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Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy Can do all this that he hath promised?
Do you believe, Orlando, that the boy Can really do all that he promised?
I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not; As those that fear they hope, and know they fear.
Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t; Like those who hope but are also afraid.
Patience once more, whiles our compact is urged: You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, You will bestow her on Orlando here?
Patience, once more, while we move forward with the deal: You say, if I bring your Rosalind, You will give her to Orlando here?
That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her.
I would, if I had kingdoms to offer with her.
And you say, you will have her, when I bring her?
And you say you’ll have her when I bring her?
That would I, were I of all kingdoms king.
I would, if I were king of all the kingdoms.
You say, you’ll marry me, if I be willing?
You say you’ll marry me, if I agree?
That will I, should I die the hour after.
I will, even if I die the moment after.
But if you do refuse to marry me, You’ll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd?
But if you refuse to marry me, You’ll give yourself to this loyal shepherd?
So is the bargain.
That’s the deal.
You say, that you’ll have Phebe, if she will?
You say you’ll have Phebe, if she agrees?
Though to have her and death were both one thing.
Even if having her meant death.
I have promised to make all this matter even. Keep you your word, O duke, to give your daughter; You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter: Keep your word, Phebe, that you’ll marry me, Or else refusing me, to wed this shepherd: Keep your word, Silvius, that you’ll marry her. If she refuse me: and from hence I go, To make these doubts all even.
I promised to fix all of this. Keep your promise, Duke, and give your daughter away; You keep your promise, Orlando, and take his daughter: Keep your promise, Phebe, and marry me, Or, if you refuse me, marry this shepherd instead: Keep your promise, Silvius, and marry her. If she refuses me, I’ll leave, To make all these issues right.
I do remember in this shepherd boy Some lively touches of my daughter’s favour.
I remember seeing something of my daughter’s looks in this shepherd boy.
My lord, the first time that I ever saw him Methought he was a brother to your daughter: But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born, And hath been tutor’d in the rudiments Of many desperate studies by his uncle, Whom he reports to be a great magician, Obscured in the circle of this forest.
My lord, the first time I saw him I thought he was a brother to your daughter: But, my good lord, this boy was born in the forest, And has been taught many difficult things by his uncle, Who he says is a great magician, Hiding away in this forest.
There is, sure, another flood toward, and these couples are coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools.
Sure, there’s another flood coming, and these couples are heading toward the ark. Here comes a pair of very strange creatures, which are called fools in every language.
Salutation and greeting to you all!
Greetings to all of you!
Good my lord, bid him welcome: this is the motley-minded gentleman that I have so often met in the forest: he hath been a courtier, he swears.
Good my lord, welcome him: this is the colorful-minded man I’ve met so often in the forest: he used to be a courtier, he swears.
If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation. I have trod a measure; I have flattered a lady; I have been politic with my friend, smooth with mine enemy; I have undone three tailors; I have had four quarrels, and like to have fought one.
If anyone doubts that, let him challenge me. I’ve danced a measure; I’ve flattered a lady; I’ve been political with my friend, smooth with my enemy; I’ve ruined three tailors; I’ve had four quarrels, and almost fought one.
And how was that ta’en up?
And how did that turn out?
Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the seventh cause.
Well, we met, and the quarrel was over the seventh cause.
How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this fellow.
What seventh cause? Good my lord, I like this man.
I like him very well.
I like him very much.
God ’ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country copulatives, to swear and to forswear: according as marriage binds and blood breaks: a poor virgin, sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own; a poor humour of mine, sir, to take that that no man else will: rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor house; as your pearl in your foul oyster.
Good health to you, sir; I wish you the same. I join in here, sir, with the rest of the country folk, to swear and to break oaths: as marriage binds and blood breaks: a poor virgin, sir, an unattractive thing, sir, but mine own; a poor mood of mine, sir, to take what no one else will: rich honesty lives like a miser, sir, in a poor house; like your pearl in your ugly oyster.
By my faith, he is very swift and sententious.
By my faith, he’s very quick and full of wisdom.
According to the fool’s bolt, sir, and such dulcet diseases.
Just like the fool’s quick wit, sir, and such sweet troubles.
But, for the seventh cause; how did you find the quarrel on the seventh cause?
But, for the seventh reason; how did you find the argument over the seventh reason?
Upon a lie seven times removed:--bear your body more seeming, Audrey:--as thus, sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain courtier’s beard: he sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it was: this is called the Retort Courteous. If I sent him word again ’it was not well cut,’ he would send me word, he cut it to please himself: this is called the Quip Modest. If again ’it was not well cut,’ he disabled my judgment: this is called the Reply Churlish. If again ’it was not well cut,’ he would answer, I spake not true: this is called the Reproof Valiant. If again ’it was not well cut,’ he would say I lied: this is called the Counter-cheque Quarrelsome: and so to the Lie Circumstantial and the Lie Direct.
Based on a lie seven times removed:--make yourself look more proper, Audrey:--like this, sir. I didn’t like the style of a certain courtier’s beard: he sent me word, that if I said his beard wasn’t well-groomed, he thought it was: this is called the Polite Response. If I sent him word again ’it’s not well-groomed,’ he would tell me he cut it to his own liking: this is called the Modest Joke. If again ’it was not well-groomed,’ he would question my judgment: this is called the Rude Reply. If again ’it was not well-groomed,’ he would say I was wrong: this is called the Bold Reprimand. If again ’it was not well-groomed,’ he would say I was lying: this is called the Quarrelsome Retort: and so to the Circumstantial Lie and the Direct Lie.
And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut?
And how often did you say his beard wasn’t well-groomed?
I durst go no further than the Lie Circumstantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we measured swords and parted.
I didn’t go further than the Circumstantial Lie, and he didn’t dare to give me the Direct Lie; so we drew our swords and went our separate ways.
Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie?
Can you list the levels of lies in order now?
O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book; as you have books for good manners: I will name you the degrees. The first, the Retort Courteous; the second, the Quip Modest; the third, the Reply Churlish; the fourth, the Reproof Valiant; the fifth, the Countercheque Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with Circumstance; the seventh, the Lie Direct. All these you may avoid but the Lie Direct; and you may avoid that too, with an If. I knew when seven justices could not take up a quarrel, but when the parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an If, as, ’If you said so, then I said so;’ and they shook hands and swore brothers. Your If is the only peacemaker; much virtue in If.
Oh sir, we argue in writing, by the book; just as you have books for proper manners: I’ll name the levels for you. The first, the Polite Response; the second, the Modest Joke; the third, the Rude Reply; the fourth, the Bold Reprimand; the fifth, the Quarrelsome Retort; the sixth, the Lie with Details; the seventh, the Direct Lie. All of these you can avoid except the Direct Lie; and you can avoid that too, with an If. I knew of a time when seven judges couldn’t settle a quarrel, but when the parties met themselves, one of them just thought of an If, like, ’If you said so, then I said so;’ and they shook hands and swore to be brothers. Your If is the only peacemaker; much power in If.
Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he’s as good at any thing and yet a fool.
Isn’t this a rare guy, my lord? He’s good at everything and yet a fool.
He uses his folly like a stalking-horse and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.
He uses his foolishness like a decoy and behind that mask, he displays his cleverness.
Then is there mirth in heaven, When earthly things made even Atone together. Good duke, receive thy daughter Hymen from heaven brought her, Yea, brought her hither, That thou mightst join her hand with his Whose heart within his bosom is.
Then there is joy in heaven, When earthly things are made Right and harmonize. Good duke, receive your daughter Hymen has brought her from heaven, Yes, brought her here, So you might join her hand with his Whose heart is in his chest.
[To DUKE SENIOR] To you I give myself, for I am yours.
[To DUKE SENIOR] To you I give myself, for I belong to you.
To you I give myself, for I am yours.
To you I give myself, for I belong to you.
If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter.
If there’s truth in what I see, you are my daughter.
If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind.
If there’s truth in what I see, you are my Rosalind.
If sight and shape be true, Why then, my love adieu!
If looks and appearance are true, Then, goodbye, my love!
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.
I won’t have a father, if you’re not him: I won’t have a husband, if you’re not him: Nor will I ever marry, if you’re not her.
Peace, ho! I bar confusion: ’Tis I must make conclusion Of these most strange events: Here’s eight that must take hands To join in Hymen’s bands, If truth holds true contents. You and you no cross shall part: You and you are heart in heart You to his love must accord, Or have a woman to your lord: You and you are sure together, As the winter to foul weather. Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing, Feed yourselves with questioning; That reason wonder may diminish, How thus we met, and these things finish. SONG. Wedding is great Juno’s crown: O blessed bond of board and bed! ’Tis Hymen peoples every town; High wedlock then be honoured: Honour, high honour and renown, To Hymen, god of every town!
Quiet, everyone! I won’t allow confusion: It’s I who must bring an end To these very strange events: Here are eight who must join hands To unite in Hymen’s bond, If truth remains true. You two will never be separated: You two are heart and soul You must agree to love him, Or let a woman be your lord: You two are surely together, Like winter and bad weather. While we sing the wedding hymn, Don’t stop to question; So that reason’s wonder can fade, And we can finish what we’ve started. SONG. Marriage is Juno’s great crown: Oh, blessed bond of home and bed! It’s Hymen who populates every town; High marriage, then, should be honored: Honor, high honor and fame, To Hymen, god of every town!
O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me! Even daughter, welcome, in no less degree.
Oh, my dear niece, you’re so welcome to me! Even my daughter, welcome, just as much.
I will not eat my word, now thou art mine; Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine.
I won’t take back my word, now that you’re mine; Your faith joins with my desire for you.
Let me have audience for a word or two: I am the second son of old Sir Rowland, That bring these tidings to this fair assembly. Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day Men of great worth resorted to this forest, Address’d 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 banish’d brother, And all their lands restored to them again That were with him exiled. This to be true, I do engage my life.
Let me speak for a moment: I am the second son of old Sir Rowland, And I bring this news to this fair gathering. Duke Frederick, hearing that every day Men of great worth were coming to this forest, Gathered a huge army; they were on their feet, Led by him, specifically to capture His brother and kill him: And he came to the edge of this wild wood; Where he met an old religious man, And after some conversation with him, was changed Both in his mission and his life, Giving up his crown to his exiled brother, And returning all their lands to them That had been taken when they were exiled. This is true, And I will risk my life to confirm it.
Welcome, young man; Thou offer’st fairly to thy brothers’ wedding: To one his lands withheld, and to the other A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. First, in this forest, let us do those ends That here were well begun and well begot: And after, every of this happy number That have endured shrewd days and nights with us Shall share the good of our returned fortune, According to the measure of their states. Meantime, forget this new-fall’n dignity And fall into our rustic revelry. Play, music! And you, brides and bridegrooms all, With measure heap’d in joy, to the measures fall.
Welcome, young man; You bring good news to your brothers’ wedding: To one, lands that were taken; and to the other, A whole dukedom, a powerful one. First, here in this forest, let us finish What we started and began well: Then, everyone in this happy group Who has endured difficult days and nights with us Shall share in the rewards of our restored fortune, Based on what each deserves. Meanwhile, forget about this newly gained honor And join us in our simple celebration. Play, music! And you, brides and bridegrooms all, With joy in your hearts, let the dance begin.
Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly, The duke hath put on a religious life And thrown into neglect the pompous court?
Sir, if I understood you correctly, The duke has adopted a religious life And abandoned the grandeur of the court?
He hath.
He has.
To him will I : out of these convertites There is much matter to be heard and learn’d.
I’ll go to him: among these converts There’s much to hear and learn.
You to your former honour I bequeath; Your patience and your virtue well deserves it:
I wish you return to your former honor; Your patience and your virtue deserve it:
You to a love that your true faith doth merit:
You are worthy of a love that matches your true faith:
You to your land and love and great allies:
You go back to your land, your love, and your powerful friends:
You to a long and well-deserved bed:
You go to a long and well-earned rest:
And you to wrangling; for thy loving voyage Is but for two months victuall’d. So, to your pleasures: I am for other than for dancing measures.
And you go to arguing; because your loving journey Will only last two months with enough food. So, enjoy yourselves: I’m off to do something other than dance.
Stay, Jaques, stay.
Wait, Jaques, wait.
To see no pastime I what you would have I’ll stay to know at your abandon’d cave.
I don’t care to see any entertainment, but I’ll stay to see What you do in your abandoned cave.
Proceed, proceed: we will begin these rites, As we do trust they’ll end, in true delights.
Keep going, keep going: we’ll start these rituals, And we trust they’ll end in true joy.
It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue; but it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord the prologue. 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, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much of this play as please you: and I charge you, O men, for the love you bear to women--as I perceive by your simpering, none of you hates them--that between you and the women the play may please. If I were a woman I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me and breaths that I defied not: and, I am sure, as many as have good beards or good faces or sweet breaths will, for my kind offer, when I make curtsy, bid me farewell.
It’s not usual to see the lady in the epilogue; but it’s no more awkward than seeing the man in the prologue. If it’s true that good wine doesn’t need a sign, it’s true that a good play doesn’t need an epilogue; but they do put signs on good wine, and good plays are even better with the help of a good epilogue. So what’s my situation then, when I’m neither a good epilogue nor able to persuade you on behalf of a good play! I’m not dressed like a beggar, so begging doesn’t suit me: my way is to charm you; and I’ll start with the women. I charge you, women, for the love you have for men, to like as much of this play as pleases you: and I charge you, men, for the love you have for women—as I can see from your grinning, none of you dislike them—that between you and the women, the play should be pleasing. If I were a woman I would kiss as many of you as had beards I liked, faces I liked, and breath I didn’t mind: and I’m sure, as many of you who have good beards, good faces, or sweet breath will, when I curtsy and say goodbye, return my farewell.