As You Like It

z3998:roman">I

The forest.

	Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Jaques.
Jaques	I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee.
Rosalind	They say you are a melancholy fellow.
Jaques	I am so; I do love it better than laughing.
Rosalind	Those that are in extremity of either are abominable fellows and betray themselves to every modern censure worse than drunkards.
Jaques	Why, ’tis good to be sad and say nothing.
Rosalind	Why then, ’tis good to be a post.
Jaques	I have neither the scholar’s melancholy, which is emulation, nor the musician’s, which is fantastical, nor the courtier’s, which is proud, nor the soldier’s, which is ambitious, nor the lawyer’s, which is politic, nor the lady’s, which is nice, nor the lover’s, which is all these: but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry’s contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous sadness.
Rosalind	A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad: I fear you have sold your own lands to see other men’s; then, to have seen much and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands.
Jaques	Yes, I have gained my experience.
Rosalind	And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad; and to travel for it too!
	Enter Orlando.
Orlando	Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind!
Jaques	Nay, then, God be wi’ you, an you talk in blank verse. Exit.
Rosalind	Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: look you lisp and wear strange suits, disable all the benefits of your own country, be out of love with your nativity and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are, or I will scarce think you have swam in a gondola. Why, how now, Orlando! where have you been all this while? You a lover! An you serve me such another trick, never come in my sight more.
Orlando	My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise.
Rosalind	Break an hour’s promise in love! He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts and break but a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapped him o’ the shoulder, but I’ll warrant him heart-whole.
Orlando	Pardon me, dear Rosalind.
Rosalind	Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight: I had as lief be wooed of a snail.
Orlando	Of a snail?
Rosalind	Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries his house on his head; a better jointure, I think, than you make a woman: besides he brings his destiny with him.
Orlando	What’s that?
Rosalind	Why, horns, which such as you are fain to be beholding to your wives for: but he comes armed in his fortune and prevents the slander of his wife.
Orlando	Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous.
Rosalind	And I am your Rosalind.
Celia	It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leer than you.
Rosalind	Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humour and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind?
Orlando	I would kiss before I spoke.
Rosalind	Nay, you were better speak first, and when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking⁠—God warn us!⁠—matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.
Orlando	How if the kiss be denied?
Rosalind	Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.
Orlando	Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress?
Rosalind	Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit.
Orlando	What, of my suit?
Rosalind	Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind?
Orlando	I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of her.
Rosalind	Well in her person I say I will not have you.
Orlando	Then in mine own person I die.
Rosalind	No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicit, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed out with a Grecian club; yet he did what he could to die before, and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have lived many a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont and being taken with the cramp was drowned and the foolish coroners of that age found it was “Hero of Sestos.” But these are all lies: men have died from time to time and worms have eaten them, but not for love.
Orlando	I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind, for, I protest, her frown might kill me.
Rosalind	By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition, and ask me what you will. I will grant it.
Orlando	Then love me, Rosalind.
Rosalind	Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all.
Orlando	And wilt thou have me?
Rosalind	Ay, and twenty such.
Orlando	What sayest thou?
Rosalind	Are you not good?
Orlando	I hope so.
Rosalind	Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing? Come, sister, you shall be the priest and marry us. Give me your hand, Orlando. What do you say, sister?
Orlando	Pray thee, marry us.
Celia	I cannot say the words.
Rosalind	You must begin, “Will you, Orlando⁠—”
Celia	Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind?
Orlando	I will.
Rosalind	Ay, but when?
Orlando	Why now; as fast as she can marry us.
Rosalind	Then you must say “I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.”
Orlando	I take thee,