Document:  All > Shakespeare > Comedies > As You Like It > Act III, scene III


TOUCHSTONE: Come apace, good Audrey: I will fetch up your
	goats, Audrey. And how, Audrey? am I the man yet?
	doth my simple feature content you?

AUDREY: Your features! Lord warrant us! what features!

TOUCHSTONE: I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most
	capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.

JAQUES: [Aside]  O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove
	in a thatched house!

TOUCHSTONE: When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a
	man's good wit seconded with the forward child
	Understanding, it strikes a man more dead than a
	great reckoning in a little room. Truly, I would
	the gods had made thee poetical.

AUDREY: I do not know what 'poetical' is: is it honest in
	deed and word? is it a true thing?

TOUCHSTONE: No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most
	feigning; and lovers are given to poetry, and what
	they swear in poetry may be said as lovers they do feign.

AUDREY: Do you wish then that the gods had made me poetical?

TOUCHSTONE: I do, truly; for thou swearest to me thou art
	honest: now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some
	hope thou didst feign.

AUDREY: Would you not have me honest?

TOUCHSTONE: No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favoured; for
	honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar.

JAQUES: [Aside]  A material fool!

AUDREY:  Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods
	make me honest.

TOUCHSTONE: Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut
	were to put good meat into an unclean dish.

AUDREY: I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul.

TOUCHSTONE: Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness!
	sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may
	be, I will marry thee, and to that end I have been
	with Sir Oliver Martext, the vicar of the next
	village, who hath promised to meet me in this place
	of the forest and to couple us.

JAQUES: [Aside]  I would fain see this meeting.

AUDREY: Well, the gods give us joy!

TOUCHSTONE: Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart,
	stagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple
	but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But what
	though? Courage! As horns are odious, they are
	necessary. It is said, 'many a man knows no end of
	his goods:' right; many a man has good horns, and
	knows no end of them. Well, that is the dowry of
	his wife; 'tis none of his own getting. Horns?
	Even so. Poor men alone? No, no; the noblest deer
	hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man
	therefore blessed? No: as a walled town is more
	worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a
	married man more honourable than the bare brow of a
	bachelor; and by how much defence is better than no
	skill, by so much is a horn more precious than to
	want. Here comes Sir Oliver.


	Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met: will you
	dispatch us here under this tree, or shall we go
	with you to your chapel?

SIR OLIVER MARTEXT: Is there none here to give the woman?

TOUCHSTONE: I will not take her on gift of any man.

SIR OLIVER MARTEXT: Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful.

JAQUES: [Advancing]

	Proceed, proceed	I'll give her.

TOUCHSTONE: Good even, good Master What-ye-call't: how do you,
	sir? You are very well met: God 'ild you for your
	last company: I am very glad to see you: even a
	toy in hand here, sir: nay, pray be covered.

JAQUES: Will you be married, motley?

TOUCHSTONE: As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb and
	the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and
	as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling.

JAQUES: And will you, being a man of your breeding, be
	married under a bush like a beggar? Get you to
	church, and have a good priest that can tell you
	what marriage is: this fellow will but join you
	together as they join wainscot; then one of you will
	prove a shrunk panel and, like green timber, warp, warp.

TOUCHSTONE: [Aside]  I am not in the mind but I were better to be
	married of him than of another: for he is not like
	to marry me well; and not being well married, it
	will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife.

JAQUES: Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.

TOUCHSTONE: 'Come, sweet Audrey:
	We must be married, or we must live in bawdry.
	Farewell, good Master Oliver: not,--
	O sweet Oliver,
	O brave Oliver,
	Leave me not behind thee: but,--
	Wind away,
	Begone, I say,
	I will not to wedding with thee.


SIR OLIVER MARTEXT: 'Tis no matter: ne'er a fantastical knave of them
	all shall flout me out of my calling.



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