[Stage] Enter Rosalind and Celia
Never talk to me. I will weep.
Do, I prithee, but yet have the grace to consider that
tears do not become a man.
But have I not cause to weep?
As good cause as one would desire. Therefore weep.
His very hair is of the dissembling color.
Something browner than Judas’s. Marry, his kisses are
Judas’s own children.
I’ faith, his hair is of a good color.
An excellent color. Your chestnut was ever the only
And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of
He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana. A nun of
winter’s sisterhood kisses not more religiously. The
very ice of chastity is in them.
But why did he swear he would come this morning, and
Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.
Do you think so?
Yes, I think he is not a pick-purse nor a
horse-stealer, but for his verity in love, I do think
him as concave as a covered goblet or a worm-eaten nut.
Not true in love?
Yes, when he is in, but I think he is not in.
You have heard him swear downright he was.
“Was” is not “is.” Besides, the oath of a lover is no
stronger than the word of a tapster.
They are both the
confirmer of false reckonings. He attends here in the
forest on the duke your father.
I met the duke yesterday and had much question with
him. He asked me of what parentage I was. I told him, of
as good as he.
So he laughed and let me go. But what
talk we of fathers when there is such a man as Orlando?
Oh, that’s a brave man. He writes brave verses, speaks
brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them
bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover,
as a puny tilter that spurs his horse but on one side
breaks his staff like a noble goose; but all’s brave
that youth mounts and folly guides.
[Stage] Enter Corin
Who comes here?
Mistress and master, you have oft inquired
After the shepherd that complained of love,
Who you saw sitting by me on the turf,
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
That was his mistress.
[As Aliena] Well, and what of him?
If you will see a pageant truly played
Between the pale complexion of true love
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain,
Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you,
If you will mark it.
[aside to Celia] O, come, let us remove.
The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.
[as Ganymede, to Corin] Bring us to this sight, and you
I’ll prove a busy actor in their play.