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Modern English
I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee.
Please, pretty young man, let me get to know you better.
They say you are a melancholy fellow.
They say you’re a gloomy guy.
I am so; I do love it better than laughing.
That’s true; I prefer it to laughing.
Those that are in extremity of either are abominable fellows and betray themselves to every modern censure worse than drunkards.
People who are either too sad or too happy are awful and they make themselves look bad to everyone, worse than drunks.
Why, ’tis good to be sad and say nothing.
Well, it’s good to be sad and keep quiet.
Why then, ’tis good to be a post.
Well, in that case, it’s good to be a statue.
I have neither the scholar’s melancholy, which is emulation, nor the musician’s, which is fantastical, nor the courtier’s, which is proud, nor the soldier’s, which is ambitious, nor the lawyer’s, which is politic, nor the lady’s, which is nice, nor the lover’s, which is all these: but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry’s contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me m a most humorous sadness.
I don’t have the scholar’s sadness, which is about competition, or the musician’s, which is fanciful, or the courtier’s, which is full of pride, or the soldier’s, which is ambitious, or the lawyer’s, which is calculating, or the lady’s, which is delicate, or the lover’s, which is all of these: no, it’s my own sadness, made up of many simple things, drawn from many experiences, and really just my constant thinking about my travels, which often leaves me with a humorous kind of sadness.
A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad: I fear you have sold your own lands to see other men’s; then, to have seen much and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands.
A traveler! Honestly, you have every reason to be sad. I’m afraid you sold your land to see other people’s lands. To have seen so much and have nothing left is like having a rich view but empty hands.
Yes, I have gained my experience.
Yes, I’ve gained my experience.
And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad; and to travel for it too!
And your experience makes you sad: I’d rather have a fool to cheer me up than experience to make me sad. And to travel just for that!
Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind!
Good day and happiness to you, dear Rosalind!
Nay, then, God be wi’ you, an you talk in blank verse.
Well, God be with you, if you’re going to talk in poetry.
Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: look you lisp and wear strange suits, disable all the benefits of your own country, be out of love with your nativity and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are, or I will scarce think you have swam in a gondola. Why, how now, Orlando! where have you been all this while? You a lover! An you serve me such another trick, never come in my sight more.
Goodbye, Mister Traveller: you pretend to have a speech impediment and wear weird clothes, give up all the advantages of your own country, be unhappy with where you were born and nearly complain to God for making you look the way you do, or I will barely believe you’ve ridden in a boat. Well, what’s going on, Orlando! where have you been all this time? You’re in love! If you pull another stunt like this, never come near me again.
My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise.
My beautiful Rosalind, I’ve come within an hour of my promise.
Break an hour’s promise in love! He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts and break but a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapped him o’ the shoulder, but I’ll warrant him heart-whole.
Break an hour’s promise in love! He who will divide a minute into a thousand parts and break even the tiniest part of that minute in matters of love, it could be said that Cupid has tapped him on the shoulder, but I’ll bet he’s still clear-hearted.
Pardon me, dear Rosalind.
Forgive me, dear Rosalind.
Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight: I had as lief be wooed of a snail.
No, if you’re going to be this slow, don’t come near me again: I would rather be wooed by a snail.
Of a snail?
By a snail?
Ay, 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.
Yes, by a snail; because even though he moves slowly, he carries his home on his back; a better settlement, I think, than what you offer a woman: plus, he brings his fate with him.
What’s that?
What’s that?
Why, horns, which such as you are fain to be beholding to your wives for: but he comes armed in his fortune and prevents the slander of his wife.
Why, horns, which men like you have to rely on your wives for: but the snail comes with his fortune and avoids the shame of his wife.
Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous.
Virtue doesn’t make horns; and my Rosalind is virtuous.
And I am your Rosalind.
And I am your Rosalind.
It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leer than you.
He likes to call you that; but he has a Rosalind with a better look than you.
Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humour and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind?
Come, woo me, woo me, because now I’m in a good mood and likely to say yes. What would you say to me now, if I were your very own Rosalind?
I would kiss before I spoke.
I would kiss you before I spoke.
Nay, you were better speak first, and when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking--God warn us!--matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.
No, you’d better speak first, and when you run out of words, you can take the chance to kiss. Good speakers, when they run out of things to say, will spit; and for lovers who lack--God help us!--words, the easiest trick is to kiss.
How if the kiss be denied?
What if she refuses the kiss?
Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.
Then she’ll make you beg for it, and that’s when the real fun starts.
Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress?
Who wouldn’t want to be put out, if it’s in front of the woman they love?
Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit.
Well, you would, if I were your girlfriend, or I’d think my honesty was worse than my intelligence.
What, of my suit?
What about my request?
Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind?
Not out of your clothes, but out of your request. Aren’t I your Rosalind?
I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of her.
I’m glad to say you are, because I want to keep talking about her.
Well in her person I say I will not have you.
Well, in her name, I say I won’t have you.
Then in mine own person I die.
Then I’ll die in my own name.
No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicit, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed out with a Grecian club; yet he did what he could to die before, and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have lived many a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont and being taken with the cramp was drowned and the foolish coroners of that age found it was ’Hero of Sestos.’ But these are all lies: men have died from time to time and worms have eaten them, but not for love.
No, really, die through a lawyer. The world’s been around for almost six thousand years, and in all that time, no man’s ever died for love in person. Take Troilus, for example—his brains were bashed in with a Greek club, but he tried his best to die earlier, and he’s one of the examples of love. Then there’s Leander—he could’ve lived many happy years, even if Hero had become a nun, if it hadn’t been for a hot summer night. The poor guy just went out to swim in the Hellespont, but he got a cramp, drowned, and the silly coroners back then said it was ’Hero of Sestos.’ But all that’s nonsense: men have died for all sorts of reasons, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.
I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind, for, I protest, her frown might kill me.
I wouldn’t want my true Rosalind to think like that, because, honestly, her frown could kill me.
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.
I swear, it won’t even kill a fly. But come on, I’ll be your Rosalind in a more agreeable mood now, and ask me anything. I’ll say yes.
Then love me, Rosalind.
Then love me, Rosalind.
Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all.
Yes, I swear, I will, on Fridays, Saturdays, and every other day.
And wilt thou have me?
And will you marry me?
Ay, and twenty such.
Yes, and twenty other guys like you.
What sayest thou?
What do you mean?
Are you not good?
Are you not well?
I hope so.
I hope so.
Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing? Come, sister, you shall be the priest and marry us. Give me your hand, Orlando. What do you say, sister?
Then, can you really have too much of something good? Come on, sister, you’ll be the priest and marry us. Give me your hand, Orlando. What do you think, sister?
Pray thee, marry us.
Please, marry us.
I cannot say the words.
I can’t say the words.
You must begin, ’Will you, Orlando--’
You have to start, ’Will you, Orlando--’
Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind?
Alright. Will you, Orlando, take this Rosalind as your wife?
I will.
I will.
Ay, but when?
Yes, but when?
Why now; as fast as she can marry us.
Right now; as quickly as she can marry us.
Then you must say ’I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.’
Then you have to say ’I take you, Rosalind, as my wife.’
I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.
I take you, Rosalind, as my wife.
I might ask you for your commission; but I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband: there’s a girl goes before the priest; and certainly a woman’s thought runs before her actions.
I could ask you for your official approval, but I do take you, Orlando, as my husband: there’s a woman who goes ahead of the priest; and certainly, a woman’s thoughts lead her actions.
So do all thoughts; they are winged.
So do all thoughts; they have wings.
Now tell me how long you would have her after you have possessed her.
Now tell me how long you’ll want her once you’ve got her.
For ever and a day.
Forever and a day.
Say ’a day,’ without the ’ever.’ No, no, Orlando; men are April when they woo, December when they wed: maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen, more clamorous than a parrot against rain, more new-fangled than an ape, more giddy in my desires than a monkey: I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you are disposed to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when thou art inclined to sleep.
Say "a day," without the "forever." No, no, Orlando; men are like April when they court, but like December when they marry: women are like May when they’re young, but the sky changes when they become wives. I’ll be more jealous of you than a Barbary cock-pigeon is of his hen, more noisy than a parrot complaining about rain, more fickle than an ape, more reckless in my desires than a monkey: I’ll cry for no reason, like Diana in the fountain, and I’ll do that when you want to laugh; I’ll laugh like a hyena, and that when you want to sleep.
But will my Rosalind do so?
But will my Rosalind really do that?
By my life, she will do as I do.
I swear, she will do just as I do.
O, but she is wise.
Oh, but she’s wise.
Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the wiser, the waywarder: make the doors upon a woman’s wit and it will out at the casement; shut that and ’twill out at the key-hole; stop that, ’twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney.
Or else she wouldn’t have the sense to do this: the wiser she is, the more unpredictable she’ll be: lock a woman’s mind away and it will escape through the window; shut that and it’ll slip through the keyhole; block that, and it’ll fly out with the smoke through the chimney.
A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say ’Wit, whither wilt?’
A man who has a wife with that kind of wit might say "Wit, where are you going?"
Nay, you might keep that cheque for it till you met your wife’s wit going to your neighbour’s bed.
No, you might hold off on saying that until you find your wife’s wit going off to your neighbor’s bed.
And what wit could wit have to excuse that?
And what wit would there be to explain that?
Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You shall never take her without her answer, unless you take her without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her fault her husband’s occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed it like a fool!
Well, you could say she went to look for you there. You’ll never catch her without an explanation, unless you catch her without her voice. Oh, any woman who can’t blame her faults on her husband’s actions should never raise her own child, or she’ll raise it to be a fool!
For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee.
For these two hours, Rosalind, I’ll leave you.
Alas! dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours.
Oh no! dear love, I can’t go without you for two hours.
I must attend the duke at dinner: by two o’clock I will be with thee again.
I must attend the duke for dinner: I’ll be back with you by two o’clock.
Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew what you would prove: my friends told me as much, and I thought no less: that flattering tongue of yours won me: ’tis but one cast away, and so, come, death! Two o’clock is your hour?
Yes, go on, go on; I knew what you’d do: my friends told me the same thing, and I thought so too: that sweet-talking of yours won me over: it’s just one more time wasted, and so, come, death! Two o’clock is your time?
Ay, sweet Rosalind.
Yes, 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 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 that may be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful: therefore beware my censure and keep your promise.
I swear, and I’m serious, and so help me God, and by all the harmless oaths I know, if you break even one part of your promise or are a minute late, I’ll think you’re the biggest liar and the most hollow lover and the least worthy of her you call Rosalind, that could ever be picked from the pile of unfaithful people: so beware of my judgment and keep your promise.
With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind: so adieu.
I swear, I love you as truly as if you were really my Rosalind: so goodbye.
Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let Time try: adieu.
Well, Time is the old judge who examines all such wrongdoers, and let Time decide: goodbye.
You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate: we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head, and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest.
You’ve completely misrepresented our gender with your love talk: we should strip off your jacket and trousers and show the world what you’ve done to your own reputation.
O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But it cannot be sounded: my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal.
Oh cousin, cousin, cousin, my sweet little cousin, if you only knew how deeply I’m in love! But it can’t be measured: my feelings have an unknown depth, like the bay of Portugal.
Or rather, bottomless, that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out.
Or rather, bottomless, so that as soon as you pour your love in, it spills out.
No, that same wicked bastard of Venus that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen and born of madness, that blind rascally boy that abuses every one’s eyes because his own are out, let him be judge how deep I am in love. I’ll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando: I’ll go find a shadow and sigh till he come.
No, that same mischievous little brat of Venus who was born from thought, conceived in anger, and delivered in madness, that blind, annoying boy who messes with everyone’s vision because he’s blind himself, let him decide how deep I am in love. I’ll tell you, Aliena, I can’t stop thinking about Orlando: I’ll go find some shade and sigh until he arrives.
And I’ll sleep.
And I’ll sleep.