As You Like It By William Shakespeare

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As You Like It

William Shakespeare

Published: 1600

Categorie(s): Fiction, Drama

Source: http://shakespeare.mit.edu/ About Shakespeare:

William Shakespeare (baptised 26 April 1564 – died 23 April 1616) was an English poet and playwright, widely regarded as the greatest writer in the English language and the world's pre-eminent dramatist. He is often called England's national poet and the "Bard of Avon" (or simply "The Bard"). His surviving works consist of 38 plays, 154 sonnets, two long narrative poems, and several other poems. His plays have been translated into every major living language, and are performed more often than those of any other playwright. Shakespeare was born and raised in Stratford-upon-Avon. At the age of 18 he married Anne Hathaway, who bore him three children: Susanna, and twins Hamnet and Judith. Between 1585 and 1592 he began a successful career in London as an actor, writer, and part owner of the playing company the Lord Chamberlain's Men, later known as the King's Men. He appears to have retired to Stratford around 1613, where he died three years later. Few records of Shakespeare's private life survive, and there has been considerable speculation about such matters as his sexuality, religious beliefs, and whether the works attributed to him were written by others. Shakespeare produced most of his known work between 1590 and 1613. His early plays were mainly comedies and histories, genres he raised to the peak of sophistication and artistry by the end of the sixteenth century. Next he wrote mainly tragedies until about 1608, including Hamlet, King Lear, and Macbeth, considered some of the finest examples in the English language. In his last phase, he wrote tragicomedies, also known as romances, and collaborated with other playwrights. Many of his plays were published in editions of varying quality and accuracy during his lifetime, and in 1623 two of his former theatrical colleagues published the First Folio, a collected edition of his dramatic works that included all but two of the plays now recognised as Shakespeare's. Shakespeare was a respected poet and playwright in his own day, but his reputation did not rise to its present heights until the nineteenth century. The Romantics, in particular, acclaimed Shakespeare's genius, and the Victorians hero-worshipped Shakespeare with a reverence that George Bernard Shaw called "bardolatry". In the twentieth century, his work was repeatedly adopted and rediscovered by new movements in scholarship and performance. His plays remain highly popular today and are consistently performed and reinterpreted in diverse cultural and political contexts throughout the world. Source: Wikipedia

Also available on Feedbooks Shakespeare:

- Romeo and Juliet (1597)

- Hamlet (1599)

- Macbeth (1606)

- A Midsummer Night's Dream (1596)

- Julius Caesar (1599)

- Othello (1603)

- The Merchant of Venice (1598)

- Much Ado About Nothing (1600)

- King Lear (1606)

- The Taming of the Shrew (1594)

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Act I

SCENE I. Orchard of Oliver's house.

> Enter ORLANDO and ADAM

ORLANDO

> As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion

> bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand crowns,

> and, as thou sayest, charged my brother, on his

> blessing, to breed me well: and there begins my

> sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and

> report speaks goldenly of his profit: for my part,

> he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more

> properly, stays me here at home unkept; for call you

> that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that

> differs not from the stalling of an ox? His horses

> are bred better; for, besides that they are fair

> with their feeding, they are taught their manage,

> and to that end riders dearly hired: but I, his

> brother, gain nothing under him but growth; for the

> which his animals on his dunghills are as much

> bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so

> plentifully gives me, the something that nature gave

> me his countenance seems to take from me: he lets

> me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a

> brother, and, as much as in him lies, mines my

> gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that

> grieves me; and the spirit of my father, which I

> think is within me, begins to mutiny against this

> servitude: I will no longer endure it, though yet I

> know no wise remedy how to avoid it.

ADAM

> Yonder comes my master, your brother.

ORLANDO

> Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will

> shake me up.

>

> Enter OLIVER

OLIVER

> Now, sir! what make you here?

ORLANDO

> Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing.

OLIVER

> What mar you then, sir?

ORLANDO

> Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God

> made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness.

OLIVER

> Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile.

ORLANDO

> Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks with them?

> What prodigal portion have I spent, that I should

> come to such penury?

OLIVER

> Know you where your are, sir?

ORLANDO

> O, sir, very well; here in your orchard.

OLIVER

> Know you before whom, sir?

ORLANDO

> Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I know

> you are my eldest brother; and, in the gentle

> condition of blood, you should so know me. The

> courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that

> you are the first-born; but the same tradition

> takes not away my blood, were there twenty brothers

> betwixt us: I have as much of my father in me as

> you; albeit, I confess, your coming before me is

> nearer to his reverence.

OLIVER

> What, boy!

ORLANDO

> Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this.

OLIVER

> Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?

ORLANDO

> I am no villain; I am the youngest son of Sir

> Rowland de Boys; he was my father, and he is thrice

> a villain that says such a father begot villains.

> Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand

> from thy throat till this other had pulled out thy

> tongue for saying so: thou hast railed on thyself.

ADAM

> Sweet masters, be patient: for your father's

> remembrance, be at accord.

OLIVER

> Let me go, I say.

ORLANDO

> I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. My

> father charged you in his will to give me good

> education: you have trained 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.

OLIVER

> 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.

ORLANDO

> I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good.

OLIVER

> 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 and ADAM

OLIVER

> 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

DENNIS

> Calls your worship?

OLIVER

> Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, here to speak with me?

DENNIS

> So please you, he is here at the door and importunes

> access to you.

OLIVER

> Call him in.

>

> Exit DENNIS

>

> 'Twill be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is.

>

> Enter CHARLES

CHARLES

> Good morrow to your worship.

OLIVER

> Good Monsieur Charles, what's the new news at the

> new court?

CHARLES

> There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news:

> that is, the old duke is banished 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.

OLIVER

> Can you tell if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, be

> banished with her father?

CHARLES

> O, no; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves

> her, being ever from their cradles bred together,

> that she would have followed her exile, or have died

> to stay behind her. She is at the court, and no

> less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter; and

> never two ladies loved as they do.

OLIVER

> Where will the old duke live?

CHARLES

> 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.

OLIVER

> What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke?

CHARLES

> 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 disguised against me to try a fall.

> To-morrow, sir, I wrestle 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 honour, 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.

OLIVER

> 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 laboured 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 villanous 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 practise

> 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 villanous 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.

CHARLES

> 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 wrestle for prize more: and

> so God keep your worship!

OLIVER

> Farewell, good Charles.

>

> Exit 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

> schooled and yet learned, full of noble device, of

> all sorts enchantingly beloved, and indeed so much

> in the heart of the world, and especially of my own

> people, who best know him, that I am altogether

> misprised: but it shall not be so long; this

> wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains but that

> I kindle the boy thither; which now I'll go about.

>

> Exit

SCENE II. Lawn before the Duke's palace.

> Enter CELIA and ROSALIND

CELIA

> I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.

ROSALIND

> 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 banished father, you must not

> learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure.

CELIA

> Herein I see thou lovest me not with the full weight

> that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father,

> had banished 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

> tempered as mine is to thee.

ROSALIND

> Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to

> rejoice in yours.

CELIA

> 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 honour, I will; and when I break

> that oath, let me turn monster: therefore, my

> sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry.

ROSALIND

> From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. Let

> me see; what think you of falling in love?

CELIA

> 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 honour come off again.

ROSALIND

> What shall be our sport, then?

CELIA

> Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from

> her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally.

ROSALIND

> I would we could do so, for her benefits are

> mightily misplaced, and the bountiful blind woman

> doth most mistake in her gifts to women.

CELIA

> 'Tis true; for those that she makes fair she scarce

> makes honest, and those that she makes honest she

> makes very ill-favouredly.

ROSALIND

> 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 TOUCHSTONE

CELIA

> 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?

ROSALIND

> Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when

> Fortune makes Nature's natural the cutter-off of

> Nature's wit.

CELIA

> Peradventure this is not Fortune's work neither, but

> Nature's; who perceiveth our natural wits too dull

> to reason of such goddesses and hath sent this

> natural for our whetstone; for always the dulness of

> the fool is the whetstone of the wits. How now,

> wit! whither wander you?

TOUCHSTONE

> Mistress, you must come away to your father.

CELIA

> Were you made the messenger?

TOUCHSTONE

> No, by mine honour, but I was bid to come for you.

ROSALIND

> Where learned you that oath, fool?

TOUCHSTONE

> Of a certain knight that swore by his honour they

> were good pancakes and swore by his honour the

> mustard was naught: now I'll stand to it, the

> pancakes were naught and the mustard was good, and

> yet was not the knight forsworn.

CELIA

> How prove you that, in the great heap of your

> knowledge?

ROSALIND

> Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom.

TOUCHSTONE

> Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and

> swear by your beards that I am a knave.

CELIA

> By our beards, if we had them, thou art.

TOUCHSTONE

> By my knavery, if I had it, then I were; but if you

> swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn: no

> more was this knight swearing by his honour, for he

> never had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away

> before ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard.

CELIA

> Prithee, who is't that thou meanest?

TOUCHSTONE

> One that old Frederick, your father, loves.

CELIA

> My father's love is enough to honour him: enough!

> speak no more of him; you'll be whipped for taxation

> one of these days.

TOUCHSTONE

> The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely what

> wise men do foolishly.

CELIA

> By my troth, thou sayest true; for since the little

> wit that fools have was silenced, the little foolery

> that wise men have makes a great show. Here comes

> Monsieur Le Beau.

ROSALIND

> With his mouth full of news.

CELIA

> Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young.

ROSALIND

> Then shall we be news-crammed.

CELIA

> All the better; we shall be the more marketable.

>

> Enter LE BEAU

>

> Bon jour, Monsieur Le Beau: what's the news?

LE BEAU

> Fair princess, you have lost much good sport.

CELIA

> Sport! of what colour?

LE BEAU

> What colour, madam! how shall I answer you?

ROSALIND

> As wit and fortune will.

TOUCHSTONE

> Or as the Destinies decree.

CELIA

> Well said: that was laid on with a trowel.

TOUCHSTONE

> Nay, if I keep not my rank,—

ROSALIND

> Thou losest thy old smell.

LE BEAU

> You amaze me, ladies: I would have told you of good

> wrestling, which you have lost the sight of.

ROSALIND

> You tell us the manner of the wrestling.

LE BEAU

> I will tell you the beginning; and, if it please

> your ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is

> yet to do; and here, where you are, they are coming

> to perform it.

CELIA

> Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried.