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Modern English
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. O 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 witness’d every where. Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree The fair, the chaste and unexpressive she.
Hang there, my poem, as proof of my love: And you, queen of the night, look down With your pure eyes, from your pale sky above, At your huntress’ name that my whole life obeys. Oh Rosalind! These trees will be my books And I’ll carve my thoughts into their bark; So that everyone who looks in this forest Will see your virtue shown everywhere. Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree The fair, the pure, and the unspeakable she.
And how like you this shepherd’s life, Master Touchstone?
So, how do you like this shepherd’s life, Master Touchstone?
Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life, but in respect that it is a shepherd’s life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now, in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As is it a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd?
Honestly, shepherd, for what it is, it’s a good life, but since it’s a shepherd’s life, it’s not great. As for being alone, I like it just fine; but as for being private, it’s a terrible life. Now, since it takes place in the fields, I like it well enough; but since it’s not in the court, it’s boring. It’s a simple life, you see, so it fits my mood well; but since there’s not much abundance in it, it really makes me sick. Got any wisdom in you, shepherd?
No more but that I know the more one sickens the worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money, means and content is without three good friends; that the property of rain is to wet and fire to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep, and that a great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art may complain of good breeding or comes of a very dull kindred.
No more than that I know the more one gets sick, the more uncomfortable he feels; and that he who has no money, means, or satisfaction is without three good friends; that rain is meant to wet and fire to burn; that good grass makes fat sheep, and that a big reason for night is the lack of the sun; that anyone who hasn’t learned any wisdom by nature or study can’t complain about having bad manners or comes from a very dull family.
Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court, shepherd?
Such a person is a natural philosopher. Were you ever at court, shepherd?
No, truly.
No, really.
Then thou art damned.
Then you’re screwed.
Nay, I hope.
No, I hope not.
Truly, thou art damned like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side.
Honestly, you’re doomed like a badly cooked egg, all burnt on one side.
For not being at court? Your reason.
Because I’m not at court? Explain why.
Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never sawest good manners; if thou never sawest good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd.
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 terrible; and bad manners are sinful, and sin leads to damnation. You’re in a bad place, shepherd.
Not a whit, Touchstone: those that are good manners at the court are as ridiculous in the country as the behavior of the country is most mockable at the court. You told me you salute not at the court, but you kiss your hands: that courtesy would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds.
Not at all, Touchstone: those who have good manners at court are just as ridiculous in the country as the country folk’s behavior is laughable in the court. You told me that you don’t greet people at court, you just wave your hand: that would be rude if courtiers were shepherds.
Instance, briefly; come, instance.
Give an example, quickly; come on, give an example.
Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their fells, you know, are greasy.
Well, we’re always working with our sheep, and their wool, as you know, is greasy.
Why, do not your courtier’s hands sweat? and is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say; come.
Well, don’t your courtiers’ hands sweat? And isn’t the grease from a sheep just as healthy as a man’s sweat? Shallow, shallow. A better example, I say; come on.
Besides, our hands are hard.
Besides, our hands are tough.
Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again. A more sounder instance, come.
Your lips will notice that sooner. Shallow again. A more sensible example, come on.
And they are often tarred over with the surgery of our sheep: and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier’s hands are perfumed with civet.
And they’re often covered with the tar we use for treating our sheep: would you have us kiss tar? The courtier’s hands smell like perfume.
Most shallow man! thou worms-meat, in respect of a good piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and perpend: civet is of a baser birth than tar, the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd.
You’re so shallow! You’re like food for worms, compared to a good, solid piece of meat! Listen to the wise, and think: civet perfume is a lower-class substance than tar, it’s just the filthy discharge of a cat. Improve your example, shepherd.
You have too courtly a wit for me: I’ll rest.
You have too much of a courtly wit for me: I’ll give up.
Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee, shallow man! God make incision in thee! thou art raw.
Are you going to give up and be damned? God help you, shallow man! God make a wound in you! You’re raw.
Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man’s happiness, glad of other men’s good, content with my harm, and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck.
Sir, I am a real worker: I earn what I eat, get what I wear, don’t owe anyone hatred, envy no one’s happiness, happy for others’ success, content with my troubles, and the biggest thing I’m proud of is seeing my ewes graze and my lambs suck.
That is another simple sin in you, to bring the ewes and the rams together and to offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a bell-wether, and to betray a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not damned for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst ’scape.
That’s another simple mistake of yours, to bring the ewes and the rams together and try to make a living from their mating; to act as a pimp for a leader ram, and to betray a young she-lamb to a crooked, old, cuckolded ram, in a completely mismatched way. If you’re not damned for this, the devil won’t have any shepherds; I can’t see how you could escape otherwise.
Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress’s brother.
Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress’s brother.
From the east to western Ind, 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 fair be kept in mind But the fair of Rosalind.
From the east to the west Indies, No jewel is like Rosalind. Her worth, carried on the wind, Travels the world, bearing Rosalind. All the prettiest pictures drawn Are nothing compared to Rosalind. Let no beauty be remembered Except the beauty of Rosalind.
I’ll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners and suppers and sleeping-hours excepted: it is the right butter-women’s rank to market.
I could rhyme about you for eight years straight, excluding meals and sleep time: it’s the proper work of butter-women at the market.
Out, fool!
Stop, fool!
For a taste: If a hart do lack a hind, Let him seek out Rosalind. If the cat will after kind, So be sure will Rosalind. Winter garments must be lined, So must slender Rosalind. They that reap must sheaf and bind; Then to cart with Rosalind. Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, Such a nut is Rosalind. He that sweetest rose will find Must find love’s prick and Rosalind. This is the very false gallop of verses: why do you infect yourself with them?
For a sample: If a stag lacks a doe, Let him look for Rosalind. If the cat will follow her kind, So will Rosalind. Winter clothes must be lined, So must slender Rosalind. Those who harvest must bundle and bind; Then to the cart with Rosalind. The sweetest nut has the hardest shell, And that’s the kind of nut Rosalind is. He who wants the sweetest rose Must deal with love’s thorn and Rosalind. This is the false gallop of poetry: why do you infect yourself with such nonsense?
Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree.
Quiet, you dull fool! I found them on a tree.
Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.
Honestly, the tree gives bad fruit.
I’ll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit i’ the country; for you’ll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that’s the right virtue of the medlar.
I’ll graft it onto you, and then I’ll graft it onto a medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit in the country; because you’ll be rotten before you’re half ripe, and that’s exactly how a medlar works.
You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest judge.
You’ve said it; but whether wisely or not, let the forest decide.
Peace! Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside.
Quiet! Here comes my sister, reading: step aside.
[Reads] Why should this a desert be? For it is unpeopled? No: Tongues I’ll hang on every tree, That shall civil sayings show: Some, how brief the life of man Runs his erring pilgrimage, That the stretching of a span Buckles in his sum of age; Some, of violated vows ’Twixt the souls of friend and friend: But upon the fairest boughs, Or at every sentence end, Will I Rosalinda write, Teaching all that read to know The quintessence of every sprite Heaven would in little show. Therefore Heaven Nature charged That one body should be fill’d With all graces wide-enlarged: Nature presently distill’d 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.
[Reads] Why should this be a desert? Is it because it’s uninhabited? No: I’ll hang messages on every tree, That will show civil sayings: Some, about how brief the life of man Runs his wandering journey, That the stretching of a span Shrinks the sum of his age; Some, of broken promises Between the souls of friend and friend: But on the finest branches, Or at the end of every line, I will write Rosalind’s name, Teaching all who read to understand The essence of every spirit That Heaven wants to show in a small form. That’s why Heaven gave Nature the charge To fill one body With all the greatest virtues: Nature immediately distilled Helen’s beauty, but not her heart, Cleopatra’s majesty, Atalanta’s best qualities, Sad Lucretia’s modesty. Thus Rosalind was made of many parts, By Heaven’s design, With many faces, eyes, and hearts, To have the traits most valued. Heaven intended her to have these gifts, And I to live and die her servant.
O most gentle pulpiter! what tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried ’Have patience, good people!’
Oh, most gentle preacher! What a long sermon on love Have you worn out your listeners with, and never said ‘Have patience, good people!’
How now! back, friends! Shepherd, go off a little. Go with him, sirrah.
What’s going on! Stop, friends! Shepherd, step aside for a moment. Go with him, boy.
Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage.
Come on, shepherd, let’s make a dignified exit; though not with all our belongings, still with some things.
Didst thou hear these verses?
Did you hear those poems?
O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear.
Oh, yes, I heard them all, and more too; some of them had more syllables than the lines could handle.
That’s no matter: the feet might bear the verses.
That’s not important: the syllables could have fit the lines.
Ay, but the feet were lame and could not bear themselves without the verse and therefore stood lamely in the verse.
Yes, but the syllables were awkward and couldn’t fit properly without the rhyme, so they didn’t fit well in the rhyme.
But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name should be hanged and carved upon these trees?
But didn’t you wonder how your name ended up carved on these trees?
I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree. I was never so be-rhymed since Pythagoras’ time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember.
I was puzzled for days before you came; look here at what I found on a palm tree. I’ve never been so over-rhymed since Pythagoras’ time, when I was an Irish rat, which I can barely remember.
Trow you who hath done this?
Do you think you know who did this?
Is it a man?
Is it a man?
And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck. Change you colour?
And does he have a chain, the one you used to wear, around his neck? Did you change color?
I prithee, who?
Please, who is it?
O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes and so encounter.
Oh my goodness, it’s hard for friends to meet again; but mountains can be moved by earthquakes and so can chance encounters.
Nay, but who is it?
No, but really, who is it?
Is it possible?
Is it possible?
Nay, I prithee now with most petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is.
No, please, tell me now, with all your urgency, who is it?
O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all hooping!
Oh, amazing, amazing, and really amazing amazing! And again, amazing, and after that, beyond all belief!
Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more is a South-sea of discovery; I prithee, tell me who is it quickly, and speak apace. 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 may drink thy tidings.
Goodness, do you think that because I’m dressed like a man, I’m actually wearing a doublet and pants? One more second of waiting is like a vast ocean of discovery; I beg you, tell me who it is right now, and speak quickly. I wish you could stutter, so you could spill this hidden man out of your mouth, like wine from a narrow- necked bottle, either all at once or not at all. Please, take the cork out of your mouth so I can hear your news.
So you may put a man in your belly.
So you can put a man in your stomach.
Is he of God’s making? What manner of man? Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard?
Is he made by God? What kind of man is he? Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard?
Nay, he hath but a little beard.
No, he only has 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.
Well, God will give him more if he’s grateful. Let me wait for his beard to grow, unless you stop me from telling me about his chin.
It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler’s heels and your heart both in an instant.
It’s young Orlando, the one who tripped the wrestler and stole your heart at the same time.
Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak, sad brow and true maid.
No, stop teasing! Speak seriously, and like a truthful friend.
I’ faith, coz, ’tis he.
Really, cousin, it’s him.
Orlando?
Orlando?
Orlando.
Orlando.
Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose? What did he when thou sawest him? What said he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes him here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see him again? Answer me in one word.
Oh, what a day! What should I do with my doublet and hose? What did he do when you saw him? What did he say? How did he look? Where did he go? What brings him here? Did he ask for me? Where is he now? How did you part? And when will you see him again? Just tell me in one word.
You must borrow me Gargantua’s mouth first: ’tis a word too great for any mouth of this age’s size. To say ay and no to these particulars is more than to answer in a catechism.
You’ll need to borrow Gargantua’s mouth first: this is a question too big for any mouth of this age’s size. Saying yes and no to all these details is harder than answering a catechism.
But doth he know that I am in this forest and in man’s apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled?
But does he know I’m in this forest, dressed like a man? Does he still look as good as he did when he wrestled?
It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with good observance. I found him under a tree, like a dropped acorn.
It’s as hard to count atoms as it is to figure out a lover’s feelings; but try to enjoy my finding him, and take note of it carefully. I found him under a tree, like an acorn that had fallen.
It may well be called Jove’s tree, when it drops forth such fruit.
It might as well be called Jove’s tree when it produces such fruit.
Give me audience, good madam.
Listen to me, please, good madam.
Proceed.
Go ahead.
There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded knight.
There he lay, stretched out, like a knight who’s been hurt.
Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground.
Even though it’s sad to see such a sight, it suits the ground well.
Cry ’holla’ to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter.
Stop talking nonsense, please; your words are getting out of hand. He was dressed like a hunter.
O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.
Oh, this is a bad sign! He’s come to break my heart.
I would sing my song without a burden: thou bringest me out of tune.
I would sing my song without any interruptions: you’re throwing me off key.
Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on.
Don’t you know I’m a woman? When I think, I have to speak. Go on, please.
You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here?
You’re making me lose my train of thought. Wait! Isn’t he coming here?
’Tis he: slink by, and note him.
It’s him: sneak by and watch him.
I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone.
Thanks for your company; but honestly, I would have preferred to be alone.
And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you too for your society.
And so would I; but still, for the sake of politeness, I thank you for your company.
God be wi’ you: let’s meet as little as we can.
Goodbye: let’s meet as little as possible.
I do desire we may be better strangers.
I truly hope we remain strangers.
I pray you, mar no more trees with writing love-songs in their barks.
Please, stop carving love songs into trees. Don’t scratch them into the bark.
I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading them ill-favouredly.
Please, don’t ruin my poems by reading them so poorly. Don’t read them with such a bad attitude.
Rosalind is your love’s name?
Is Rosalind the name of your love?
Yes, just.
Yes, that’s right.
I do not like her name.
I don’t like her name.
There was no thought of pleasing you when she was christened.
They weren’t thinking of pleasing you when they named her.
What stature is she of?
What is her height?
Just as high as my heart.
She’s as tall as my heart.
You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths’ wives, and conned them out of rings?
You’re full of clever responses. Have you ever been with goldsmiths’ wives, tricking them out of their rings?
Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence you have studied your questions.
Not at all; but I’ll answer you as if I were just a painted cloth, from which you got all your questions.
You have a nimble wit: I think ’twas made of Atalanta’s heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two will rail against our mistress the world and all our misery.
You have a quick mind: I think it was made from Atalanta’s speed. Will you sit with me? We can complain about our mistress, the world, and all our miseries.
I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom I know most faults.
I will only scold myself, since I know my own faults best.
The worst fault you have is to be in love.
Your biggest fault is being in love.
’Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am weary of you.
That’s a fault I wouldn’t give up, even for your best virtue. I’m tired of you.
By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found you.
Honestly, I was looking for a fool when I found you.
He is drowned in the brook: look but in, and you shall see him.
He’s drowned in the stream: just look in, and you’ll see him.
There I shall see mine own figure.
There I’ll see myself.
Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.
Which I think is either a fool or someone who means nothing.
I’ll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good Signior Love.
I won’t stay any longer with you: goodbye, good Mr. Love.
I am glad of your departure: adieu, good Monsieur Melancholy.
I’m glad you’re leaving: goodbye, good Mr. Sadness.
[Aside to CELIA] I will speak to him, like a saucy lackey and under that habit play the knave with him. Do you hear, forester?
[Aside to CELIA] I’ll talk to him like a cheeky servant and under that disguise, I’ll play the fool with him. Do you hear, woodsman?
Very well: what would you?
Very well: what do you want?
I pray you, what is’t o’clock?
Please, what time is it?
You should ask me what time o’ day: there’s no clock in the forest.
You should ask me what time of day it is: there’s 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.
Then there are no true lovers in the forest; otherwise, they’d be sighing every minute and groaning every hour, which would show how slow Time is, just like a clock.
And why not the swift foot of Time? had not that been as proper?
And why not the fast foot of Time? wouldn’t that be just as fitting?
By no means, sir: Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I’ll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal and who he stands still withal.
Not at all, sir: Time moves at different speeds with different people. I’ll tell you who Time walks slowly with, who Time trots with, who Time runs with, and who he stands still with.
I prithee, who doth he trot withal?
Please, who does he trot with?
Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the contract of her marriage and the day it is solemnized: if the interim be but a se’nnight, Time’s pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven year.
Well, he trots quickly with a young woman between the engagement and the wedding day: if the gap is only a week, Time moves so quickly that it feels like seven years.
Who ambles Time withal?
Who does Time walk slowly with?
With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich man that hath not the gout, for the one sleeps easily because he cannot study, and the other lives merrily because he feels no pain, the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning, the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury; these Time ambles withal.
With a priest who doesn’t know Latin and a rich man who isn’t sick, because the priest sleeps well since he doesn’t have to study, and the rich man lives happily because he doesn’t feel any pain, the priest free from the burden of poor, useless learning, and the rich man knowing nothing of the hardship of constant poverty; these are the ones Time walks slowly with.
Who doth he gallop withal?
Who is he riding with?
With a thief to the gallows, for though he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there.
With a criminal heading to the gallows, for even if he walks as gently as possible, he still thinks he’s there too soon.
Who stays it still withal?
Who stops it, then?
With lawyers in the vacation, for they sleep between term and term and then they perceive not how Time moves.
With lawyers during their break, for they sleep between court terms and don’t notice how time passes.
Where dwell you, pretty youth?
Where do you live, pretty youth?
With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.
With this shepherdess, my sister; here on the edge of the forest, like fringe on a skirt.
Are you native of this place?
Are you from around here?
As the cony that you see dwell where she is kindled.
Like the rabbit you see that lives where it’s born.
Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling.
Your speech is a bit more refined than what you’d expect from someone living in such a remote place.
I have been told so of many: but indeed an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inland man; one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures against it, and I thank God I am not a woman, to be touched with so many giddy offences as he hath generally taxed their whole sex withal.
Many people have said that: but actually, an old religious uncle of mine taught me how to speak; he was originally from the countryside, and knew courtship too well—he fell in love there. I’ve heard him give many lectures against it, and I thank God I’m not a woman, to be affected by all the silly criticisms he made about their whole sex.
Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid to the charge of women?
Can you remember any of the main faults he accused women of?
There were none principal; they were all like one another as half-pence are, every one fault seeming monstrous till his fellow fault came to match it.
There were no main faults; they were all the same, like pennies—each fault seemed huge until the next one came along to match it.
I prithee, recount some of them.
Please, tell me 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, 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.
No, I won’t waste my advice on anyone who’s not sick. There’s a man who haunts the forest, carving ‘Rosalind’ into the trees; he hangs poems on hawthorns and elegies on brambles, all, of course, glorifying the name of Rosalind: if I could find that romantic fool, I’d give him some good advice, because he clearly has a constant obsession with love.
I am he that is so love-shaked: I pray you tell me your remedy.
I am the one who’s so shaken by love: please, tell me what I should do.
There is none of my uncle’s marks upon you: he taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner.
You don’t have any of my uncle’s signs on you: he taught me how to recognize a man in love; I’m sure you’re not trapped in that cage of emotions.
What were his marks?
What are his characteristics?
A lean cheek, which you have not, a blue eye and sunken, which you have not, an unquestionable spirit, which you have not, a beard neglected, which you have not; but I pardon you for that, for simply your having in beard is a younger brother’s revenue: then your hose should be ungartered, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied and every thing 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.
A thin face, which you don’t have, a blue eye that’s sunken, which you don’t have, an unquestionable spirit, which you don’t have, a neglected beard, which you don’t have; but I forgive you for that, because just having a beard is a younger brother’s privilege: then your pants should be unbelted, your hat unfastened, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and everything about you showing a careless neglect; but you’re no such person; you are rather too neat in your appearance as though you love yourself more than seem to love anyone else.
Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.
Beautiful youth, I wish I could make you believe I love you.
Me believe it! you may as soon make her that you love believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do than to confess she does: that is one of the points in the which women still give the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired?
Make me believe it! You might as well make the woman you love believe it; and I bet she’s more likely to do that than admit it. That’s one of the ways women always lie to their consciences. But, honestly, are you the one who hangs the poems on the trees, where Rosalind is so admired?
I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he.
I swear to you, youth, by Rosalind’s white hand, I am the one, that unlucky man.
But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak?
But are you really as in love as your poems suggest?
Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.
Neither rhyme nor reason can explain how much.
Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do: and the reason why they are not so punished and cured is, that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too. Yet I profess curing it by counsel.
Love is just madness, and, I tell you, it deserves a dark room and a whip just like madmen do: and the reason they’re not punished and cured is that the madness is so common that even the people who punish are in love too. But I say I can cure it with advice.
Did you ever cure any so?
Have you ever cured anyone like that?
Yes, 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 would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing and liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles, for every passion something and for no passion truly any thing, as boys and women are for the most part cattle of this colour; would now like him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love to a living humour of madness; which was, to forswear the full stream of the world, and to live in a nook merely monastic. 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’t.
Yes, one, and in this way. He had to believe I was his love, his mistress; and I made him try to woo me every day: at that time, I would, being but a moody youth, be sad, effeminate, changeable, longing and liking, proud, whimsical, playful, shallow, unpredictable, full of tears, full of smiles, for every emotion something and for no emotion truly any thing, as boys and women often are, most of the time acting this way; I would like him one moment, loathe him the next; then accept him, then reject him; now cry for him, then spit at him; until I drove my suitor from his crazy love to a real kind of madness; which was, to give up the whole world and live in a quiet, almost monkish way. And this is how I cured him; and this is how I’ll cleanse your heart as pure as a healthy sheep’s heart, so there won’t be a trace of love left in it.
I would not be cured, youth.
I don’t want to be cured, youth.
I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind and come every day to my cote and woo me.
I would cure you, if you’d just call me Rosalind and come to my home every day and woo me.
Now, by the faith of my love, I will: tell me where it is.
By the faith of my love, I will: tell me where it is.
Go with me to it and I’ll show it you and by the way you shall tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go?
Come with me and I’ll show you, and along the way you’ll tell me where you live in the forest. Will you go?
With all my heart, good youth.
With all my heart, good youth.
Nay you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you go?
No, you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you go?