Another part of the Forest of Arden.
(Duke Senior; Amiens; Jaques; Orlando; Oliver; Celia; Rosalind; Silvius; Phebe; Touchstone; Audrey; Hymen; Jaques De Boys)
Rosalind repeats her promises to her father and the others. As she goes off, the others are distracted by Touchstone, who gives a virtuoso performance on the niceties of quarrelling. Rosalind and Celia, out of their disguises, re-enter with Hymen, who sorts out the couples properly. Oliver and Orlando’s middle brother enters and informs the assembled company that Duke Frederick has been converted by a holy man and has abdicated in favor of Duke Senior. All the exiles prepare to return home, except Jaques, who intends to join Duke Frederick in his retreat to learn what he can from him. Unable to dissuade him, the others let him go, and dance together. (145 lines)
Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, Jaques, Orlando, Oliver, Celia.
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.
Enter Rosalind, Silvius, and Phebe.
Patience once more, whiles our compact is urg’d:
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.
And you say you will have her, when I bring her.
That would I, were I of all kingdoms king.
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.
You say that you’ll have Phebe, if she will?
Though to have her and death were both one thing.
I have promis’d to make all this matter even:
Keep you your word, O Duke, to give your daughter;
You, yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter;
Keep you your word, Phebe, 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.
Exeunt Rosalind and Celia.
I do remember in this shepherd boy
Some lively touches of my daughter’s favor.
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 tutor’d 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.
Enter Clown (Touchstone) and Audrey.
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 call’d 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 flatt’red 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-favor’d thing, sir, but mine own; a poor humor 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 remov’d (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 call’d 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 call’d the Quip Modest. If again, it was not well cut, he disabled my judgment: this is call’d the Reply Churlish. If again, it was not well cut, he would answer I spake not true: this is call’d the Reproof Valiant. If again, it was not well cut, he would say I lie: this is call’d the Countercheck Quarrelsome; and so to 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 measur’d 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 fift, the Countercheck Quarrelsome; the sixt, 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 any thing, and yet a fool.
He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.
Enter Hymen, Rosalind, and Celia. Still music.
Then is there mirth in heaven,
When earthly things made even
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 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!
I’ll have no father, if you be not he;
I’ll have no husband, if you be not he;
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 Oliver and Celia.
You and you are heart in heart;
You to his love must accord,
Or have a woman to your lord;
To Touchstone and Audrey.
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.
Wedding is great Juno’s crown,
O blessed bond of board and bed!
’Tis Hymen peoples every town,
High wedlock then be honored.
Honor, high honor, and renown
To Hymen, god of every town!
O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me,
Even daughter, welcome, in no less degree.
I will not eat my word, now thou art mine,
Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine.
Enter Second Brother (Jaques De Boys).
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,
Address’d 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 banish’d brother,
And all their lands restor’d to them again
That were with him exil’d. This to be true,
I do engage my life.
Welcome, young man;
Thou offer’st fairly to thy brothers’ 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 endur’d shrewd days and nights with us,
Shall share the good of our returned fortune,
According to the measure of their states.
Mean time, forget this new-fall’n dignity,
And fall into our rustic revelry.
Play, music, and you brides and bridegrooms all,
With measure heap’d 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?
To him will I. Out of these convertites
There is much matter to be heard and learn’d.
To Duke Senior.
You to your former honor I bequeath,
Your patience and your virtue well deserves it;
You to a love, that your true faith doth merit;
You to your land, and love, and great allies;
You to a long and well-deserved bed;
And you to wrangling, for thy loving voyage
Is but for two months victuall’d.—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 abandon’d cave.
Proceed, proceed. We’ll begin these rites,
As we do trust they’ll end, in true delights.
Exeunt all but Rosalind.