The Complete Works of Shakespeare. William Shakespeare
Let me go, I say.
Orl. I will not till I please. You shall hear me. My father charg’d you in his will to give me good education. You have train’d me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities. The spirit of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer endure it; therefore allow me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor allottery my father left me by testament, with that I will go buy my fortunes.
Oli. And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent? Well, sir, get you in. I will not long be troubled with you; you shall have some part of your will. I pray you leave me.
Orl. I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good.
Oli. Get you with him, you old dog.
Adam. Is ‘old dog’ my reward? Most true, I have lost my teeth in your service. God be with my old master, he would not have spoke such a word.
Exeunt Orlando, Adam.
Oli. Is it even so? Begin you to grow upon me? I will physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. Holla, Dennis!
Enter Dennis.
Den. Calls your worship?
Oli. Was not Charles, the Duke’s wrastler, here to speak with me?
Den. So please you, he is here at the door, and importunes access to you.
Oli. Call him in. [Exit Dennis.] ’Twill be a good way; and to-morrow the wrastling is.
Enter Charles.
Cha. Good morrow to your worship.
Oli. Good Monsieur Charles, what’s the new news at the new court?
Cha. There’s no news at the court, sir, but the old news: that is, the old Duke is banish’d by his younger brother the new Duke, and three or four loving lords have put themselves into voluntary exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new Duke; therefore he gives them good leave to wander.
Oli. Can you tell if Rosalind, the Duke’s daughter, be banish’d with her father?
Cha. O no; for the Duke’s daughter, her cousin, so loves her, being ever from their cradles bred together, that [she] would have follow’d her exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at the court, and no less belov’d of her uncle than his own daughter, and never two ladies lov’d as they do.
Oli. Where will the old Duke live?
Cha. They say he is already in the forest of Arden, and a many merry men with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England. They say many young gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world.
Oli. What, you wrastle to-morrow before the new Duke?
Cha. Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand that your younger brother, Orlando, hath a disposition to come in disguis’d against me to try a fall. To-morrow, sir, I wrastle for my credit, and he that escapes me without some broken limb shall acquit him well. Your brother is but young and tender, and for your love I would be loath to foil him, as I must for my own honor if he come in; therefore out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you withal, that either you might stay him from his intendment, or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into, in that it is a thing of his own search, and altogether against my will.
Oli. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I had myself notice of my brother’s purpose herein, and have by underhand means labor’d to dissuade him from it; but he is resolute. I’ll tell thee, Charles, it is the stubbornest young fellow of France, full of ambition, an envious emulator of every man’s good parts, a secret and villainous contriver against me his natural brother; therefore use thy discretion—I had as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger. And thou wert best look to’t; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will practice against thee by poison, entrap thee by some treacherous device, and never leave thee till he hath ta’en thy life by some indirect means or other; for I assure thee (and almost with tears I speak it) there is not one so young and so villainous this day living. I speak but brotherly of him, but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder.
Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come to-morrow, I’ll give him his payment. If ever he go alone again, I’ll never wrastle for prize more. And so God keep your worship!
Exit.
[Oli.] Farewell, good Charles. Now will I stir this gamester. I hope I shall see an end of him; for my soul (yet I know not why) hates nothing more than he. Yet he’s gentle, never school’d and yet learned, full of noble device, of all sorts enchantingly belov’d, and indeed so much in the heart of the world, and especially of my own people, who best know him, that I am altogether mispris’d. But it shall not be so long, this wrastler shall clear all. Nothing remains but that I kindle the boy thither, which now I’ll go about.
Exit.
¶
Scene II
Enter Rosalind and Celia.
Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.
Ros. Dear Celia—I show more mirth than I am mistress of, and would you yet [I] were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget a banish’d father, you must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure.
Cel. Herein I see thou lov’st me not with the full weight that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banish’d father, had banish’d thy uncle, the Duke my father, so thou hadst been still with me, I could have taught my love to take thy father for mine; so wouldst thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously temper’d as mine is to thee.
Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to rejoice in yours.
Cel. You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to have; and truly when he dies, thou shalt be his heir; for what he hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render thee again in affection. By mine honor, I will, and when I break that oath, let me turn monster. Therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry.
Ros. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. Let me see—what think you of falling in love?
Cel. Marry, I prithee do, to make sport withal. But love no man in good earnest, nor no further in sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou mayst in honor come off again.
Ros. What shall be our sport then?
Cel. Let us sit and mock the good huswife Fortune from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestow’d equally.
Ros. I would we could do so; for her benefits are mightily misplac’d, and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her gifts to women.
Cel. ’Tis true, for those that she makes fair she scarce makes honest, and those that she makes honest she makes very ill-favoredly.
Ros. Nay, now thou goest from Fortune’s office to Nature’s. Fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of Nature.
Enter Clown [Touchstone].
Cel. No; when Nature hath made a fair creature, may she not by Fortune fall into the fire? Though Nature hath given us wit to flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument?
Ros. Indeed there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when Fortune