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Modern English
How say you now? Is it not past two o’clock? and here much Orlando!
What do you think now? Isn’t it after two o’clock? And there’s Orlando again!
I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he hath ta’en his bow and arrows and is gone forth to sleep. Look, who comes here.
I bet you, with his pure love and troubled mind, he has taken his bow and arrows and gone off to sleep. Look, here comes someone.
My errand is to you, fair youth; My gentle Phebe bid me give you this: I know not the contents; but, as I guess By the stern brow and waspish action Which she did use as she was writing of it, It bears an angry tenor: pardon me: I am but as a guiltless messenger.
I’ve come to you, fair young man; My kind Phebe asked me to give you this: I don’t know what’s inside, but from the harsh look and angry gestures she had while writing it, I think it carries an angry tone: forgive me: I’m just an innocent messenger.
Patience herself would startle at this letter And play the swaggerer; bear this, bear all: She says I am not fair, that I lack manners; She calls me proud, and that she could not love me, Were man as rare as phoenix. ’Od’s my will! Her love is not the hare that I do hunt: Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well, This is a letter of your own device.
Even patience herself would be shocked by this letter and act like a bully; accept this, accept everything: She says I’m not beautiful, that I have no manners; She calls me arrogant, and says she couldn’t love me, Even if men were as rare as phoenixes. Good grief! Her love isn’t the kind of love I’m after: Why does she write this to me? Well, shepherd, well, This letter was written by someone else.
No, I protest, I know not the contents: Phebe did write it.
No, I swear, I don’t know what it says: Phebe wrote it.
Come, come, you are a fool And turn’d into the extremity of love. I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand. A freestone-colour’d hand; I verily did think That her old gloves were on, but ’twas her hands: She has a huswife’s hand; but that’s no matter: I say she never did invent this letter; This is a man’s invention and his hand.
Come on, you’re being foolish and completely overcome by love. I saw her handwriting: she has a rough hand. A stone-colored hand; I honestly thought she was wearing old gloves, but it was just her hands: She has a housewife’s hands; but that’s beside the point: I say she didn’t write this letter; This is a man’s doing and his handwriting.
Sure, it is hers.
I’m sure it’s hers.
Why, ’tis a boisterous and a cruel style. A style for-challengers; why, she defies me, Like Turk to Christian: women’s gentle brain Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter?
Well, it’s a loud and cruel way of writing. A way for fighters; she’s insulting me, like a Turk to a Christian: a woman’s gentle mind couldn’t come up with such a harsh invention Such dark words, darker in meaning than in their appearance. Do you want to hear the letter?
So please you, for I never heard it yet; Yet heard too much of Phebe’s cruelty.
If you please, I’ve never heard it before; But I’ve heard too much about Phebe’s cruelty.
She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes.
She insults me: see how the cruel one writes.
Art thou god to shepherd turn’d, That a maiden’s heart hath burn’d? Can a woman rail thus?
Are you a god who’s turned shepherd, That a girl’s heart has been set on fire? Can a woman speak like this?
Call you this railing?
Is this what you call insulting?
[Reads] Why, thy godhead laid apart, Warr’st thou with a woman’s heart? Did you ever hear such railing? Whiles the eye of man did woo me, That could do no vengeance to me. Meaning me a beast. If the scorn of your bright eyne Have power to raise such love in mine, Alack, in me what strange effect Would they work in mild aspect! Whiles you chid me, I did love; How then might your prayers move! He that brings this love to thee Little knows this love in me: And by him seal up thy mind; Whether that thy youth and kind Will the faithful offer take Of me and all that I can make; Or else by him my love deny, And then I’ll study how to die.
[Reads] Well, setting your godhood aside, Are you at war with a woman’s heart? Have you ever heard anything like this insult? While a man’s eyes were courting me, That could do no harm to me. Meaning I’m a beast. If the disdain in your bright eyes Can make me love you like this, Oh, imagine what strange effect They’d have on me if you looked kindly! While you scolded me, I loved you; How might your prayers affect me then? The one who brings this love to you Knows little of the love I have for you: And through him, seal your heart; Whether your youth and kindness Will accept my faithful offer Of everything I am and can be; Or, through him, reject my love, And then I’ll find a way to die.
Call you this chiding?
Is this what you call scolding?
Alas, poor shepherd!
Poor shepherd!
Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity. Wilt thou love such a woman? What, to make thee an instrument and play false strains upon thee! not to be endured! Well, go your way to her, for I see love hath made thee a tame snake, and say this to her: that if she love me, I charge her to love thee; if she will not, I will never have her unless thou entreat for her. If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more company.
Do you pity him? No, he deserves no pity. Would you love such a woman? What, to make you an instrument and play false notes on you! That can’t be tolerated! Well, go to her, for I see love has made you a tame snake, and tell her this: if she loves me, I command her to love you; if she won’t, I’ll never have her unless you beg for her. If you are a true lover, go, and don’t say a word; for here comes more people.
Good morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you know, Where in the purlieus of this forest stands A sheep-cote fenced about with olive trees?
Good morning, ladies: please, if you know, Where in this forest there’s a sheepfold Surrounded by olive trees?
West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom: The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream Left on your right hand brings you to the place. But at this hour the house doth keep itself; There’s none within.
West of here, down in the nearby valley: The line of willows by the murmuring stream On your right leads you to the place. But at this time, the house is empty; There’s no one inside.
If that an eye may profit by a tongue, Then should I know you by description; Such garments and such years: ’The boy is fair, Of female favour, and bestows himself Like a ripe sister: the woman low And browner than her brother.’ Are not you The owner of the house I did inquire for?
If a description can help identify someone, Then I should recognize you by your description; Such clothes and such an age: ’The boy is fair, Of feminine beauty, and carries himself Like a mature sister: the woman’s shorter And browner than her brother.’ Aren’t you The owner of the house I asked about?
It is no boast, being ask’d, to say we are.
It’s no brag, when asked, to say we are.
Orlando doth commend him to you both, And to that youth he calls his Rosalind He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he?
Orlando sends his greetings to you both, And to that youth he calls his Rosalind He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he?
I am: what must we understand by this?
I am: what should we understand by this?
Some of my shame; if you will know of me What man I am, and how, and why, and where This handkercher was stain’d.
Some of my shame; if you want to know about me What kind of man I am, and how, and why, and where This handkerchief got stained.
I pray you, tell it.
Please, tell me.
When last the young Orlando parted from you He left a promise to return again Within an hour, and pacing through the forest, Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, Lo, what befell! he threw his eye aside, And mark what object did present itself: Under an oak, whose boughs were moss’d with age And high top bald with dry antiquity, A wretched ragged man, o’ergrown with hair, Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself, Who with her head nimble in threats approach’d The opening of his mouth; but suddenly, Seeing Orlando, it unlink’d itself, And with indented glides did slip away Into a bush: under which bush’s shade A lioness, with udders all drawn dry, Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch, When that the sleeping man should stir; for ’tis The royal disposition of that beast To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead: This seen, Orlando did approach the man And found it was his brother, his elder brother.
When young Orlando last left you He promised to return within an hour While walking through the forest, Thinking about both sweet and bitter thoughts, And look, what happened! He looked away, And see what appeared: Under an oak tree, whose branches were covered with moss And its top was bare from old age, A poor, ragged man, his hair overgrown, Lay sleeping on his back: around his neck A green and gold snake had coiled itself, Who, with its head moving fast in threats, approached The opening of his mouth; but suddenly, Seeing Orlando, it loosened itself, And with quick slides, slithered away Into a bush: under that bush’s shade A lioness, with her udders all dry, Lay crouching, her head on the ground, watching like a cat, Waiting for the sleeping man to stir; because it’s The natural instinct of that beast Not to attack anything that seems dead: Seeing this, Orlando went up to the man And discovered it was his brother, his older brother.
O, I have heard him speak of that same brother; And he did render him the most unnatural That lived amongst men.
Oh, I’ve heard him talk about that brother; And he called him the most unnatural Man who ever lived.
And well he might so do, For well I know he was unnatural.
And he was right to say that, Because I know for sure he was unnatural.
But, to Orlando: did he leave him there, Food to the suck’d and hungry lioness?
But, what about Orlando: did he leave him there, As food for the hungry lioness?
Twice did he turn his back and purposed so; But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, And nature, stronger than his just occasion, Made him give battle to the lioness, Who quickly fell before him: in which hurtling From miserable slumber I awaked.
Twice he turned his back and meant to leave; But kindness, always nobler than revenge, And nature, stronger than his reason, Made him fight the lioness, Who quickly fell before him: and in that struggle I woke from my miserable sleep.
Are you his brother?
Are you his brother?
Wast you he rescued?
Were you the one he saved?
Was’t you that did so oft contrive to kill him?
Were you the one who so often tried 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.
It was me; but I’m not ashamed To tell you what I was, since my change Feels so sweet, being who I am now.
But, for the bloody napkin?
But what about the bloody 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 unto his cave, There stripp’d 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. Brief, I recover’d him, bound up his wound; And, after some small space, being strong at heart, He sent me hither, stranger as I am, To tell this story, that you might excuse His broken promise, and to give this napkin Dyed in his blood unto the shepherd youth That he in sport doth call his Rosalind.
I’ll explain in a moment. After we cried and shared our stories, How I came into that lonely place:-- In short, he took me to the kind duke, Who gave me new clothes and welcomed me, Entrusting me to my brother’s care; Who then took me straight to his cave, There he stripped off his clothes, and I saw The lioness had torn some flesh from his arm, Which had been bleeding all this time; and now he fainted And cried, in his fainting, for Rosalind. Briefly, I helped him recover, bandaged his wound; And after a little while, feeling strong again, He sent me here, a stranger like I am, To tell this story, so you could excuse His broken promise, and to give this napkin Stained with his blood to the young shepherd, The one he calls his Rosalind in jest.
Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede!
What’s this, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede!
Many will swoon when they do look on blood.
Many people faint when they see blood.
There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede!
There’s more to it. Cousin Ganymede!
Look, he recovers.
Look, he’s getting better.
I would I were at home.
I wish I were at home.
We’ll lead you thither. I pray you, will you take him by the arm?
We’ll take you there. Please, will you help him by the arm?
Be of good cheer, youth: you a man! you lack a man’s heart.
Cheer up, young man: you’re a man! You just need a man’s courage.
I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would think this was well counterfeited! I pray you, tell your brother how well I counterfeited. Heigh-ho!
I do, I admit it. Ah, goodness, one would think this was a very good act! Please, tell your brother how well I acted. Oh dear!
This was not counterfeit: there is too great testimony in your complexion that it was a passion of earnest.
This wasn’t an act: there’s too much proof in your face that this was a genuine feeling.
Counterfeit, I assure you.
It was an act, I assure you.
Well then, take a good heart and counterfeit to be a man.
Well then, take heart and pretend to be a man.
So I do: but, i’ faith, I should have been a woman by right.
I am, but honestly, I should have been a woman instead.
Come, you look paler and paler: pray you, draw homewards. Good sir, go with us.
Come on, you’re looking paler and paler: please, let’s head home. Good sir, please come with us.
That will I, for I must bear answer back How you excuse my brother, Rosalind.
I will, because I need to report back how you excuse my brother, Rosalind.
I shall devise something: but, I pray you, commend my counterfeiting to him. Will you go?
I’ll think of something: but, please, tell him how well I acted. Will you come?