As You Like It, Act 3, Scene 2

Orlando

Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love.And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, surveyWith thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above,Thy huntress’ name that my full life doth sway.O Rosalind, these trees shall be my books,And in their barks my thoughts I’ll character,That every eye which in this forest looksShall see thy virtue witnessed everywhere.Run, run, Orlando, carve on every treeThe fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she.

Hang there, my poem, as proof of my love. And you, queen of night with your three crowns, look down with your pure eye from your pale heavenly sphere at the name of your huntress, who rules my entire life. Rosalind, these trees will be my books, and I will carve my thoughts into their bark so that everyone who looks around this forest will see proof of your goodness everywhere. Run, run, Orlando. Carve on every tree the beautiful, pure woman whose qualities are beyond words.

Corin

And how like you this shepherd’s life, Master Touchstone?

And how do you like this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone?

Touchstone

Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life; but in respect that it is a shepherd’s life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd?

Honestly, shepherd, taken on its own, it is a good life. But since it is a shepherd's life, it is worthless. Since it is solitary, I like it very much. But since it is cut off from company, it is a miserable life. Now, since it is in the fields, it pleases me well. But since it is not at court, it is boring. As a simple life, you see, it suits my tastes well. But since it offers no more plentiful meals, it goes very much against my stomach. Do you have any philosophy in you, shepherd?

Corin

No more but that I know the more one sickens, the worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money, means, and content is without three good friends; that the property of rain is to wet, and fire to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep; and that a great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art may complain of good breeding or comes of a very dull kindred.

Only that the sicker someone gets, the worse he feels. Anyone who lacks money, resources, and peace of mind is missing three good friends. Rain makes things wet, and fire burns them. Good pasture makes sheep fat. One main reason for night is that the sun is missing. Anyone who has gained no sense from either nature or learning can blame his upbringing, or else he comes from a very stupid family.

Touchstone

Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court, shepherd?

That makes you a natural philosopher. Have you ever been to court, shepherd?

Corin

No, truly.

No, honestly.

Touchstone

Then thou art damned.

Then you’re damned.

Corin

Nay, I hope.

I hope not.

Touchstone

Truly, thou art damned, like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side.

You certainly are damned, like a badly roasted egg, all on one side.

Corin

For not being at court? Your reason.

For never having been to court? Give me your reason.

Touchstone

Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never saw’st good manners; if thou never saw’st good manners, then thy manners must be wicked, and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd.

Well, if you’ve never been to court, you’ve never seen good manners. If you’ve never seen good manners, your manners must be wicked. Wickedness is sin, and sin leads to damnation. You’re in a dangerous state, shepherd.

Corin

Not a whit, Touchstone. Those that are good manners at the court are as ridiculous in the country as the behaviour of the country is most mockable at the court. You told me you salute not at the court but you kiss your hands. That courtesy would be uncleanly if courtiers were shepherds.

Not at all, Touchstone. What counts as good manners at court is just as ridiculous in the country as country behavior is laughable at court. You told me you never greet anyone at court without kissing your own hands. That polite gesture would be dirty if courtiers were shepherds.

Touchstone

Instance, briefly. Come, instance.

Give me an example, briefly. Come on, an example.

Corin

Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their fells, you know, are greasy.

Well, we’re always handling our ewes, and their fleeces, you know, are greasy.

Touchstone

Why, do not your courtier’s hands sweat? And is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say. Come.

Well, don’t courtiers’ hands sweat? And isn’t sheep’s grease as healthy as a man’s sweat? Shallow, shallow. Give me a better example, I say. Come on.

Corin

Besides, our hands are hard.

Besides, our hands are rough.

Touchstone

Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again. A more sounder instance, come.

Your lips will feel them all the sooner. Shallow again. Come on, a stronger example.

Corin

And they are often tarred over with the surgery of our sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier’s hands are perfumed with civet.

And they’re often covered with tar from treating our sheep’s wounds. Would you have us kiss tar? Courtiers’ hands are scented with civet perfume.

Touchstone

Most shallow man! Thou worm’s meat in respect of a good piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise and perpend. Civet is of a baser birth than tar, the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd.

You utterly shallow man! Compared with a proper piece of meat, you’re nothing but worm food! Learn from the wise and think it over. Civet comes from something nastier than tar: a cat’s filthy discharge. Improve your example, shepherd.

Corin

You have too courtly a wit for me. I’ll rest.

Your wit is too polished at court for me. I give up.

Touchstone

Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee, shallow man! God make incision in thee, thou art raw.

Will you settle for being damned? God help you, shallow man! May God cut you open and cure you—you’re still raw.

Corin

Sir, I am a true labourer. I earn that I eat, get that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man’s happiness, glad of other men’s good, content with my harm; and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck.

Sir, I’m an honest worker. I earn what I eat and pay for what I wear. I hate no one, envy no one’s happiness, am glad of other people’s good fortune, and accept my own misfortunes. My greatest pride is seeing my ewes graze and my lambs nurse.

Touchstone

That is another simple sin in you, to bring the ewes and the rams together and to offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a bell-wether and to betray a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou be’st not damned for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds. I cannot see else how thou shouldst ’scape.

That’s another clear sin of yours: bringing ewes and rams together and trying to earn your living from livestock having sex. You act as a pimp for a sheep with a bell around its neck, and hand over a year-old female lamb to a crooked-headed, old, horned cuckold of a ram—a completely unreasonable match. If you aren’t damned for this, the devil himself won’t get any shepherds. Otherwise, I can’t see how you’ll escape.

Corin

Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress’s brother.

Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress’s brother.

Rosalind (reads)

From the east to western IndeNo jewel is like Rosalind.Her worth being mounted on the wind,Through all the world bears Rosalind.All the pictures fairest linedAre but black to Rosalind.Let no face be kept in mindBut the fair of Rosalind.

From the east to the West Indies, no jewel compares with Rosalind. The wind carries word of her worth, spreading Rosalind’s name throughout the world. The most beautifully painted pictures look black beside Rosalind. Let no face stay in anyone’s memory except beautiful Rosalind’s.

Touchstone

I’ll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners and suppers and sleeping hours excepted. It is the right butter-women’s rank to market.

I could make up rhymes like that for eight years straight, except for dinner, supper, and sleeping hours. It has exactly the plodding rhythm of butter sellers riding to market.

Rosalind

Out, fool!

Oh, stop it, fool!

Touchstone

For a taste:If a hart do lack a hind,Let him seek out Rosalind.If the cat will after kind,So be sure will Rosalind.Winter garments must be lined,So must slender Rosalind.They that reap must sheaf and bind,Then to cart with Rosalind.Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,Such a nut is Rosalind.He that sweetest rose will findMust find love’s prick, and Rosalind.This is the very false gallop of verses. Why do you infect yourself with them?

Here’s a sample:
If a male deer needs a mate, let him look for Rosalind. If cats follow their urge to mate, you can be sure Rosalind will too. Winter clothes need stuffing, and so does slender Rosalind. Those who harvest must bundle and bind their grain, then tumble into the cart with Rosalind. The sweetest nut has the sourest shell; Rosalind is just such a nut. Whoever wants the sweetest rose must find love’s prick—and Rosalind.
That’s exactly the stumbling trot of these verses. Why do you infect yourself with them?

Rosalind

Peace, you dull fool, I found them on a tree.

Be quiet, you stupid fool. I found them on a tree.

Touchstone

Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.

Then the tree certainly bears bad fruit.

Rosalind

I’ll graft it with you, and then I shall graft it with a medlar. Then it will be the earliest fruit i’ th’ country, for you’ll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that’s the right virtue of the medlar.

I’ll graft you onto it, and then it will grow medlars. Then it will have the earliest fruit in the country, because you’ll be rotten before you’re half ripe, and that’s the special quality of a medlar.

Touchstone

You have said, but whether wisely or no, let the forest judge.

You’ve had your say, but let the forest judge whether it was wise or not.

Rosalind

Peace, here comes my sister, reading. Stand aside.

Quiet, here comes my sister, reading. Step aside.

Celia (reads)

Why should this a desert be?For it is unpeopled? No!Tongues I’ll hang on every treeThat shall civil sayings show.Some, how brief the life of manRuns his erring pilgrimage,That the streching of a spanBuckles in his sum of age;Some, of violated vows’Twixt the souls of friend and friend.But upon the fairest boughs,Or at every sentence’ end,Will I “Rosalinda” write,Teaching all that read to knowThe quintessence of every spriteHeaven would in little show.Therefore heaven nature chargedThat one body should be filledWith all graces wide-enlarged.Nature presently distilledHelen’s cheek, but not her heart,Cleopatra’s majesty;Atalanta’s better part,Sad Lucretia’s modesty.Thus Rosalind of many partsBy heavenly synod was devised,Of many faces, eyes, and heartsTo have the touches dearest prized.Heaven would that she these gifts should have,And I to live and die her slave.

Why should this place be a wilderness just because no one lives here? No! I’ll hang voices on every tree, expressing thoughtful sayings. Some will tell how briefly human life travels its wandering pilgrimage, how a hand’s width contains the full length of a lifetime. Some will tell of promises broken between close friends. But on the fairest branches, or at the end of every sentence, I will write “Rosalinda,” teaching everyone who reads that heaven wanted to show the purest essence of every soul in one small form. So heaven ordered nature to fill one body with every grace in its fullest form. Nature immediately blended Helen’s cheek, but not her heart; Cleopatra’s majesty; Atalanta’s finest qualities; and sorrowful Lucretia’s modesty. In this way, a heavenly council designed Rosalind from many parts, to possess the most prized qualities of many faces, eyes, and hearts.
Heaven intended her to have these gifts, and intended me to live and die as her slave.

Rosalind

O most gentle Jupiter, what tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried “Have patience, good people!”

Oh, most gracious Jupiter, what a tedious sermon on love you’ve worn out your congregation with, without once calling out, “Have patience, good people!”

Celia

How now! Back, friends. Shepherd, go off a little. Go with him, sirrah.

What’s this! Stand back, friends. Shepherd, move a little farther away. You there, go with him.

Touchstone

Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat, though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage.

Come, shepherd, let’s make an honorable retreat, though not with bags and baggage, at least with packs and packings.

Celia

Didst thou hear these verses?

Did you hear these verses?

Rosalind

O yes, I heard them all, and more too, for some of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear.

Oh yes, I heard them all, and more besides, because some had more rhythmic feet than the lines could carry.

Celia

That’s no matter. The feet might bear the verses.

That doesn’t matter. The feet could carry the lines.

Rosalind

Ay, but the feet were lame and could not bear themselves without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse.

Yes, but the feet were lame and couldn’t support themselves outside the verse, so they stumbled along inside it.

Celia

But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name should be hanged and carved upon these trees?

But did you hear them without wondering why your name was hanging from these trees and carved into them?

Rosalind

I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree. I was never so berhymed since Pythagoras’ time that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember.

My nine-day wonder was already seven days over before you came. Look here at what I found on a palm tree. I haven’t had so many rhymes aimed at me since Pythagoras’ time, when I was an Irish rat—which I can hardly remember.

Celia

Trow you who hath done this?

Can you guess who did this?

Rosalind

Is it a man?

Is it a man?

Celia

And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck. Change you colour?

And he has a chain around his neck that you once wore. Are you blushing?

Rosalind

I prithee, who?

Please, who?

Celia

O Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes and so encounter.

Oh Lord, Lord, it’s hard for friends to meet. But earthquakes can move mountains, so even mountains can meet.

Rosalind

Nay, but who is it?

No, but who is it?

Celia

Is it possible?

Can it be possible?

Rosalind

Nay, I prithee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is.

No, please, I’m begging you as urgently as I can: tell me who it is.

Celia

O wonderful, wonderful, most wonderful wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all whooping!

Oh, wonderful, wonderful, more wonderful than wonderful, and wonderful all over again, and beyond anything you could shout about!

Rosalind

Good my complexion! Dost thou think, though I am caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more is a South Sea of discovery. I prithee tell me who is it quickly, and speak apace. I would thou couldst stammer, that thou mightst pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of narrow-mouthed bottle—either too much at once or none at all. I prithee take the cork out of thy mouth that I may drink thy tidings.

Heaven help my blushes! Do you think that because I’m dressed like a man, I have a man’s temperament too? Another inch of delay will open up a whole ocean of revelations. Please tell me who it is, quickly, and talk fast. I wish you would stammer, so you could pour this hidden man out of your mouth like wine from a narrow-necked bottle—either too much at once or none at all. Please pull the cork out of your mouth so I can drink in your news.

Celia

So you may put a man in your belly.

And that way you might end up with a man inside your belly.

Rosalind

Is he of God’s making? What manner of man? Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard?

Is he one of God’s creatures? What kind of man is he? Is his head worth putting a hat on, or his chin worth growing a beard on?

Celia

Nay, he hath but a little beard.

Well, he only has a little beard.

Rosalind

Why, God will send more if the man will be thankful. Let me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin.

Well, God will send him more if he’s grateful. I can wait for his beard to grow, as long as you don’t make me wait to learn whose chin it’s on.

Celia

It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler’s heels and your heart both in an instant.

It’s young Orlando, who swept the wrestler off his feet and you off yours at the same moment.

Rosalind

Nay, but the devil take mocking! Speak sad brow and true maid.

Oh, to hell with teasing! Put on a serious face and speak honestly, as a good girl should.

Celia

I’ faith, coz, ’tis he.

Honestly, cousin, it’s him.

Rosalind

Orlando?

Orlando?

Celia

Orlando.

Orlando.

Rosalind

Alas the day, what shall I do with my doublet and hose? What did he when thou saw’st him? What said he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How parted he with thee? And when shalt thou see him again? Answer me in one word.

Oh dear, what am I going to do about these men’s clothes? What was he doing when you saw him? What did he say? How did he look? What was he wearing? What is he doing here? Did he ask about me? Where is he staying? How did he say goodbye to you? And when will you see him again? Answer me in one word.

Celia

You must borrow me Gargantua’s mouth first. ’Tis a word too great for any mouth of this age’s size. To say ay and no to these particulars is more than to answer in a catechism.

You’ll have to borrow Gargantua’s mouth for me first. That word would be too big for any mouth of ordinary size today. Just saying yes and no to all those questions would take more answers than a religious lesson.

Rosalind

But doth he know that I am in this forest and in man’s apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled?

But does he know I’m in this forest and dressed as a man? Does he look as fresh and handsome as he did the day he wrestled?

Celia

It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover. But take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with good observance. I found him under a tree, like a dropped acorn.

Counting specks of dust is as easy as answering a lover’s questions. But have a taste of how I found him, and savor it by paying close attention. I found him under a tree, like a fallen acorn.

Rosalind

It may well be called Jove’s tree when it drops forth such fruit.

It certainly deserves to be called Jove’s tree if it drops fruit like that.

Celia

Give me audience, good madam.

Please listen to me, madam.

Rosalind

Proceed.

Go on.

Celia

There lay he, stretched along like a wounded knight.

He was lying there, stretched out like a wounded knight.

Rosalind

Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground.

Though that’s a pitiful sight, he makes the ground look beautiful.

Celia

Cry “holla!” to thy tongue, I prithee. It curvets unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter.

Please tell your tongue to stop. It’s prancing around at the wrong time. He was dressed and equipped like a hunter.

Rosalind

O, ominous! He comes to kill my heart.

Oh, what a bad sign! He’s come to kill my heart.

Celia

I would sing my song without a burden. Thou bring’st me out of tune.

I’d like to sing my song without your chorus. You’re throwing me out of tune.

Rosalind

Do you not know I am a woman? When I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on.

Don’t you know I’m a woman? When I think of something, I have to say it. Go on, sweetheart.

Celia

You bring me out. Soft, comes he not here?

You’re making me lose my place. Wait, isn’t that him coming?

Rosalind

’Tis he! Slink by, and note him.

It’s him! Slip out of sight and watch him.

Jaques

I thank you for your company but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone.

Thank you for your company, but honestly, I would just as soon have been alone.

Orlando

And so had I, but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you too for your society.

So would I, but for politeness’ sake, I thank you for your company too.

Jaques

God be wi’ you, let’s meet as little as we can.

God be with you. Let’s meet as little as possible.

Orlando

I do desire we may be better strangers.

I hope we can become less acquainted.

Jaques

I pray you, mar no more trees with writing love songs in their barks.

Please stop spoiling trees by writing love songs on their bark.

Orlando

I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading them ill-favouredly.

Please stop spoiling my poems by reading them so badly.

Jaques

Rosalind is your love’s name?

Rosalind is your sweetheart’s name?

Orlando

Yes, just.

Yes, exactly.

Jaques

I do not like her name.

I don’t like her name.

Orlando

There was no thought of pleasing you when she was christened.

Nobody was thinking of pleasing you when she was baptized.

Jaques

What stature is she of?

How tall is she?

Orlando

Just as high as my heart.

Just as high as my heart.

Jaques

You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths’ wives, and conned them out of rings?

You’re full of clever little answers. Have you been getting to know goldsmiths’ wives and learning those sayings from their rings?

Orlando

Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence you have studied your questions.

No, but my answers come straight from the sayings on painted wall hangings, where you learned your questions.

Jaques

You have a nimble wit. I think ’twas made of Atalanta’s heels. Will you sit down with me? And we two will rail against our mistress the world and all our misery.

You have a quick wit. I think it was made from Atalanta’s heels. Will you sit down with me? We can complain about the world, that mistress we serve, and all our misery.

Orlando

I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom I know most faults.

I won’t criticize any living person in the world except myself, whose faults I know best.

Jaques

The worst fault you have is to be in love.

Your worst fault is being in love.

Orlando

’Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am weary of you.

It’s a fault I wouldn’t trade for your greatest virtue. I’m tired of you.

Jaques

By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found you.

Honestly, I was looking for a fool when I found you.

Orlando

He is drowned in the brook. Look but in, and you shall see him.

He’s drowned in the stream. Just look into it and you’ll see him.

Jaques

There I shall see mine own figure.

I'll see my own reflection there.

Orlando

Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.

Which I take to be either a fool or a zero.

Jaques

I’ll tarry no longer with you. Farewell, good Signior Love.

I won't stay with you any longer. Goodbye, good Signior Love.

Orlando

I am glad of your departure. Adieu, good Monsieur Melancholy.

I'm glad you're leaving. Goodbye, good Monsieur Gloom.

Rosalind

I will speak to him like a saucy lackey, and under that habit play the knave with him.Do you hear, forester?

I'll talk to him like a cheeky servant, and use this disguise to play tricks on him.
Hey, man of the forest, can you hear me?

Orlando

Very well. What would you?

Very well. What do you want?

Rosalind

I pray you, what is’t o’clock?

Please, what does the clock say?

Orlando

You should ask me what time o’ day. There’s no clock in the forest.

You should ask me what time of day it is. There's no clock in the forest.

Rosalind

Then there is no true lover in the forest, else sighing every minute and groaning every hour would detect the lazy foot of time as well as a clock.

Then there's no true lover in the forest. Otherwise, his sighs every minute and groans every hour would mark time's slow steps as well as a clock.

Orlando

And why not the swift foot of time? Had not that been as proper?

Why not time's quick steps? Wouldn't that be just as suitable?

Rosalind

By no means, sir. Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I’ll tell you who time ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal.

Not at all, sir. Time moves at different speeds for different people. I'll tell you who time strolls with, who it trots with, who it gallops with, and who it stands still with.

Orlando

I prithee, who doth he trot withal?

Please tell me, who does it trot with?

Rosalind

Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the contract of her marriage and the day it is solemnized. If the interim be but a se’nnight, time’s pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven year.

Well, it trots roughly with a young woman between her engagement and her wedding day. Even if the wait is only a week, time's pace is so rough that it seems seven years long.

Orlando

Who ambles time withal?

Who does time stroll with?

Rosalind

With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich man that hath not the gout; for the one sleeps easily because he cannot study, and the other lives merrily because he feels no pain; the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning, the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury. These time ambles withal.

With a priest who knows no Latin and a rich man who doesn't have gout. One sleeps easily because he can't study, and the other lives happily because he feels no pain. One is free of the burden of learning that wears you thin and wastes you away; the other knows nothing of the heavy burden of endless poverty. Time strolls with these people.

Orlando

Who doth he gallop withal?

Who does it gallop with?

Rosalind

With a thief to the gallows; for though he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there.

With a thief on his way to the gallows. However slowly he walks, he thinks he gets there too soon.

Orlando

Who stays it still withal?

Who does it stand still with?

Rosalind

With lawyers in the vacation; for they sleep between term and term, and then they perceive not how time moves.

With lawyers when the courts are closed. They sleep between court sessions, so they don't notice time passing.

Orlando

Where dwell you, pretty youth?

Where do you live, handsome young man?

Rosalind

With this shepherdess, my sister, here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.

With this shepherdess, my sister, here along the edge of the forest, like fringe along the edge of a skirt.

Orlando

Are you native of this place?

Were you born here?

Rosalind

As the coney that you see dwell where she is kindled.

Just like the rabbit you see living where she was born.

Orlando

Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling.

Your accent is a little more refined than you could have picked up in such an isolated home.

Rosalind

I have been told so of many. But indeed an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inland man, one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures against it, and I thank God I am not a woman, to be touched with so many giddy offences as he hath generally taxed their whole sex withal.

Many people have told me that. But actually, an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak. In his youth he lived in civilized society and knew court life all too well, because he fell in love there. I've heard him give many lectures against love, and I thank God I'm not a woman, to be accused of all the silly faults he blamed on their entire sex.

Orlando

Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid to the charge of women?

Can you remember any of the main faults he accused women of?

Rosalind

There were none principal. They were all like one another as halfpence are, every one fault seeming monstrous till his fellow fault came to match it.

None stood out. They were all as alike as halfpenny coins. Each fault seemed monstrous until another came along to match it.

Orlando

I prithee recount some of them.

Please, tell me some of them.

Rosalind

No. I will not cast away my physic but on those that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest that abuses our young plants with carving “Rosalind” on their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind. If I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him.

No. I won't waste my medicine on anyone who isn't sick. There's a man who roams the forest, damaging our young trees by carving “Rosalind” into their bark. He hangs poems of praise on hawthorns and mournful verses on brambles, all of them actually worshipping the name of Rosalind. If I could meet that peddler of romantic nonsense, I'd give him some good advice, because he seems to have daily attacks of love fever.

Orlando

I am he that is so love-shaked. I pray you tell me your remedy.

I'm the man so shaken by love. Please tell me your cure.

Rosalind

There is none of my uncle’s marks upon you. He taught me how to know a man in love, in which cage of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner.

You show none of the signs my uncle described. He taught me how to recognize a man in love, and I'm sure you're not a prisoner in that flimsy cage.

Orlando

What were his marks?

What signs did he describe?

Rosalind

A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye and sunken, which you have not; an unquestionable spirit, which you have not; a beard neglected, which you have not—but I pardon you for that, for simply your having in beard is a younger brother’s revenue. Then your hose should be ungartered, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and everything about you demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such man. You are rather point-device in your accoutrements, as loving yourself than seeming the lover of any other.

A thin face, which you don't have; sunken eyes with dark circles, which you don't have; an unwillingness to talk, which you don't have; a neglected beard, which you don't have. But I'll forgive you that, since your supply of beard is as meager as a younger brother's income. Then your stockings should be loose, your hat without its band, your sleeves unbuttoned, your shoes untied, and everything about you showing careless despair. But you're nothing like that. Instead, you're dressed with perfect care, as though you love yourself rather than anyone else.

Orlando

Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.

Handsome young man, I wish I could make you believe I'm in love.

Rosalind

Me believe it? You may as soon make her that you love believe it, which I warrant she is apter to do than to confess she does. That is one of the points in the which women still give the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired?

Make me believe it? You could just as easily make the woman you love believe it, and I guarantee she's more ready to believe it than to admit she does. That's one of the things women always lie about, against their own consciences. But honestly, are you the man who hangs those verses on the trees, praising Rosalind so much?

Orlando

I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he.

Young man, I swear to you by Rosalind's white hand that I'm that man, that unfortunate man.

Rosalind

But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak?

But are you as deeply in love as your rhymes say?

Orlando

Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.

Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.

Rosalind

Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why they are not so punished and cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too. Yet I profess curing it by counsel.

Love is pure madness, and I tell you, lovers deserve a dark cell and a whipping just as much as madmen do. The reason they aren't punished and cured that way is that this madness is so common that the people who would whip them are in love too. Still, I claim I can cure it with advice.

Orlando

Did you ever cure any so?

Have you ever cured anyone that way?

Rosalind

Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress, and I set him every day to woo me; at which time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing and liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles; for every passion something and for no passion truly anything, as boys and women are for the most part cattle of this colour; would now like him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love to a living humour of madness, which was to forswear the full stream of the world and to live in a nook merely monastic. And thus I cured him, and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep’s heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in ’t.

Yes, one man, and here's how. He was to imagine I was his love, his sweetheart, and I made him court me every day. Then, being just a moody young fellow, I would act sorrowful, feminine, changeable, full of desires and whims, proud, fanciful, silly, shallow, unreliable, full of tears, and full of smiles. I acted out every emotion without truly feeling any of them, since boys and women are mostly creatures of that sort. One moment I'd like him, the next I'd loathe him; then I'd welcome him, then reject him; now I'd cry for him, then spit at him. In this way I drove my suitor from the madness of love into real madness: he swore to give up the whole busy world and live in a secluded corner like a monk. That's how I cured him, and that's how I'll undertake to wash your liver as clean as a healthy sheep's heart, so that not one spot of love remains in it.

Orlando

I would not be cured, youth.

I wouldn't want to be cured, young man.

Rosalind

I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind and come every day to my cote and woo me.

I'd cure you if you'd just call me Rosalind and come to my cottage every day to court me.

Orlando

Now, by the faith of my love, I will. Tell me where it is.

I swear by the faithfulness of my love, I will. Tell me where it is.

Rosalind

Go with me to it, and I’ll show it you; and by the way you shall tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go?

Come with me and I'll show you. On the way, you can tell me where in the forest you live. Will you come?

Orlando

With all my heart, good youth.

With all my heart, good young man.

Rosalind

Nay, you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you go?

No, you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you join us?