy father honorable, but I did find him still mine enemy. But fare thee well. Thou art a gallant youth. I would thou hadst told me of another father.

[trumpet fanfare]


Were I my father, coz, would I do this? My father loved Sir Rowland as his soul. Gentle cousin, let us go thank him and encourage him. Sir, you have well deserved. If you do keep your promises in love but justly, as you have exceeded promise, your mistress shall be happy. Gentleman, wear this for me: one out of suits with fortune, that could give more, but that her hand lacks means. Shall we go, coz? Aye. Fare you well, fair gentleman. Can I not say, "Thank you"? He calls us back. My pride fell with my fortune. I'll ask him what he would. Did you call, sir? Sir, you have wrestled well and overthrown more than your enemies. Will you go, Rosalind? Have with you. Fare you well. What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue? I cannot speak to her, yet she urged conference. Oh, poor Orlando, thou art overthrown, or Charles or something weaker masters thee.

(Le Beau) Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you to leave this place. Albeit you have deserved high commendation, yet such is now the Duke's condition that he misconstrues all that you have done. I thank you, sir, and pray you, tell me this: which of the two was daughter of the duke that here was at the wrestling? Indeed, the taller is his daughter. The other is Rosalind, daughter to the banished duke. But I can tell you that of late, this duke hath taken displeasure against his gentle niece, grounded upon no other argument but that the people praise her for her virtues and pity her for her good father's sake. And, on my life, his malice against this lady will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well. I rest much bounden to you. Fare you well. Thus must I from the smoke into the smother, from tyrant duke unto a tyrant brother-- but heavenly Rosalind.

(Celia) Rosalind! Rosalind. Why, cousin. Where in God's name-- Cupid have mercy. Not a word? Not one to throw at a dog. Hmm, but is all this for your father? No, some of it is for my father's child. Come, come; wrestle with your affections. Oh, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself. Is this possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so strong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son? The Duke, my father, loved his father dearly. Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his son dearly? No. By this kind of chase, I should hate him, for my father hated his father dearly, yet I hate not Orlando. No, faith. Hate him not for my sake. Oh, look, here comes the Duke. Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste, and get you from our court. Me, uncle? You, cousin. Within these ten days, if that thou beest found so near our public court as 20 miles, thou diest for it. I do beseech your Grace, let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me. Never so much as in a thought unborn did I offend your Highness. Thus do all traitors. Thou art thy father's daughter; there is enough. So was I when your Highness took his Dukedom. So was I when your Highness banished him. Treason is not inherited, my lord. Or if we did derive it from our friends, what's that to me? My father was no traitor. Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much to think my poverty is treacherous. Dear sovereign, hear me speak! Aye, Celia, we stayed her for your sake, else had she with her father ranged along. If she be a traitor, why, so am I. We still have slept together, rose at an instant, learned, played, ate together. Still we went, coupled and inseparable. Thou art a fool. She robs thee of thy name, and thou wilt show more bright and seem more virtuous when she is gone. No, my liege! Open not thy lips. Firm and irrevocable is my doom. She is banished. Pronounce that sentence, then, on me, my liege. I cannot live out of her company. You are a fool. You, niece, provide yourself. If you outstay the time, upon mine honor, and in the greatness of my word, you die.


(Celia) My poor Rosalind. Wither wilt thou go? Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine. I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than I am. I have more cause. Thou hast not, cousin. Prithee be cheerful. Knowest thou not the Duke hath banished me, his daughter? That he hath not. No? Hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love which teacheth thee that thou and I am one. Shall we be sundered? Shall we part? Sweet girl, no. Let my father seek another heir. For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee. Why? Whither shall we go? To seek my uncle in the Forest of Arden.

[man singing]

♪ What shall he have that killed the deer? ♪

♪ His leather skin and horns to wear. ♪

(two men) ♪ Take thou no scorn to wear the horn. ♪

♪ It was a crest ere thou wast born. ♪

(all) ♪ Thy father's father wore it, ♪

♪ and thy father bore it. ♪

♪ The horn, the horn, the lusty horn ♪

♪ is not a thing to laugh, to scorn. ♪♪

Now, my comates and brothers in exile, hath not old custom made this life more sweet than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods more free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, the seasons' difference, as the icy fang and churlish chiding of the winter's wind, which, when it bites and blows upon my body, even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say, "This is no flattery. "These are counselors that feelingly persuade me what I am." Sweet are the uses of adversity, which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in his head. And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in every thing. I would not change it.

(man) Happy is your Grace that can translate the stubbornness of fortune into so quiet and so sweet a style.


♪ Blow, blow, thou winter wind. ♪

♪ Thou art not so unkind, ♪

♪ thou art not so unkind as man's ingratitude. ♪

♪ Thy tooth is not so keen, ♪

♪ because thou art not seen. ♪

♪ Thy tooth is not so keen, ♪

♪ because thou art not seen, ♪

♪ although thy breath be rude, ♪

♪ although thy breath be rude, ♪

♪ although thy breath be rude. ♪♪

Alas, what danger will it be to us, maids as we are, to travel forth so far? I'll put myself in poor and mean attire and with a kind of umber, smirch my face. The like, do you. So shall we pass along and never stir assailants. Were it not better that I did suit me all points like a man? And in my heart lie there what hidden woman's fear there will. We'll have a swashing and a martial outside as many other mannish cowards have that do outface it with their semblances. What shall I call thee when thou art a man? I will have no worse a name than Jove's own page, and therefore look you call me Ganymede. But what will you be called? Something that hath reference to my state-- no longer Celia but Aliena. But, cousin, what if we assayed to steal the clownish fool out of your father's court? Would he not be a comfort to our travel? He'll go along all the wide world with me. Leave me alone to woo him. Let's away.

[bells jangling]

Now go we in content, to liberty and not to banishment! Can it be possible that no man saw them? It cannot be. Some villains of my court are of consent and sufferance in this. I cannot hear of any that did see her.

(man) My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft your Grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.

[woman crying]

Hisperia, the princess' gentlewoman, confesses that she secretly o'erheard your daughter and her cousin much commend the parts and graces of the wrestler that did but lately foil the sinewy Charles, and she believes wherever they are gone, that youth is surely in their company. Send to that wrestler. Fetch that gallant hither. If he be absent, bring his brother to me. I'll make him find him. Do this suddenly! And let not search or inquisition quail to bring again these foolish runaways.

[chickens clucking]

Oh, my gentle master. Oh, my sweet master. Oh, your memory of old Sir Rowland. Why, what's the matter? Oh, unhappy youth. Within this roof, the enemy of all your graces lives. Your brother, this night, he means to burn the lodging where you used to lie, and you within it. This house is but a butchery. Abhor it. Fear it. Do not stay in it. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go? No matter whither, so you stay not here. What? Wouldst thou have me go and beg my food? I have 500 crowns, the thrifty hire I saved under your father. Here is the gold. All this, I give you. Let me be your servant in all your business and necessities. Oh, good old man, how well in thee appears the constant service of the antique world, where service sweat for duty, not for meed. Thou art not for the fashion of these times, where none will serve but for promotion. But come thy ways. We'll go along together, and ere we have thy youthful wages spent, we'll light upon some settled low content. Oh, Jupiter, how weary are my spirits. I care not for my spirits if my legs were not so weary. I could find it in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel and to cry like a woman. I-I pray you, bear with me. I can go no further. For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear you. Well, this is the Forest of Arden. Aye, now am I in Arden, the more fool I. When I was at home, I was at a better place, but travelers must be content. Aye, be so, good Touchstone.


Baa! Oh!

(man) O, Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her.

(Corin) I partly guess, for I have loved ere now. How many actions most ridiculous hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy? Into a thousand that I have forgotten. Oh, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily. If thou rememberest not the slightest folly that ever love did make thee run into, thou hast not loved.

[Corin chortles]

Or if thou hast not spoke as I do now, wearing thy hearer with thy mistress' praise, thou hast not loved.


Or if thou hast not broke from company abruptly, as my passion now makes me, thou has not loved.


Oh, Phebe, Phebe, Phebe. Oh, Jove, Jove. This shepherd's passion is much upon my fashion.

[yawning] And mine, but it grows somewhat stale with me.

I pray you, one of you question yon man if he for gold will give us any food. I faint almost to death. Holla, you clown. Peace, fool. He's not thy kinsman.

(man) Who calls? Good morrow to you, friend. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold can in this desert place buy entertainment. Here's a young maid with travel much oppressed and faints for succor. Fair sir, I pity her, but I am shepherd to another man and do not shear the fleeces that I graze. His cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed are now on sale. But what is, come and see, and in my voice, most welcome shall you be. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, and thou shalt have to pay for it of us. I like this place and willingly would waste my time in it. Assuredly, the thing is to be sold. Go with me; and if you like upon report the soil, the profit, and this kind of life, I will your very faithful feeder be.

[sheep bleating]

Why, how now, Monsieur. What a life is this that your poor friends must woo your company? What, you look merrily. A fool. A fool. I met a fool in the forest, a motley fool. A miserable world. As I do live by food, I met a fool who laid him down and basked him in the sun and railed on Lady Fortune in good terms-- in good set terms-- and yet a motley fool. "Good morrow, fool," quoth I. "No, sir," quoth he. "Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune."


And then he drew a dial from his poke and, looking on it with lackluster eye, says very wisely, "It is 10 o'clock. "Thus we may see," quoth he, "how the world wags. "'Tis but an hour ago since it was 9, "and after one hour more, 'twill be 11. "And so from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, "and then from hour to hour, we rot and rot. And thereby hangs a tale."


Oh, a noble fool, a worthy fool. Motley's the only wear. What fool is this? Oh, worthy fool. Would that I were a fool. I am ambitious for a motley coat.

(Orlando) Forbear, and eat no more! Why, I've eat none yet. Nor shalt not until necessity be served. Of what kind should this cock come on? Forbear, I say. He dies who touches any of this fruit till I and my affair are answered. And you will not be answered with reason. I must die. What would you have? Your gentleness shall force more than your force move us to gentleness. I almost die for food. Let me have it. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you. I thought that all things had been savage here. And therefore put I on the countenance of stern commandment, but whate'er you are, if ever you have looked on better days, if ever been where bells have knolled to church, if ever sat at any good man's feast, if ever from your eyelids wiped a tear and know what 'tis to pity and be pitied, let gentleness my strong enforcement be, in the which hope I blush and hide my sword. True is it that we have seen better days and have with holy bell been knolled to church and sat at good men's feasts and wiped our eyes of drops that sacred pity hath engendered; therefore, sit you down in gentleness. Yet but forebear your food a little while. There is a poor, old man who after me hath many a weary step limped in pure love. Till he be first sufficed, oppressed with two weak evils-- age and hunger-- I will not touch a bit. Go seek him out, and we will nothing waste till your return. I thank ye, and be blessed for your good comfort. Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy. This wide and universal theater presents more woeful pageants than the scene wherein we play in. All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. Then the whining schoolboy with his satchel and shining morning face, creeping like snail unwillingly to school. And then the lover, sighing like furnace with a woeful ballad made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, seeking the bubble reputation even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, in fair, round belly with good capon lined, with eyes severe and beard of formal cut, full of wise saws and modern instances, and so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts into the lean and slippered pantaloon with spectacles on nose and pouch on side; his youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide for his shrunk shank, and his big, manly voice turning again toward childish treble, pipes and whistles in his sound. Last scene of all that ends this strange, eventful history: his second childishness and mere oblivion, sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son, as you have whispered faithfully you were, be truly welcome hither. Good old man, thou art right welcome as thy master is. I am the duke that loved your father.

(man) Not seen him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be. But look to it: find out thy brother wheresoe'er he is. Seek him with candle. Bring him dead or living within this 12 month, or turn thou no more to seek a living in our territory. Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine worth seizure do we seize into our hands till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth of what we think against thee. Oh, that your Highness knew my heart in this. I never loved my brother in my life. More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors, and let my officers of such a nature make an extent upon his house and lands. Do this expediently, and turn him going. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love, and thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey with thy chaste eye from thy pale sphere above thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway. Oh, Rosalind. These trees shall be my books, and in their barks, my thoughts I'll character, that every eye which in this forest looks shall see thy virtue witnessed everywhere. Run, run, Orlando. Carve on every tree the fair, the chaste, the unexpressive she.

(Rosalind) "From the east to western Inde, "no jewel is like Rosalind. "Her worth, being mounted on the wind, "through all the world bears Rosalind. "All the pictures fairest lined "are but black to Rosalind. "Let no face be kept in mind but the fair of Rosalind." Oh, come, I'll rhyme you so eight years together-- dinners and suppers and sleeping hours excepted. Out with it, now. For a taste: "If a hart do lack a hind, let him seek out Rosalind." Oh, stop. "If the cat will after kind, so be sure will Rosalind." Oh, stop, fool. "Winter garments must be lined. So must slender Rosalind." Oh. "Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, "such a nut is Rosalind. "He that sweetest rose will find must find love's prick and Rosalind." Stop, you damn fool. This is the very false gallop of verses. Why do you infect yourself with them? I found them on a tree. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. Peace.

(Celia) "Helen's cheek "but not her heart, "Cleopatra's majesty, "Atalanta's better part, "sad Lucretia's modesty: "thus Rosalind of many parts "by heavenly synod was devised "of many faces, eyes, and hearts "to have the touches dearest prized. "Heaven would that she these gifts should have, and I to live and die her slave." Oh, most gentle pulpiter. How now? Back, friends. Shepherd, go off a little. Shepherd, go off a little. Go with him, sirrah.


Didn't thou hear without wondering how thy name should be hanged and carved upon these trees? I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you came. Look here what I found on a palm tree. I was never so berhymed since Pythagoras' time, when I was an Irish rat-- which I can hardly remember. Trow you who hath done this? Is it a man? And a chain you once wore about his neck. Change your color? I prithee, who? Oh, is it possible?

(Rosalind) Nay, I prithee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is. Oh, wonderful, wonderful-- and most wonderful, wonderful-- and yet again, wonderful-- and after that, out of all whooping. Good my complexion. Dost thou think, though I'm caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more is a South Sea of discovery. Quickly, and speak apace. Oh, I would thou couldst stammer, that thou mightst pour this concealed man out of thy mouth as wine comes out of a narrow-mouthed bottle: either too much at once or none at all. I prithee take the cork out of thy mouth that I may drink thy tidings. So you may put a man in your belly. What manner of man? Is his head worth a hat or his chin worth a beard? Nay, he hath but a little beard. Why, God will send more if the man will be thankful. Let me stay the growth of his beard if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin.

(Celia) It is... young... Young who? Orlando. Orlando? Orlando. Alas the day. What shall I do with my doublet and hose? What did he when thou saw'st him? What said he? How looked he? What makes he here? When shalt thou see him again? Oh, answer me in one word. You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first. Oh! But take a taste. I found him under a tree, like a dropped acorn. May well be called Jove's tree, when it drops forth such fruit. There lay he, stretched along like a wounded knight. Though it be a pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground. Cry "holla" to thy tongue, I prithee. Thou bring'st me out of tune. Oh. Aliena, Aliena, do you not know I am a woman? When I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on. No, you bring me out.

(man) I thank you for your company, but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone. And so had I. But yet, for fashion's sake, I thank you, too, for your society. God be w' you; let's meet as little as we can. I do desire we may be better strangers. I pray you, mar no more trees with writing love songs in their barks. I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading them ill-favoredly. Rosalind is your love's name? Yes, just. I do not like her name. There was no thought of pleasing you when she was christened. What stature is she of? Just as high as my heart. You're full of pretty answers. I am weary of you. I'll tarry no longer with you. Farewell, good Signor Love. I am glad of your departure. Adieu, Good Monsieur Melancholy. Holla, forester. Do you hear? Very well. What would you? I pray you, what is't o'clock? You should ask what time of day. There is no clock in the forest. Then there is no true lover in the forest, else sighing every minute and groaning every hour would detect the lazy foot of time as well as a clock. Where dwell you, pretty youth? With this shepherdess, my sister, here in the skirts of the forest like fringe upon a petticoat. Your accent is finer than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling. I have been told so of many. But indeed, my old religious uncle taught me to speak. He was in his youth an inland man, one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I've heard him read many lectures against it, and I thank God I am not a woman, to be touched with so many giddy offenses. Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid to the charge of women? I prithee, recount some of them. No. I will not cast away my physic but on those that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest that abuses our young plants with carving Rosalind on their barks, hangs odes upon hawthorns and elegies on brambles, and all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind. If I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him. I am he that is so love-shaked. I pray you, tell me your remedy. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you. He taught me how to know a man in love. What were his marks? A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye and sunken, which you have not; a beard neglected, which you have not. And your hose should be ungartered, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and everything about you demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such man. You are rather point-device in your accoutrements, as loving yourself than seeming the lover of any other.

(Orlando) I swear to thee, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he. But are you as much in love as your rhymes speak? Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much. Love is merely a madness, yet I profess curing it by counsel. Did you ever cure any so? Mm-hmm. One, and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress. And I set him every day to woo me, at which time I, being but a moonish youth, would now like him, now loathe him, then entertain him, then forswear him, now weep for him, now spit at him, that I'd rave my suitor from his mad humor of love into a living humor of madness. And thus, I cured him. And this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in it. I would not be cured, youth. But I would cure you if you would but call me Rosalind and come every day to my cot to woo me. Now, by the faith of my love, I will. Tell me where it is. Go with me, and I'll show it you. And, by the way, you can tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go? With all my heart, good youth. Nay, you must call me Rosalind. Rosalind. Come, sister, will you go?

(woman) ♪ And therefore take the present time-- ♪

♪ with a hey and a ho and a hey, nonny, no-- ♪

♪ for love is crowned with the prime ♪

♪ in springtime, in springtime, ♪

♪ the only pretty ring time, ♪

♪ when the birds do sing, ♪

♪ "hey, ding-a-ding-a-ding, ♪

♪ hey, ding- a-ding-a-ding." ♪

♪ Sweet lovers love the spring. ♪♪

How now, Audrey, am I the man yet? Doth my simple features content you? Lord, warrant us. What features? Truly I would the gods had made thee poetical. I do not know what poetical is. Is it honest in word and deed? Nay, truly, for the truest poetry is the most feigning. Do you wish then that the gods had made me poetical? I do, truly, for thou swearest to me thou art honest. Now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst feign. Would you not have me honest? Nay, truly, unless thou wert hard-favored. Ah! moo

(Rosalind) Never talk to me; I will weep. Do, I prithee, but yet have the grace to consider that tears do not become a man. But have I not cause to weep? As good a cause as one would desire. Therefore, weep. His very hair is of the dissembling color. Even browner than Judas'. Marry, his kisses are Judas' own children. His hair is of a good color. An excellent color. Your chestnut was ever the only color. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of Holy bread. The very ice of chastity is in them. But why, why did he swear he would come this morning and comes not? Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him. Not true in love? Yes, when he is in, but I think he's not in. You have heard him swear downright he was. Was is not is. Besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster.

[French horn music]

He attends here in the forest on the Duke, your father.

(man) ♪ What shall he have that killed the deer? ♪

(two men) ♪ His leather skin and horn to wear. ♪

(all) ♪ Take thou no scorn to wear the horn. ♪

♪ It was a crest ere thou wast born. ♪

♪ Thy father's father wore it, ♪

♪ and thy father bore it. ♪

♪ The horn, the horn, the lusty horn-- ♪

I met the Duke yesterday. He asked me of what parentage I was. I told him of as good as he. He laughed and let me go. But what talk we of fathers when there is such a man as Orlando?

(man) Mistress and Master, if you will see a pageant truly played between the pale complexion of true love and the red glow of scorn and proud disdain, go hence a little, and I shall conduct you. Oh, come, let us remove. The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.

(man) Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me. Do not, Phebe. Say that you love me not, but say not so in bitterness. I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eyes. 'Tis pretty sure and very probable. And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee. Now counterfeit to swoon; why, now fall down; or if thou canst not-- Oh, for shame, for shame-- Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers. Oh, dear Phebe, if ever--as that ever may be near-- you meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, then shall you know the wounds invisible that love's keen arrows make. But till that time, come thou not near me, and when that time comes, afflict me with thy mocks. Pity me not. Until that time, I shall not pity thee. And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother, that you insult, exult, and all at once, over the wretched? What? Though you have no beauty, must you therefore be proud and pitiless? Why, what means this? Why do you look on me? 'Od's my little life, I think she means to tangle my eyes too. No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it. 'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair, your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream that can entame my spirits to your worship. You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain? You are a thousand times a properer man than she a woman. 'Tis not her glass but you that flatters her. But mistress, know yourself. Down on your knees, thank heaven, fasting for a good man's love; for I must tell you friendly in your ears: sell when you can. You are not for all markets. So take her to thee, shepherd. Fare you well.

(Phebe) Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together. I had rather hear you chide than this man woo. I pray you, do not fall in love with me, for I am falser than vows made in wine. Besides, I like you not. Come, sister, let us go.

[both giggling]

Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind. Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind. How now, Orlando? Where have you been all this while? You, a lover? And you serve me such another trick, never come in my sight anymore. My fair Rosalind, I came within an hour of my promise. Break an hour's promise in love? Ha. He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts and break but a part of a thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapped him on the shoulder, but I'll warrant him heart-whole. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. Nay, and you be so tardy, come no more in my sight. I had as lief be wooed of a snail. Of a snail? Aye, of a snail. For though he comes slowly, he carries his house on his head-- a better jointure, I think, than you make a woman. Besides, he brings his destiny with him. What's that? Horns. Virtue is no horn maker, and my Rosalind is virtuous. And I am your Rosalind. Come woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humor and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now, and I were your very, very Rosalind? I would kiss before I spoke. Nay, you had better speak first. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit. And for lovers lacking matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress? Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress. Am not I your Rosalind? I take some joy to say you are; I will be talking of her. Well, and in her person, I say I will not have you. Then, in mine own person, I die. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost 6,000 years old, and in all this time, there was not any man died in his own person in a love cause. Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them from time to time, but not for love. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind, for I protest her frown might kill me. No--by this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition, and ask me what you will. I will grant it. Then love me, Rosalind. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays, Saturdays, and all days. And wilt thou have me? Aye, and 20 such. What sayest thou? Are you not good? I hope so. Why, then, can one desire too much of a good thing? Sister! Sister! You shall be the priest and marry us. Give me your hand, Orlando. What do you say, sister? Pray thee, marry us. I cannot say the words. You must begin, "Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind?" Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind? I will. Aye, but when? Why, now--as fast as she can marry us. Then you must say, "I take thee, Rosalind, for wife." I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband. Now tell me, Orlando, how long would you have her after you have possessed her? Forever and a day. Say "a day" without the "ever." Oh, no, Orlando. Men are April when they woo and December when they wed. Maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. But will my Rosalind do so? By my life, she will do as I do. Oh, but she is wise. Yes, she is wise, but the wiser, the waywarder. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. I must attend the Duke at dinner. By 2 o'clock, I will be with thee again. Aye. Go your ways. Go your ways. I knew that you would prove. My friends told me as much, and I thought no less. That flattering tongue of yours won me. 'Tis but one more cast away, and so, come death. Two o'clock is your hour? Aye, sweet Rosalind. By my troth and in good earnest and so, God mend me and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break but one jot of your promise or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical break-promise and the most hollow lover and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind. Therefore, beware, and keep your promise. With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind. So, adieu. Adieu. Adieu. Adieu. At 2. Two o'clock! At 2 o'clock! Two o'clock! Oh. At 2 o'clock. At 2, at 2. Two. Two o'clock. Two o'clock! At 2 o'clock, at 2 o'clock. At 2 o'clock. You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate. Oh, coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love. Oh, but it cannot be sounded. My affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal. Rather, bottomless. Oh, I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando, or I'll go find a shadow and sigh till he comes.


And I'll sleep.

[tense music]




(Celia) ♪ Tell me where is fancy bred? ♪

♪ Or in the heart or in the head. ♪

♪ How begot? How nourished? ♪

♪ Reply, reply. ♪

♪ It is engendered ♪

♪ in the eyes, ♪

♪ with gazing fed. ♪

♪ And fancy dies ♪

♪ in the cradle where it lies. ♪

♪ Let us all ring fancy's knell. ♪

♪ I begin it: ding dong bell, ♪

♪ ding dong, ding dong bell. ♪

What say you now? Is it not past 2 o'clock? And here much Orlando. I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he hath taken his bow and arrows and is gone forth to sleep. Ohh.

(Oliver) Good morrow, fair ones. Are not you the owners of this house? It is no boast, being asked, to say we are. Orlando doth commend him to you both. And to that youth he calls his Rosalind, he sends this blood-stained napkin. Are you he? I am. What must we understand by this? Some of my shame. If you would know of me what man I am and how and why and where this handkerchief was stained. I pray you, tell it. When last young Orlando parted from you, he promised to return within the hour. And pacing through the forest, lo, what befell. Under an oak, a wretched, ragged man lay sleeping on his back. About his neck, a green and gilded snake had wreathed itself. But suddenly, seeing Orlando, it unlinked itself and slipped away into a bush, under which bush's shade a lioness lay couching, head on ground with catlike watch when that the sleeping man should stir. This seen, Orlando did approach the man and found it was his brother, his elder brother. Oh, I've heard him speak of that same brother, and he did render him the most unnatural that lived amongst men. And well might he so do, for well I know he was unnatural. But for Orlando, did he leave him there? Twice did he turn his back and purposed so, but kindness, nobler ever than revenge, made him give battle to the lioness, which quickly fell before him; in which, hurtling from miserable slumber, I awaked. Are you his brother? Was't you he rescued? Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him? 'Twas I, but 'tis not I. I do not shame to tell you what I was since my conversion so sweetly tastes being the thing I am. But for this blood-stained napkin? By and by. When from the first to last, betwixt us two, tears our recountments had most kindly bathed as how I came into that desert place. In brief, he led me to the gentle Duke, who gave me fresh array and entertainment, committing me unto my brother's love, who led me instantly into his cave, there stripped himself, and here upon his arm, the lioness had torn some flesh away, which all this while had bled. And now he fainted and cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind.

(Celia) Oh! Why, how now, Ganymede-- sweet Ganymede. Many will swoon when they do look on blood. There is more in it. Cousin. Ganymede. Look, he recovers. I would I were at home. We'll lead you thither. I pray you, will you take him by the arm? Be of good cheer, youth. You, a man. You lack a man's heart. I do so. I confess it. I pray you, sir, tell your brother how well I counterfeit. This is not counterfeit. There is too great testimony to your complexion. It is a passion of earnest. Counterfeit, I assure you. Ha, ha. Well, then, take a good heart and counterfeit to be a man. So I--I do, but i' faith, I should have been a woman by right. Come, you look paler and paler. Pray you, draw homewards. Good sir, go with us. That will I.

(Rosalind) Counterfeit, I assure you.

(Touchstone) Audrey, there is a youth in the forest here lays claim to you. Aye, I know who it is. He hath no interest in me in the world. Here comes the man you mean. It is meat and drink to me to meet a clown. We shall be flouting. We cannot hold. Good even, Audrey. God ye good even, William. Ah. And good even to you, sir. Good even, gentle friend. Cover thy head. Cover thy head. Nay, prithee be covered. How old are you, friend? Five and twenty, sir. A ripe age. Is thy name William? William, sir. A fair name. Wast born in the forest here? Aye, sir, I thank God. "Thank God." A good answer. Art thou wise? Aye, sir. I have a pretty wit. Faith, thou sayst well. I do now remember a saying. "The fool doth think he is wise, "but the wise man knows himself to be a fool." You do love this maid? I do, sir. Give me your hand. Art thou learned? No, sir. Then learn this of me: to have is to have; for it is a figure in rhetoric that drink, being poured out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty the other; and all your writers do consent that ipse is he. Now, you are not he, because I am he. Which he, sir? He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, you clown, abandon the society of this female, or, clown, thou perishest. Or to thy better understanding, diest-- or, to wit, "I kill thee." Make thee away. Translate thy life into death. I will kill thee 150 ways. Therefore, tremble and depart.

(Audrey) Do, good William. God rest you merry, sir. [Touchstone and Audrey laughing] Is't possible that on so little acquaintance that but seeing Aliena you should love her? And loving, woo? And wooing, she should grant? Neither call in question my sudden wooing nor her sudden consenting. But say with me, "I love Aliena."

♪ Tell me where is fancy bred? ♪

♪ Or in the heart or in the head. ♪

♪ How begot? How nourished? ♪

♪ Reply, reply. ♪

♪ Reply, reply. ♪

Let your wedding be tomorrow. Thither will I invite the Duke and all his contented followers. Go you, and prepare Aliena. God save you, brother. And you, fair sister.

(Rosalind) Oh, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee wear thy heart in a scarf. It is my arm. I thought thy heart had been wounded by the claws of a lion. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to swoon when he showed me your handkerchief? Aye, and greater wonders than that. Oh, I know where you are. Nay, 'tis true. There was never anything so sudden. For your brother and my sister, they are in the very wrath of love. They will together. Clubs cannot part them. They shall be married tomorrow, and I will bid the Duke to the nuptial. But, oh, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes. By so much the more shall I tomorrow be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I shall think my brother happy in having what he wishes for. Why, then, tomorrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind? I can live no longer by thinking. I will weary you then no longer with idle talking. Know of me, then, that I can do strange things. I have since I was three years old conversed with a magician, and if you do love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture cries it out, you shall marry her when your brother marries Aliena. It is not impossible for me to set her before your eyes tomorrow, human as she is, and without any danger. Speakest thou in sober meanings? I do by my life, which I tender dearly, though I say I'm a magician. Therefore, put you in your best array. Bid your best friends. For if you will be married tomorrow, you shall, and to Rosalind, if you will. Youth, you have done me much ungentleness. I care not if I have. 'Tis my study to seem despiteful and ungentle to you. You are there followed by a faithful shepherd. Look upon him; love him. He worships you. Oh, good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love. 'Tis to be all made of sighs and tears, and so am I for Phebe. And I for Ganymede. And I for Rosalind. And I for no woman. It is to be all made of faith and service, and so am I for Phebe. And I for Ganymede. And I for Rosalind. And I for no woman. 'Tis to be all made of fantasy, all made of passion, and all made of wishes; all adoration, duty, and observance; all humbleness; all patience and impatience; all purity, all trial, and all obedience; and so am I for Phebe. And so am I for Ganymede. And so am I for Rosalind. And so am I for no woman. Pray on no more of this. 'Tis like the howling of Irish wolves against the moon. I will help you if I can. I would love you if I could. Tomorrow meet me all together. I will marry you if ever I marry woman, and I'll be married tomorrow. I'll satisfy you if ever I satisfy man, and you shall be married tomorrow. I'll content you if what pleases you contents you, and you shall be married tomorrow. As you love Rosalind, meet. As you love Phebe, meet. And as I love no woman, I'll meet. So fare you well. I've left you commands. I'll not fail if I live. Nor I. Nor I.

[cheerful orchestral music]


[sheep bells jingling]

[church bells ringing]

Good Duke, receive thy daughter. Hymen from heaven brought her-- aye, brought her hither-- that thou mightst join her hand and his... whose heart within his bosom is. If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter. If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind.

(Phebe) If sight and shape be true, why, then, my love, adieu. I'll have no father, if you be not he. I'll have no husband, if you be not he. Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. Oh, my dear niece, welcome thou art to me. Even daughter, welcome in no less degree. I will not eat my word. Now thou art mine. Thy faith, my fancy, to thee doth combine.

(women) ♪ Tell me where is fancy bred? ♪

(men) ♪ Or in the heart or in the head. ♪

(women) ♪ How begot? How nourished? ♪

(men) ♪ Reply, reply. ♪

(all) ♪ It is engendered in the eyes, ♪

♪ with gazing fed. ♪

♪ And fancy dies ♪

♪ in the cradle where it lies. ♪

♪ Let us all ring fancy's knell. ♪

♪ I'll begin it: ♪

♪ ding dong, ding dong bell. ♪♪


[trumpet fanfare]


[tympanic drumroll]

[crowd murmuring]

(man) Let me have audience for a word or two. Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day men of great worth resorted to this forest, addressed a mighty power which were on foot in his own conduct purposely to take his brother here and put him to the sword. And to the skirts of this wild wood he came, where, meeting with an old religious man, after some question with him was converted both from his enterprise and from the world, his crown bequeathing to his banished brother and all their lands restored to them again that were with him exiled.

[crowd cheering]

Welcome, young man. Thou offerest fairly to my daughter's wedding. Meantime, forget this new-fallen dignity, and fall into our rustic revelry.

[crowd cheering]

Proceed. Proceed. We will begin these rites as we do trust they'll end, in true delight.




(Rosalind) If it be true that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play needs no epilogue. Yet to good wine they do use good bushes, and good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues. What a case am I in then that am neither a good epilogue nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play. I am not furnished like a beggar. Therefore, to beg will not become me. My way is to conjure you, and I'll begin with the women. I charge you, oh, women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much of this play as please you. And I charge you, oh, men, for the love you bear to women that between you and the women, the play may please. Funding for purchase and captioning of this video was provided by the U.S. Department of Education:

PH: 1-800-USA-LEARN (V).

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A duke's daughter disguises herself as a boy to get the attention of one of her father's attendants whom she likes. But then she's stuck being a boy in order to stay close to the attendant. A Shakespearean comedy adapted by J.M. Barrie and Robert Cullen.

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