Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy

Can do all this that he hath promised?

I sometimes do believe and sometimes do not,

As those that fear they hope, and know they fear.

Patience once more whiles our compact is urged.

[_To the Duke._] You say, if I bring in your Rosalind,

You will bestow her on Orlando here?

That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her.

[_To Orlando_.] And you say you will have her when I bring her?

That would I, were I of all kingdoms king.

[_To Phoebe_.] You say you’ll marry me if I be willing?

That will I, should I die the hour after.

But if you do refuse to marry me,

You’ll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd?

So is the bargain.

[_To Silvius_.] You say that you’ll have Phoebe if she will?

Though to have her and death were both one thing.

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, Phoebe, 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 do remember in this shepherd boy

Some lively touches of my daughter’s favour.

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 tutored 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.

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.

Salutation and greeting to you all.

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.

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.

And how was that ta’en up?

Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the seventh cause.

How seventh cause?—Good my lord, like this fellow?

I like him very well.

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.

By my faith, he is very swift and sententious.

According to the fool’s bolt, sir, and such dulcet diseases.

But, for the seventh cause. How did you find the quarrel on the seventh

cause?

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 judgement. 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 lie.

This is called the “countercheck quarrelsome”, and so, to the “lie

circumstantial”, and the “lie direct”.

And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut?

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.

Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie?

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 countercheck 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.”

Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? He’s as good at anything, and yet a

fool.

He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of

that he shoots his wit.

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.

[_To Duke Senior_.] To you I give myself, for I am yours.

[_To Orlando_.] To you I give myself, for I am yours.

If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter.

If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind.

If sight and shape be true,

Why then, my love adieu.

[_To Duke Senior_.] I’ll have no father, if you be not he.

[_To Orlando_.] I’ll have no husband, if you be not he.

[_To Phoebe_.] Nor ne’er wed woman, if you be not she.

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.

[_To Orlando and Rosalind_.] You and you no cross shall part.

[_To Celia and Oliver_.] You and you are heart in heart.

[_To Phoebe_.] You to his love must accord

Or have a woman to your lord.

[_To Audrey and Touchstone_.] 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.

O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me

Even daughter, welcome in no less degree.

[_To Silvius_.] I will not eat my word, now thou art mine,

Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine.

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,

Addressed 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 banished brother,

And all their lands restored to them again

That were with him exiled. This to be true

I do engage my life.

Welcome, young man.

Thou offer’st fairly to thy brother’s 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 heaped in joy to th’ measures fall.

Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly,

The Duke hath put on a religious life

And thrown into neglect the pompous court.

He hath.

To him will I. Out of these convertites

There is much matter to be heard and learned.

[_To Duke Senior_.] You to your former honour I bequeath;

Your patience and your virtue well deserves it.

[_To Orlando_.] You to a love that your true faith doth merit.

[_To Oliver_.] You to your land, and love, and great allies.

[_To Silvius_.] You to a long and well-deserved bed.

[_To Touchstone_.] And you to wrangling, for thy loving voyage

Is but for two months victualled.—So to your pleasures,

I am for other than for dancing measures.

Stay, Jaques, stay.

To see no pastime, I. What you would have

I’ll stay to know at your abandoned cave.

Proceed, proceed! We will begin these rites,

As we do trust they’ll end, in true delights.

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.