Zoals het u bevalt: Bedrijf 2, scène 1

Duke Senior

Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,Hath not old custom made this life more sweetThan that of painted pomp? Are not these woodsMore free from peril than the envious court?Here feel we not the penalty of Adam,The seasons’ difference, as the icy fangAnd churlish chiding of the winter’s wind,Which when it bites and blows upon my bodyEven till I shrink with cold, I smile and say:“This is no flattery. These are counsellorsThat feelingly persuade me what I am.”Sweet are the uses of adversity,Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;And this our life, exempt from public haunt,Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,Sermons in stones, and good in everything.

Now, my companions and brothers in exile, hasn't long habit made this life sweeter than a life of showy splendor? Aren't these woods safer than the envy-filled court? Here we feel only Adam's punishment: the changing seasons, the icy bite and harsh scolding of the winter wind. When it blows against my body and bites until I shiver with cold, I smile and say, “This is no flattery. These are advisers who make me feel what I really am.” Hardship has its benefits. Like the ugly, poisonous toad, it still carries a precious jewel in its head. And this life of ours, away from crowds, finds voices in trees, books in running streams, sermons in stones, and good in everything.

Amiens

I would not change it. Happy is your grace,That can translate the stubbornness of fortuneInto so quiet and so sweet a style.

I wouldn't change it. Your Grace is fortunate to be able to turn the harshness of fate into words so peaceful and so sweet.

Duke Senior

Come, shall we go and kill us venison?And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools,Being native burghers of this desert city,Should in their own confines with forked headsHave their round haunches gored.

Come, shall we go and kill some deer for meat? Yet it troubles me that those poor spotted creatures, the native citizens of this deserted city, should have their rounded flanks pierced by forked arrowheads within their own territory.

First Lord

Indeed, my lord,The melancholy Jaques grieves at that,And in that kind swears you do more usurpThan doth your brother that hath banished you.Today my lord of Amiens and myselfDid steal behind him as he lay alongUnder an oak, whose antique root peeps outUpon the brook that brawls along this wood;To the which place a poor sequestered stag,That from the hunter’s aim had ta’en a hurt,Did come to languish; and indeed, my lord,The wretched animal heaved forth such groansThat their discharge did stretch his leathern coatAlmost to bursting, and the big round tearsCoursed one another down his innocent noseIn piteous chase. And thus the hairy fool,Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,Stood on th’ extremest verge of the swift brook,Augmenting it with tears.

Indeed, my lord, the gloomy Jaques grieves over that. On that point, he swears you are more of an invader than your brother, who banished you. Today, Lord Amiens and I quietly came up behind him as he lay under an oak whose ancient roots stick out over the noisy stream that runs through this wood. A poor stag, separated from the herd and wounded by a hunter, had come there to suffer. And truly, my lord, the wretched animal let out such groans that his hide stretched almost to bursting with the effort. Big round tears chased one another down his innocent nose in a pitiful race. And so the poor hairy creature, closely watched by the gloomy Jaques, stood right at the edge of the rushing stream, adding to it with his tears.

Duke Senior

But what said Jaques?Did he not moralize this spectacle?

But what did Jaques say? Didn't he draw a moral from the sight?

First Lord

O yes, into a thousand similes.First, for his weeping into the needless stream:“Poor deer,” quoth he “thou mak’st a testamentAs worldlings do, giving thy sum of moreTo that which had too much.” Then, being there alone,Left and abandoned of his velvet friends:“’Tis right”; quoth he, “thus misery doth partThe flux of company.” Anon a careless herd,Full of the pasture, jumps along by himAnd never stays to greet him. “Ay,” quoth Jaques,“Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens!’Tis just the fashion. Wherefore do you lookUpon that poor and broken bankrupt there?”Thus most invectively he pierceth throughThe body of the country, city, court,Yea, and of this our life, swearing that weAre mere usurpers, tyrants, and what’s worse,To fright the animals and to kill them upIn their assigned and native dwelling-place.

Oh yes, with a thousand comparisons. First, about his weeping into a stream that didn't need his tears: “Poor deer,” he said, “you're making a will like worldly people, giving what you have to something that already has too much.” Then, seeing him there alone, deserted and abandoned by his soft-coated friends, he said, “That's right. Misery breaks up the passing crowd of companions.” Soon a carefree herd, full from grazing, bounded past him without stopping to greet him. “Yes,” said Jaques, “hurry on, you fat, overfed citizens! That's just the way of the world. Why should you look at that poor, ruined bankrupt there?” In this way, he fiercely attacks life in the country, the city, and the court—yes, and this life of ours too. He swears we are nothing but invaders, tyrants, and worse, frightening the animals and killing them in the place that nature has made their home.

Duke Senior

And did you leave him in this contemplation?

And did you leave him thinking about this?

Second Lord

We did, my lord, weeping and commentingUpon the sobbing deer.

We did, my lord, weeping and commenting on the sobbing deer.

Duke Senior

Show me the place.I love to cope him in these sullen fits,For then he’s full of matter.

Show me the place. I love to engage him in conversation during these gloomy moods, because then he has so much to say.

First Lord

I’ll bring you to him straight.

I'll take you to him right away.