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


ROSALIND: How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? and
	here much Orlando!

CELIA: 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.

	[Enter SILVIUS]

SILVIUS: 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.

ROSALIND: 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.

SILVIUS: No, I protest, I know not the contents:
	Phebe did write it.

ROSALIND: 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.

SILVIUS: Sure, it is hers.

ROSALIND: 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?

SILVIUS: So please you, for I never heard it yet;
	Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty.

ROSALIND: She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes.


	Art thou god to shepherd turn'd,
	That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?
	Can a woman rail thus?

SILVIUS: Call you this railing?


	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.

SILVIUS: Call you this chiding?

CELIA: Alas, poor shepherd!

ROSALIND: 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.


	[Enter OLIVER]

OLIVER: 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?

CELIA: 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.

OLIVER: 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?

CELIA: It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are.

OLIVER: Orlando doth commend him to you both,
	And to that youth he calls his Rosalind
	He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he?

ROSALIND: I am: what must we understand by this?

OLIVER: 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.

CELIA: I pray you, tell it.

OLIVER: 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.

CELIA: O, I have heard him speak of that same brother;
	And he did render him the most unnatural
	That lived amongst men.

OLIVER: And well he might so do,
	For well I know he was unnatural.

ROSALIND: But, to Orlando: did he leave him there,
	Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness?

OLIVER: 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.

CELIA: Are you his brother?

ROSALIND: Wast you he rescued?

CELIA: Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him?

OLIVER: 'Twas I; but 'tis not I
	To tell you what I was, since my conversion
	So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am.

ROSALIND: But, for the bloody napkin?

OLIVER: 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.

	[ROSALIND swoons]

CELIA: Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede!

OLIVER: Many will swoon when they do look on blood.

CELIA: There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede!

OLIVER: Look, he recovers.

ROSALIND: I would I were at home.

CELIA: We'll lead you thither.
	I pray you, will you take him by the arm?

OLIVER: Be of good cheer, youth: you a man! you lack a
	man's heart.

ROSALIND: 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!

OLIVER: This was not counterfeit: there is too great
	testimony in your complexion that it was a passion
	of earnest.

ROSALIND: Counterfeit, I assure you.

OLIVER: Well then, take a good heart and counterfeit to be a man.

ROSALIND: So I do: but, i' faith, I should have been a woman by right.

CELIA: Come, you look paler and paler: pray you, draw
	homewards. Good sir, go with us.

OLIVER: That will I, for I must bear answer back
	How you excuse my brother, Rosalind.

ROSALIND: I shall devise something: but, I pray you, commend
	my counterfeiting to him. Will you go?



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