Original
Modern English
Why, cousin! why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy! not a word?
Why, cousin! why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy! not a word?
Not one to throw at a dog.
Not even one to waste on a dog.
No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs; throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons.
No, your words are too valuable to be thrown away on dogs; throw some of them at me; come, wound me with reasons.
Then there were two cousins laid up; when the one should be lamed with reasons and the other mad without any.
Then we’d have two cousins laid up; one being wounded by reasons and the other mad without any.
But is all this for your father?
But is all of this about your father?
No, some of it is for my child’s father. O, how full of briers is this working-day world!
No, some of it is about my child’s father. Oh, how full of thorns this working-day world is!
They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery: if we walk not in the trodden paths our very petticoats will catch them.
They’re just burs, cousin, thrown at you in the foolishness of the holiday season: if we don’t stay on the beaten path, even our petticoats will catch them.
I could shake them off my coat: these burs are in my heart.
I could shake them off my coat: these burs are in my heart.
Hem them away.
Get them out of here.
I would try, if I could cry ’hem’ and have him.
I’d try if I could just say "get out" and have him go.
Come, come, wrestle with thy affections.
Come on, come on, stop fighting with your feelings.
O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself!
Oh, they’re on the side of a better wrestler than I am!
O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in despite of a fall. But, turning these jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest: is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so strong a liking with old Sir Rowland’s youngest son?
Oh, I wish you well! You’ll try in time, even if you fall. But enough of these jokes, let’s talk seriously: is it really possible, all of a sudden, that you’ve fallen so strongly for old Sir Rowland’s youngest son?
The duke my father loved his father dearly.
The duke, my father, loved his father very much.
Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his son dearly? By this kind of chase, I should hate him, for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando.
Does that mean you should love his son just as much? By this logic, I should hate him, because my father hated his father a lot; but I don’t hate Orlando.
No, faith, hate him not, for my sake.
No, really, don’t hate him, for my sake.
Why should I not? doth he not deserve well?
Why shouldn’t I? Doesn’t he deserve it?
Let me love him for that, and do you love him because I do. Look, here comes the duke.
Let me love him for that, and you can love him because I do. Look, here comes the duke.
With his eyes full of anger.
With his eyes full of anger.
Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste And get you from our court.
Miss, hurry up and leave as fast as you can and get out of our court.
Me, uncle?
Me, uncle?
You, cousin Within these ten days if that thou be’st found So near our public court as twenty miles, Thou diest for it.
You, cousin. Within ten days, if you’re found as close as twenty miles to our court, you’ll die for it.
I do beseech your grace, Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me: If with myself I hold intelligence Or have acquaintance with mine own desires, If that I do not dream or be not frantic,-- As I do trust I am not--then, dear uncle, Never so much as in a thought unborn Did I offend your highness.
I beg you, your grace, please let me explain my fault: If I have kept company with myself, or entertained my own desires, if I am not just imagining things or out of my mind – as I trust I’m not – then, dear uncle, I’ve never offended your highness, not even in thought.
Thus do all traitors: If their purgation did consist in words, They are as innocent as grace itself: Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not.
This is what all traitors do: If their punishment was only about words, They’d be as innocent as goodness itself: Let it be enough that I don’t trust you.
Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor: Tell me whereon the likelihood depends.
But your distrust doesn’t make me a traitor: Tell me why you think so.
Thou art thy father’s daughter; there’s enough.
You’re your father’s daughter; that’s enough.
So was I when your highness took his dukedom; So was I when your highness banish’d 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.
So was I when you took his dukedom; So was I when you banished him: Treason isn’t something we inherit, my lord; And even if we did inherit it from our family, What does that have to do with me? My father wasn’t a traitor: So, good my lord, don’t mistake me And think my poverty is treacherous.
Dear sovereign, hear me speak.
Dear lord, please let me speak.
Ay, Celia; we stay’d her for your sake, Else had she with her father ranged along.
Yes, Celia; we kept her here for your sake, Otherwise, she would have been with her father.
I did not then entreat to have her stay; It was your pleasure and your own remorse: I was too young that time to value her; But now I know her: if she be a traitor, Why so am I; we still have slept together, Rose at an instant, learn’d, play’d, eat together, And wheresoever we went, like Juno’s swans, Still we went coupled and inseparable.
I didn’t ask for her to stay; It was your decision and your own regret: I was too young then to understand her; But now I know her: if she’s a traitor, Then so am I; we’ve always been together, Woken up at the same time, learned, played, and eaten together, And wherever we went, like Juno’s swans, We’ve always been together, inseparable.
She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness, Her very silence and her patience Speak to the people, and they pity her. Thou art a fool: she robs thee of thy name; And thou wilt show more bright and seem more virtuous When she is gone. Then open not thy lips: Firm and irrevocable is my doom Which I have pass’d upon her; she is banish’d.
She’s too clever for you; and her calmness, Her very silence and patience Make the people feel sorry for her. You’re a fool: she’s stealing your good name; You’ll seem brighter and more virtuous Once she’s gone. So don’t say anything: My decision is final And I’ve already passed judgment on her; she’s banished.
Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege: I cannot live out of her company.
Then pronounce that sentence on me, my lord: I can’t live without her.
You are a fool. You, niece, provide yourself: If you outstay the time, upon mine honour, And in the greatness of my word, you die.
You’re a fool. You, niece, get ready: If you stay past the deadline, I swear on my honor, And by the power of my word, you’ll die.
O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt thou go? Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine. I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than I am.
Oh, my poor Rosalind, where will you go? Will you change fathers? I’ll give you mine. I beg you, don’t be more upset than I am.
I have more cause.
I have more reason to be upset.
Thou hast not, cousin; Prithee be cheerful: know’st thou not, the duke Hath banish’d me, his daughter?
You don’t, cousin; Please cheer up: don’t you know the duke Has banished me, his daughter?
That he hath not.
No, he hasn’t.
No, hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one: Shall we be sunder’d? shall we part, sweet girl? No: let my father seek another heir. Therefore devise with me how we may fly, Whither to go and what to bear with us; And do not seek to take your change upon you, To bear your griefs yourself and leave me out; For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, Say what thou canst, I’ll go along with thee.
No, he hasn’t? Then Rosalind doesn’t have the love That teaches you and me that we are one: Shall we be separated? Shall we part, sweet girl? No: let my father find another heir. So let’s figure out how we can escape, Where to go and what to take with us; And don’t try to carry all your griefs alone And leave me out of it; For by this heaven, now pale with our sorrow, Say whatever you like, I’ll go with you.
Why, whither shall we go?
Well, where shall we go?
To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden.
To find my uncle in the forest of Arden.
Alas, what danger will it be to us, Maids as we are, to travel forth so far! Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.
Oh no, how dangerous will it be for us, Girls like us, to travel so far! Beauty attracts thieves quicker than gold.
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.
I’ll dress in poor, simple clothes And use some dirt to smudge my face; You do the same: then we can walk along And not get attacked.
Were it not better, Because that I am more than common tall, That I did suit me all points like a man? A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh, A boar-spear in my hand; 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.
Wouldn’t it be better, Since I’m taller than most women, If I dressed completely like a man? A fancy sword at my side, A spear in my hand; and—whatever fear A woman might feel deep down— We’ll look tough and strong on the outside, Like many other cowardly men Who try to act brave with their appearances.
What shall I call thee when thou art a man?
What should I call you when you’re a man?
I’ll have no worse a name than Jove’s own page; And therefore look you call me Ganymede. But what will you be call’d?
I’ll take no name worse than Jove’s own servant; So call me Ganymede. But what name will you take?
Something that hath a reference to my state No longer Celia, but Aliena.
Something that fits my new role No longer Celia, but Aliena.
But, cousin, what if we assay’d to steal The clownish fool out of your father’s court? Would he not be a comfort to our travel?
But, cousin, what if we tried to take The silly fool from your father’s court? Wouldn’t he be a help to us on our journey?
He’ll go along o’er the wide world with me; Leave me alone to woo him. Let’s away, And get our jewels and our wealth together, Devise the fittest time and safest way To hide us from pursuit that will be made After my flight. Now go we in content To liberty and not to banishment.
He’ll go anywhere with me; Let me handle convincing him. Let’s go, And gather our jewels and wealth together, Plan the best time and safest way To hide from anyone who’ll chase us After I run away. Now let’s go with peace To freedom, not to exile.