SCENE V.

Another part of the forest

Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and OTHERS

                       SONG

  AMIENS.    Under the greenwood tree
               Who loves to lie with me,
               And turn his merry note
               Unto the sweet bird's throat,
             Come hither, come hither, come hither.
               Here shall he see
               No enemy
             But winter and rough weather.

  JAQUES. More, more, I prithee, more.

  AMIENS. It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.

  JAQUES. I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy
    out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more.

  AMIENS. My voice is ragged; I know I cannot please you.

  JAQUES. I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to sing.
    Come, more; another stanzo. Call you 'em stanzos?

  AMIENS. What you will, Monsieur Jaques.

  JAQUES. Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing.
    Will you sing?

  AMIENS. More at your request than to please myself.

  JAQUES. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you; but
    that they call compliment is like th' encounter of two dog-apes;
    and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks have given him a
    penny, and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you
    that will not, hold your tongues.

  AMIENS. Well, I'll end the song. Sirs, cover the while; the Duke
    will drink under this tree. He hath been all this day to look
    you.

  JAQUES. And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is to
    disputable for my company. I think of as many matters as he; but
    I give heaven thanks, and make no boast of them. Come, warble,
    come.

                       SONG
              [All together here]

           Who doth ambition shun,
           And loves to live i' th' sun,
           Seeking the food he eats,
           And pleas'd with what he gets,
         Come hither, come hither, come hither.
           Here shall he see
           No enemy
           But winter and rough weather.

  JAQUES. I'll give you a verse to this note that I made yesterday in
    despite of my invention.

  AMIENS. And I'll sing it.

  JAQUES. Thus it goes:

             If it do come to pass
             That any man turn ass,
             Leaving his wealth and ease
             A stubborn will to please,
           Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame;
             Here shall he see
             Gross fools as he,
             An if he will come to me.

  AMIENS. What's that 'ducdame'?

  JAQUES. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle.
    I'll go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the
    first-born of Egypt.

  AMIENS. And I'll go seek the Duke; his banquet is prepar'd.
                                                Exeunt severally

Amiens is sitting with Jaques and the other lords in the woods and entertaining them with a song. He finishes his song and Jaques asks to hear more. Amiens tells him it will make him melancholy but Jaques persists until he agrees. All of the men join in singing another song. Jaques then performs a verse that he wrote himself. After he finishes his singing, Amiens leaves to find the Duke

Amiens enters singing a song about how much fun it is to run around the countryside singing. Jaques begs him to keep singing. Amiens counters it will only make Jaques more melancholy. Still, since Jaques loves to be unhappy, he wants Amiens to keep singing. He says "I can suck melancholy/ out of a song as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more." Amiens points out that Duke Senior has been looking for Jaques all day, and Jaques points out he's been avoiding the Duke all day. Jaques sings a mean little verse he's made up about men's foolishness for leaving the court, and announces he'll sleep while Amiens finds the Duke to come to the evening's banquet.

Amiens, Jaques, and several lords of Duke Senior are gathered in another part of the forest. Amiens has been singing, and Jaques urges him to continue while the others sing along. Amiens does so and orders the others to lay out a meal under the trees. Jaques has been avoiding the duke all day, calling him "too disputable for my company." He contributes a cynical verse of his own composition to Amiens' song, then lies down to rest while Amiens goes to seek the duke.

The pastoral songs in this play serve several purposes. They restate the theme of town life versus country life; town life they envision as being dismal and corrupt, while country life is fair and clean. Shakespeare, it should be noted, satirizes both views. The songs also serve to break up the "tide-like" action of the scenes; in other words, they bring variety to a scene in the forest being followed by a scene at court, followed by one in the forest, and so forth. Finally, the songs are part of the masque elements in this play. This genre of the masque was characterized by quickly changed scenes and tableaux with emphasis upon elaborate costumes and scenery, representative of mythological or pastoral elements. Dance and music were also essential elements. The use of the masque elements here culminates with the entrance of Hymen  and the climactic triple wedding scene. The primary purpose of this scene seems to focus on Shakespeare's delineation of the character of Jaques. Jaques is always argumentative, indiscriminately taking the opposing view, never pleased with anything or anybody. He likes to think of himself as being profound, but his thoughts are of a commonplace nature and are usually vitriolic. His humor is ironic. For example, he comments that Duke Senior is too argumentative, whereas he himself is the most argumentative character in the play. Jaques's song serves as a rebuke to the pastoral sentiment of Amiens' song. Jaques, who insists that Amiens sing, afterwards criticizes what he himself wanted to hear. Again, it is to be expected that Jaques will take the opposing view in an argument, regardless of its merit. Throughout the play, he rails against the pastoral view of life, but, finally, he is the only character who chooses to remain in the forest, while the others return to the town as soon as possible.


SCENE VI.

The forest

Enter ORLANDO and ADAM

  ADAM. Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food! Here lie
    I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master.

  ORLANDO. Why, how now, Adam! No greater heart in thee? Live a
    little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth
    forest yield anything savage, I will either be food for it or
    bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy
    powers. For my sake be comfortable; hold death awhile at the
    arm's end. I will here be with the presently; and if I bring thee
    not something to eat, I will give thee leave to die; but if thou
    diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said!
    thou look'st cheerly; and I'll be with thee quickly. Yet thou
    liest in the bleak air. Come, I will bear thee to some shelter;
    and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live
    anything in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam!          Exeunt

Adam has gotten tired and tells Orlando that he cannot walk any farther into the forest. Orlando promises to find him some food. In the meantime, Orlando carries Adam offstage to find him some shelter

The character of old Adam is one of the most unique. In many ways Adam represents the old world, a world that is no longer in power but that cannot be forgotten. Adam agrees to follow Orlando into the forest, essentially indicating his dissatisfaction with the new world he is living in. When Orlando carries him, it marks a moment similar to Aeneas carrying Anchyses on his back, fleeing from burning Troy. It is thus with reverence that Adam gets treated by all the characters on account of his age and wisdom. The forest of Arden needs to be viewed a projection of the self, an intensifier of oneself. Duke Senior describes his men as being able to: "Find tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, / Sermons in stones, and good in everything" . This is an image of the goodness of the Duke himself. However, Oliver comes across quite a different version of the forest later on in the play. He encounters snakes and lions, and he himself becomes long-haired and wild looking. Thus Arden appears differently to everyone in it depending on their personalities. In fact, this is quite apparent in 2.6 when we see Adam and Orlando walking around in a savage paradise, hungry for food. This contrasts with the banquet that Duke Senior is laying out for his men. Indeed, Orlando is the savage: "Forbear, and eat no more!" , he cries when he sees the food that Duke Senior has spread out on the ground. Surprised by the civility with which he is greeted, Orlando says, "Pardon me, I pray you. / I thought that all things had been savage here" . Orlando thinks he is in a savage place, yet the wilderness is more civilized than he is. The irony is that in this play the bestial man is found in the court, not the country. Jaques is perhaps the premier character for showing how Arden is a projection of the self. Jaques tells Duke Senior, "A fool, a fool, I met a fool i'th' forest, / A motley fool - a miserable world! - As I do live by food, I met a fool" . In reality he has met himself in the forest. Arden again is projecting his own attributes. This is further strengthened by the fact that Touchstone is a mirror for other people. Jaques "foolishly" then wishes to become a fool because licensed fools were allowed to say anything without fear of punishment. Shakespeare sets As You Like It in a pastoral setting, but he still mocks the pastoral mode of writing in the process. One of the fundamental aspects of pastoral is that the country people are simple and kindhearted. However, this is not the case when Rosalind and Celia meet Corin for the first time: "But I am a shepherd to another man, / And do not shear the fleeces that I graze. / My master is of churlish disposition, / And little recks to find the way to heaven / By doing deeds of hospitality...there is nothing / That you will feed on" . By denying the women hospitality, Shakespeare mocks the stereotype that rustic people give everything to strangers. A great deal of this play is constructed on paradoxes. Ganymede is really a woman who is in fact is really a male actor  playing a woman. Even more dramatically, we can state that the Forest of Ardenne has noble savages savaging nobles. Orlando is far more savage than the nobles he finds eating there, in spite of his noble upbringing. These paradoxes not only play with the notion of pastoral but also challenge gender identities. While no one would deny there is a paradox in being both a woman and a man, in Shakespeare's time the issue of gender was much looser than it is in modern society. Woman were considered anatomically identical to men except that the uterus was thought to be inverted male genitals. This view of sex allowed Shakespeare to have Rosalind, as Ganymede, pretend to again be Rosalind. Jaques gives his famous speech in this act, starting with, "All the world's a stage..." . This speech is important because all the characters and stages of life are described in terms of speaking: the lover sighs, the soldier is full of strange oaths, the old man loses his manly voice, and by the final stage the man cannot speak at all having lost everything. Speaking is therefore conceived of in terms of time passing. This vision of time progressing is part of what makes Jaques so melancholy. He views the end as being, "Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything" , a sense of loss. However, regardless of what Jaques claims about old age, we have Adam to dismiss what Jaques says. Adam is clearly not without his teeth, eyes, taste or anything else except stamina. This is again Shakespeare at his best, showing the folly of Jaques by presenting Adam as living proof that Jaques is incorrect.

Adam, the old servant of the de Boys family, is in the forest with the young Orlando. Adam is hungry and weak. He bids farewell to his master, as he must prepare his grave. Orlando tells Adam to suck it up and promises that if anything lives in this "desert," then Orlando will bring it for Adam to eat. He asks that Adam hold off on dying until later since Orlando is going to all the trouble to rustle up some food for the old man.

In the last scene, we noted that a meal was being prepared for the duke and his men; in this scene, in contrast, no meal awaits Orlando and Adam as they wander through the forest. Adam says that he is too weak from hunger to go on, but his master comforts him by promising to find him a shelter and, afterwards, some food.

This scene serves to establish the fact that Orlando and Adam have arrived in the Forest of Arden, and it prepares us for Orlando's meeting with Duke Senior and the duke's company in the next scene. Because Orlando attends Adam so loyally and attentively, it raises the audience's estimation of him. He is young, but he exhibits a noble character, probably inherited from his father. As always, we note his concern and courtesy toward others. He is a gentle, good youth.


SCENE VII.

The forest

A table set out. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and LORDS, like outlaws

  DUKE SENIOR. I think he be transform'd into a beast;
    For I can nowhere find him like a man.

  FIRST LORD. My lord, he is but even now gone hence;
    Here was he merry, hearing of a song.

  DUKE SENIOR. If he, compact of jars, grow musical,
    We shall have shortly discord in the spheres.
    Go seek him; tell him I would speak with him.

                         Enter JAQUES

  FIRST LORD. He saves my labour by his own approach.

  DUKE SENIOR. Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this,
    That your poor friends must woo your company?
    What, you look merrily!

  JAQUES. A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' th' forest,
    A motley fool. A miserable world!
    As I do live by food, I met a fool,
    Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun,
    And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms,
    In good set terms- and yet a motley fool.
    'Good morrow, fool,' quoth I; 'No, sir,' quoth he,
    'Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune.'
    And then he drew a dial from his poke,
    And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
    Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock;
    Thus we may see,' quoth he, 'how the world wags;
    'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine;
    And after one hour more 'twill be eleven;
    And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,
    And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot;
    And thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear
    The motley fool thus moral on the time,
    My lungs began to crow like chanticleer
    That fools should be so deep contemplative;
    And I did laugh sans intermission
    An hour by his dial. O noble fool!
    A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear.

  DUKE SENIOR. What fool is this?

  JAQUES. O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier,
    And says, if ladies be but young and fair,
    They have the gift to know it; and in his brain,
    Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit
    After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd
    With observation, the which he vents
    In mangled forms. O that I were a fool!
    I am ambitious for a motley coat.

  DUKE SENIOR. Thou shalt have one.

  JAQUES. It is my only suit,
    Provided that you weed your better judgments
    Of all opinion that grows rank in them
    That I am wise. I must have liberty
    Withal, as large a charter as the wind,
    To blow on whom I please, for so fools have;
    And they that are most galled with my folly,
    They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so?
    The why is plain as way to parish church:
    He that a fool doth very wisely hit
    Doth very foolishly, although he smart,
    Not to seem senseless of the bob; if not,
    The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd
    Even by the squand'ring glances of the fool.
    Invest me in my motley; give me leave
    To speak my mind, and I will through and through
    Cleanse the foul body of th' infected world,
    If they will patiently receive my medicine.

  DUKE SENIOR. Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do.

  JAQUES. What, for a counter, would I do but good?

  DUKE SENIOR. Most Mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin;
    For thou thyself hast been a libertine,
    As sensual as the brutish sting itself;
    And all th' embossed sores and headed evils
    That thou with license of free foot hast caught
    Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.

  JAQUES. Why, who cries out on pride
    That can therein tax any private party?
    Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,
    Till that the wearer's very means do ebb?
    What woman in the city do I name
    When that I say the city-woman bears
    The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders?
    Who can come in and say that I mean her,
    When such a one as she such is her neighbour?
    Or what is he of basest function
    That says his bravery is not on my cost,
    Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits
    His folly to the mettle of my speech?
    There then! how then? what then? Let me see wherein
    My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right,
    Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free,
    Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies,
    Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes here?

             Enter ORLANDO with his sword drawn

  ORLANDO. Forbear, and eat no more.

  JAQUES. Why, I have eat none yet.

  ORLANDO. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd.

  JAQUES. Of what kind should this cock come of?

  DUKE SENIOR. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress?
    Or else a rude despiser of good manners,
    That in civility thou seem'st so empty?

  ORLANDO. You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny point
    Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show
    Of smooth civility; yet arn I inland bred,
    And know some nurture. But forbear, I say;
    He dies that touches any of this fruit
    Till I and my affairs are answered.

  JAQUES. An you will not be answer'd with reason, I must die.

  DUKE SENIOR. What would you have? Your gentleness shall force
    More than your force move us to gentleness.

  ORLANDO. I almost die for food, and let me have it.

  DUKE SENIOR. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.

  ORLANDO. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you;
    I thought that all things had been savage here,
    And therefore put I on the countenance
    Of stern commandment. But whate'er you are
    That in this desert inaccessible,
    Under the shade of melancholy boughs,
    Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time;
    If ever you have look'd on better days,
    If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church,
    If ever sat at any good man's feast,
    If ever from your eyelids wip'd a tear,
    And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied,
    Let gentleness my strong enforcement be;
    In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.

  DUKE SENIOR. True is it that we have seen better days,
    And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church,
    And sat at good men's feasts, and wip'd our eyes
    Of drops that sacred pity hath engend'red;
    And therefore sit you down in gentleness,
    And take upon command what help we have
    That to your wanting may be minist'red.

  ORLANDO. Then but forbear your food a little while,
    Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn,
    And give it food. There is an old poor man
    Who after me hath many a weary step
    Limp'd in pure love; till he be first suffic'd,
    Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,
    I will not touch a bit.

  DUKE SENIOR. Go find him out.
    And we will nothing waste till you return.

  ORLANDO. I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort!
 Exit

  DUKE SENIOR. Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy:
    This wide and universal theatre
    Presents more woeful pageants than the scene
    Wherein we play in.

  JAQUES. All the world's a stage,
    And all the men and women merely players;
    They have their exits and their entrances;
    And one man in his time plays many parts,
    His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
    Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
    Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
    And shining morning face, creeping like snail
    Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
    Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
    Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
    Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
    Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
    Seeking the bubble reputation
    Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
    In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,
    With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
    Full of wise saws and modern instances;
    And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
    Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
    With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
    His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
    For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
    Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
    And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
    That ends this strange eventful history,
    Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
    Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.

                  Re-enter ORLANDO with ADAM

  DUKE SENIOR. Welcome. Set down your venerable burden.
    And let him feed.

  ORLANDO. I thank you most for him.

  ADAM. So had you need;
    I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.

  DUKE SENIOR. Welcome; fall to. I will not trouble you
    As yet to question you about your fortunes.
    Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing.

                         SONG
            Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
            Thou art not so unkind
              As man's ingratitude;
            Thy tooth is not so keen,
            Because thou art not seen,
              Although thy breath be rude.
    Heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho! unto the green holly.
    Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
            Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
              This life is most jolly.

            Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
            That dost not bite so nigh
              As benefits forgot;
            Though thou the waters warp,
            Thy sting is not so sharp
              As friend rememb'red not.
    Heigh-ho! sing, &c.

  DUKE SENIOR. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son,
    As you have whisper'd faithfully you were,
    And as mine eye doth his effigies witness
    Most truly limn'd and living in your face,
    Be truly welcome hither. I am the Duke
    That lov'd your father. The residue of your fortune,
    Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man,
    Thou art right welcome as thy master is.
    Support him by the arm. Give me your hand,
    And let me all your fortunes understand.              Exeunt

Duke Senior, accompanied by other lords, has been looking for Jaques. He is about to send them away to find Jaques when Jaques appears. The Duke comments that Jaques looks positively merry. Jaques tells him, "A fool, a fool, I met a fool i'th' forest, / A motley fool - a miserable world. As I do live by food, I met a fool". Jaques describes meeting a man who lay on the ground and pulled out his watch. The fool commented that it was ten o'clock, that an hour before it had been nine, and in one hour it would be eleven. Jaques found the man to be so funny that he spent an hour laughing. He finally tells the Duke, "O that I were a fool". The Duke tells Jaques that he would only insult people if he had the license of a fool. Jaques claims that he would be witty and that men would only be insulted if they had done something for which they deserved to be insulted. He is interrupted by Orlando who enters with a drawn sword. Orlando rushes in and cries out, "Forbear, and eat no more. He orders the men to give him food. The Duke politely bids Orlando to sit down and join them. He is taken aback by the Dukes reply and comments, "Pardon me, I pray you. I thought that all things had been savage here". Orlando then asks them to wait for him to get Adam so the old man may eat first. The Duke tells him they will not touch any of the food until he returns. Duke Senior remarks that the whole universe "presents more woeful pageants than the scene / Wherein we play in". Jaques replies with his famous speech starting: "All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players. And one man in his time plays many parts, His act being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. Then the whining schoolboy with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then, a soldier, Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, . The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, . and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange, eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. After Jaques' speech, Orlando arrives bearing Adam on his shoulders and sets the older man down. Both of them thank the Duke for his hospitality. Amiens then sings a long song for them after which the Duke indicates that he knew Orlando's father quite well. He bids Orlando come to his cave and describe what has happened to him. Adam is helped away by the other lords

Meanwhile, Duke Senior and his band of merry men are readying to settle down to dinner and they're looking for Jaques. Jaques arrives and, shockingly, he's in a good mood. Jaques says he ran into a "motley fool" in the forest. Hmm. Sounds like Jaques bumped into Touchstone out in the woods, don't you think? Apparently, Jaques hung out with the "motley fool" for about an hour and was amused by the guy's philosophical musings on the passage of time and the nature of women. Jaques bags on Touchstone and says that fools are the only people allowed to mock others without getting into trouble. Brain Snack: Jaques is talking about the freedom of being a "licensed fool" . A licensed fool is a guy who literally has a license to say whatever he wants without getting into trouble . Paid fools were pretty common in the households of royalty and the nobility in Shakespeare's day. Jaques says if he were a licensed fool, he could point out everybody's flaws and cure "th'infected world" of all its problems. Duke Senior's not buying any of it--he points out that Jaques is more likely to infect the entire world than to cure it. As Jaques responds to the Duke's insult, Orlando bursts in on the dinner party and yells "Forebear, and eat no more!" Jaques calls Orlando a "cock" and Duke Senior asks whether Orlando is distressed or just raised to have no manners. Orlando is hell-bent on stabbing somebody if they eat, though the Duke insists he should take it easy. Orlando can't take it easy, because he and Adam are starving. Still, he does apologize, saying everything in the forest is so brutish, he must have become brutish himself. The Duke understands, and he invites Orlando to eat with them. Everyone promises to wait while Orlando runs off to get Adam. Duke Senior takes the opportunity to comment that misery seems to be a universal experience. Jaques delivers the play's most famous speech and declares, "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players." He goes on to detail the seven ages of man, as follows: You start as an infant, then a whining schoolboy, progress to a lover, then a soldier, then a contented middle-aged man, followed by a kinda-old guy with spectacles, and finally a very, very old guy who has lost his senses and looks and acts like a helpless baby again. Just as Jaques is saying that old men are like infants, Orlando enters carrying his old servant, Adam... who is as helpless as a baby. The Duke doesn't want to bother them with questions before eating, so they all feast . Amiens sings a song about how even the harsh winter wind isn't as terrible as the way human beings can sometimes treat each other. During the song, Orlando whispers to Duke Senior that he is the son of Sir Rowland de Boys. The Duke recognizes old man Rowland's features in the boy and is delighted to have him. Duke Senior was a good friend of Sir Rowland, so he says Orlando and Adam are welcome in his cave anytime. The Duke says he wants to hear the story of how Adam and Orlando ended up homeless and hungry in the forest.

Duke Senior, Rosalind's father, who is searching for Jaques, arrives on the scene and unexpectedly meets Jaques. Jaques describes, with evident delight, his meeting with Touchstone. He says that he wishes that he were a "fool" so that he might be able "as the wind, / To blow on whom I please," exercising the fool's prerogative of speaking his mind freely to expose the world's abuses. But Jaques, as the duke notes, has a libertine past; this hardly qualifies him to reproach others for their failings. Their discussion abruptly ends when Orlando enters with his sword drawn. "Forbear," he cries, "and eat no more" -- although the meal has scarcely begun. Orlando is calmed by the duke's courteous welcome, and he apologizes and sheathes his sword. Then, begging the duke to put off dining until his return, he goes to fetch Adam. This episode inspires Jaques' account of the seven ages of man. This extended philosophical statement has since become one of the most celebrated speeches in the Shakespearean canon. Most learned people in the Western world recognize the lines "All the world's a stage / And all the men and women merely players." The point of view of the speech is colored by Jaques' cynicism, yet the speech itself has such imaginative power that it transcends Jaques' melancholy and causes one to pause and contemplate this schematic evaluation of man. According to Jaques, these are the seven ages of man: the infant: "mewling and puking in the nurse's arms . . . " the schoolboy: "whining . . . with his satchel / And shining morning face, creeping like a snail, / Unwilling to school." the lover: "sighing like a furnace, with a woeful ballad . . . to his mistress' eyebrow." the soldier: "full of strange oaths . . . bearded . . . / Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel, / Seeking the bubble's reputation / Even in the cannon's mouth." the justice : "in fair round belly with good capon lin'd . . . eyes severe and beard of formal cut, / Full of wise saws and modern instances ." the dotard : "lean and slipper'd . . . / With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, / His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide / For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, / Turning again toward childish treble, pipes / And whistles in his sound. the senile, sick elder: " second childishness and mere oblivion, / Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything." Despite Jaques' surface cynicism, Shakespeare's poetry is impressively sensitive and beautiful. This is Shakespeare at his most brilliant best. Orlando returns, just as Jaques finishes; he is carrying Adam, and as they begin eating, Amiens sings "Blow, blow, thou winter wind." When the song ends, Duke Senior warmly welcomes "the good Sir Roland's son" and welcomes Adam as well. The scene ends happily; the duke takes old Adam's hand, and the group sets off for the duke's cave.

In no scene is the exaggerated melancholy and simple cynicism of Jaques more clearly evident than here. He opens his meeting with Rosalind's father by relating an encounter he has just had with Touchstone. In the encounter, Jaques was completely taken in by the clown. He was totally unaware that Touchstone was parodying Jaques' own style of speech. Instead, Jaques found Touchstone's remarks to be so profound that he wishes that he could be a fool himself. Touchstone's comments, thus, foreshadow Jaques' well-known "Seven Ages of Man" speech: 'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine;And after one hour more 'twill be eleven;And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripeAnd then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot;And thereby hangs a tale.   One might also note that the sun dial that Touchstone produces is an unlikely, absurd instrument to use in a forest. That Jaques would use the sun dial to time his laughter, exactly the duration of one hour, underscores his ridiculous behavior, as if he or anyone could laugh for a specific amount of time. Jaques' character, unfortunately, has often been misunderstood. The duke, for example, calls him a "libertine." The word at that time did not carry the moral connotations it does today. Then, it merely meant a man of the world. It must also be remembered that the duke likes to argue with Jaques , and in this scene, he is drawing Jaques out to discover what Jaques is thinking. He challenges Jaques' claim to be a reformer of society. Jaques accepts the challenge. The duke, of course, is being whimsically humorous and asks Jaques what he would ". . . disgorge into the general world," but Jaques obviously misses the duke's humorously exaggerated attack on his overblown pomposity. Instead, he immediately seizes the bait and rants on about how he would save society. In doing so, Jaques not only has the last word, but he also absurdly satirizes late sixteenth-century satirists. To some critics, the remark made by Orlando, "yet am I inland bred / And know some nature," seems to contradict his speech in Act I, Scene 1. This is not the case. Both words "civility" and "nurture" meant good breeding in the general use of the term, rather than in the modern use of politeness, and it was considered good breeding to salute those whom one met. Orlando obviously does not salute when he makes his entrance. The duke challenges this impropriety. Jaques' division of life into seven ages was a proverbial, as well as a popular, idea in Elizabethan England. It is an ancient idea, and Shakespeare makes reference to it in The Merchant of Venice  and in Macbeth . Moreover, the speech is consistent with Jaques' character; it is highly generalized , and it is expressed in an untutored, insightful manner. Without Jaques realizing it, he becomes a one-man Chorus, delivering a keen philosophical discourse in capsule form. As a counter-balance to this philosophizing, both Jaques and Touchstone keep the audience from becoming too contemplative and also from becoming too involved with the fantasy of the forest; they serve as reminders that Duke Senior, Rosalind, and Orlando are playing only temporary parts in a masquerade in an unusual setting.


ACT III. SCENE I.

The palace

Enter DUKE FREDERICK, OLIVER, and LORDS

  FREDERICK. Not see him since! Sir, sir, that cannot be.
    But were I not the better part made mercy,
    I should not seek an absent argument
    Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it:
    Find out thy brother wheresoe'er he is;
    Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living
    Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more
    To seek a living in our territory.
    Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine
    Worth seizure do we seize into our hands,
    Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth
    Of what we think against thee.

  OLIVER. O that your Highness knew my heart in this!
    I never lov'd my brother in my life.

  FREDERICK. More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors;
    And let my officers of such a nature
    Make an extent upon his house and lands.
    Do this expediently, and turn him going.              Exeunt

Duke Frederick has not been able to find Orlando at Oliver's house. As a result he tells Oliver that he has a year to find his brother and bring him back, either dead or alive. In the interim Duke Frederick seizes all of Oliver's estate and will hold it until Orlando is brought to him. Oliver comments that he never loved his brother

Orlando, having been seen as the silent lover of Rosalind in the first act, now progresses to the literary stage of love. He mimics the role of a Petrachian lover, a man who writes sonnets to his beloved and adores her beyond compare. Thus, we see Orlando leaving sonnets on the trees and carving Rosalind's name into every trunk. But in a sense he is only a parody of a true Petrarchian lover. After all, Orlando never really sees Rosalind or gets to speak with her, thereby invalidating everything he is writing about her. This excess of emotion is what Rosalind, now in the form of Ganymede, is going to try and stop. She will prefer a mature love that is based on speaking rather than ephemeral notions of womanly virtue. The emotional and literary excess portrayed by Orlando is of course made fun of by Touchstone. He takes advantage of the fact that Rosalind's name is scrawled on every tree to comment, "Truly, the tree yields bad fruit" . Touchstone not only mimics the writing of lover's names on the trees, but once again serves as a mirror by reflecting the fact that the poems are awful. He goes so far as to make up a poem that derides Rosalind rather than praises her, a parody that clearly shows how bad the other poems are. Act two already showed Jaques as a fool after his encounter with Touchstone. Here he is also seen to be a narcissus, a self-absorbed person. Orlando mimics him by telling him to look for the fool in a literal mirror, quipping, "He is drowned in the brook. Look but in, and you shall see him" . Jaques is slow to realize that he has been insulted here, a fact that is even more damning to his character. One of the great fears the men have in all of Shakespeare's comedies is being a cuckold.Essentially this is a fear that once married, they will be unable to sexually satisfy their wife, and she will end up sleeping with other men. The primary image of a husband who is duped by his wife is a man wearing a bull's horns. However, underlying this fear is also the necessity of marriage as a social institution. Touchstone put is best, "As horns are odious, they are necessary" . Thus in spite of his intelligence, he will marry the simpleton Audrey. "As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb, and the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires" . For Touchstone this is a necessity in order for him to become a fully mature individual. One of the characteristics of Rosalind is that she is dealing with a play that is primarily created for her pleasure. She therefore becomes the director of the play, managing all of its subplots and influencing the action. She says, "Bring us to this site, and you shall say / I'll prove a busy actor in their play" . In this sense Rosalind is like Puck in A Midsummer Night's Dream. She can intervene in others' lives and play games with them. However, at the same time that she is controlling others, Rosalind is still unliberated from Celia. By being a part of the play and directing the actions of the other characters, Rosalind will achieve a liberation from Celia that will allow her to marry Orlando. Much the way Orlando dotes on the unseen Rosalind, the love of Silvius for Phoebe is also a Petrarchian love in excess. Rosalind sees the similarity between the way Silvius and Orlando are acting and tries to cure Orlando of it. She alone realizes that a woman is not worth such an idolization given that women have flaws as well, flaws that the man will have to deal with in marriage. Thus when Phoebe scorns Silvius, Rosalind intelligently points out, "down on your knees / And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love; / For I must tell you friendly in your ear, / Sell when you can. You are not for all markets" . This clearly undermines the virtuous deification of women that Silvius and Orlando initially aspire to. Instead, it bluntly lays out the fact that women are human as well and that the man must know both their faults and virtues before actually marrying them. Although it seems obvious that Rosalind is inclined towards Orlando, she still plays with the female-female relationship alluded to in the beginning. Thus when Phoebe falls in love with her she does not completely ignore Phoebe's advances. Instead, Rosalind flirts with Phoebe and tells her where her house is. This is surprising because it contradicts her very words and sets up the homosexual nature of her character. We can never be sure whether Rosalind/Ganymede prefers being a man or a woman as a result of the ambiguous sexuality that she displays. Phoebe herself quickly becomes an inversion of the stereotypical female character. She quotes Marlowe's Hero and Leander and writes poetry with Silvius. This is of course backwards, she as the woman should be wooed with poetry, not forced to write it herself. This inversion of her sexual identity further plays into the homo-eroticism between Rosalind and Phoebe that may underline the plot.

Back at the Court, Frederick is still in a rage trying to find Orlando. He demands that Oliver find Orlando and bring him back within a year, alive or dead. As usual, should Oliver fail, the punishment is banishment. In the meantime, Duke Frederick's tough guys have seized all of Oliver's land until he can hand over Orlando to the Duke. Oliver grumbles that he never loved his brother Orlando. The Duke, less than interested in being pals, says hating his brother makes Oliver even more of a villain. Duke Frederick sends Oliver packing.

At court, Duke Frederick threatens Oliver that if he does not bring back Orlando "dead or living / Within this twelvemonth . . . turn thou no more / To seek a living in our territory." In that event, Oliver's possessions will revert to Frederick. "I never loved my brother in my life," Oliver swears. "More villain thou," Frederick snaps back and orders his men to make sure that Oliver leaves the palace.

This scene completes the action initiated in Act II, Scene 2 -- that is, Oliver must go to the Forest of Arden, where he will eventually meet with the other characters, and it is ironic that Frederick calls Oliver a villain for not loving his brother; Frederick is blatantly guilty of the same want of feeling for his brother.


SCENE II.

The forest

Enter ORLANDO, with a paper

  ORLANDO. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love;
    And thou, thrice-crowned Queen of Night, survey
    With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above,
    Thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway.
    O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books,
    And in their barks my thoughts I'll character,
    That every eye which in this forest looks
    Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where.
    Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree,
    The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she.             Exit

                     Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE

  CORIN. And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone?

  TOUCHSTONE. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good
    life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is nought.
    In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in
    respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now in
    respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect
    it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life,
    look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty
    in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in
    thee, shepherd?

  CORIN. No more but that I know the more one sickens the worse at
    ease he is; and that he that wants money, means, and content, is
    without three good friends; that the property of rain is to wet,
    and fire to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep; and that a
    great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that he that hath
    learned no wit by nature nor art may complain of good breeding,
    or comes of a very dull kindred.

  TOUCHSTONE. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in
    court, shepherd?

  CORIN. No, truly.

  TOUCHSTONE. Then thou art damn'd.

  CORIN. Nay, I hope.

  TOUCHSTONE. Truly, thou art damn'd, like an ill-roasted egg, all on
    one side.

  CORIN. For not being at court? Your reason.

  TOUCHSTONE. Why, if thou never wast at court thou never saw'st good
    manners; if thou never saw'st good manners, then thy manners must
    be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art
    in a parlous state, shepherd.

  CORIN. Not a whit, Touchstone. Those that are good manners at the
    court are as ridiculous in the country as the behaviour of the
    country is most mockable at the court. You told me you salute not
    at the court, but you kiss your hands; that courtesy would be
    uncleanly if courtiers were shepherds.

  TOUCHSTONE. Instance, briefly; come, instance.

  CORIN. Why, we are still handling our ewes; and their fells, you
    know, are greasy.

  TOUCHSTONE. Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? And is not the
    grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man?
    Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say; come.

  CORIN. Besides, our hands are hard.

  TOUCHSTONE. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again.
    A more sounder instance; come.

  CORIN. And they are often tarr'd over with the surgery of our
    sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are
    perfum'd with civet.

  TOUCHSTONE. Most shallow man! thou worm's meat in respect of a good
    piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and perpend: civet is
    of a baser birth than tar- the very uncleanly flux of a cat.
    Mend the instance, shepherd.

  CORIN. You have too courtly a wit for me; I'll rest.

  TOUCHSTONE. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God help thee, shallow man!
    God make incision in thee! thou art raw.

  CORIN. Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get that I
    wear; owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness; glad of other
    men's good, content with my harm; and the greatest of my pride is
    to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck.

  TOUCHSTONE. That is another simple sin in you: to bring the ewes
    and the rams together, and to offer to get your living by the
    copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a bell-wether, and to betray
    a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram,
    out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not damn'd for this,
    the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else how
    thou shouldst scape.

  CORIN. Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother.

                  Enter ROSALIND, reading a paper

  ROSALIND.   'From the east to western Inde,
              No jewel is like Rosalinde.
              Her worth, being mounted on the wind,
              Through all the world bears Rosalinde.
              All the pictures fairest lin'd
              Are but black to Rosalinde.
              Let no face be kept in mind
              But the fair of Rosalinde.'

  TOUCHSTONE. I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners, and
    suppers, and sleeping hours, excepted. It is the right
    butter-women's rank to market.

  ROSALIND. Out, fool!

  TOUCHSTONE.   For a taste:
                If a hart do lack a hind,
                Let him seek out Rosalinde.
                If the cat will after kind,
                So be sure will Rosalinde.
                Winter garments must be lin'd,
                So must slender Rosalinde.
                They that reap must sheaf and bind,
                Then to cart with Rosalinde.
                Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,
                Such a nut is Rosalinde.
                He that sweetest rose will find
                Must find love's prick and Rosalinde.
    This is the very false gallop of verses; why do you infect
    yourself with them?

  ROSALIND. Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree.

  TOUCHSTONE. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.

  ROSALIND. I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a
    medlar. Then it will be the earliest fruit i' th' country; for
    you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's the right
    virtue of the medlar.

  TOUCHSTONE. You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest
    judge.

                      Enter CELIA, with a writing

  ROSALIND. Peace!
    Here comes my sister, reading; stand aside.

  CELIA.   'Why should this a desert be?
             For it is unpeopled? No;
           Tongues I'll hang on every tree
             That shall civil sayings show.
           Some, how brief the life of man
             Runs his erring pilgrimage,
           That the streching of a span
             Buckles in his sum of age;
           Some, of violated vows
             'Twixt the souls of friend and friend;
           But upon the fairest boughs,
             Or at every sentence end,
           Will I Rosalinda write,
             Teaching all that read to know
           The quintessence of every sprite
             Heaven would in little show.
           Therefore heaven Nature charg'd
             That one body should be fill'd
           With all graces wide-enlarg'd.
             Nature presently distill'd
           Helen's cheek, but not her heart,
             Cleopatra's majesty,
           Atalanta's better part,
             Sad Lucretia's modesty.
           Thus Rosalinde of many parts
             By heavenly synod was devis'd,
           Of many faces, eyes, and hearts,
             To have the touches dearest priz'd.
           Heaven would that she these gifts should have,
           And I to live and die her slave.'

  ROSALIND. O most gentle pulpiter! What tedious homily of love have
    you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried 'Have
    patience, good people.'

  CELIA. How now! Back, friends; shepherd, go off a little; go with
    him, sirrah.

  TOUCHSTONE. Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat;

    though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage.
                                     Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE

  CELIA. Didst thou hear these verses?

  ROSALIND. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of them
    had in them more feet than the verses would bear.

  CELIA. That's no matter; the feet might bear the verses.

  ROSALIND. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves
    without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse.

  CELIA. But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name should be
    hang'd and carved upon these trees?

  ROSALIND. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you
    came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree. I was never so
    berhym'd since Pythagoras' time that I was an Irish rat,
    which I can hardly remember.

  CELIA. Trow you who hath done this?

  ROSALIND. Is it a man?

  CELIA. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck.
    Change you colour?

  ROSALIND. I prithee, who?

  CELIA. O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but
    mountains may be remov'd with earthquakes, and so encounter.

  ROSALIND. Nay, but who is it?

  CELIA. Is it possible?

  ROSALIND. Nay, I prithee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell
    me who it is.

  CELIA. O wonderful, wonderful, most wonderful wonderful, and yet
    again wonderful, and after that, out of all whooping!

  ROSALIND. Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am
    caparison'd like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my
    disposition? One inch of delay more is a South Sea of discovery.
    I prithee tell me who is it quickly, and speak apace. I would
    thou could'st stammer, that thou mightst pour this conceal'd man
    out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of narrow-mouth'd bottle-
    either too much at once or none at all. I prithee take the cork
    out of thy mouth that I may drink thy tidings.

  CELIA. So you may put a man in your belly.

  ROSALIND. Is he of God's making? What manner of man?
    Is his head worth a hat or his chin worth a beard?

  CELIA. Nay, he hath but a little beard.

  ROSALIND. Why, God will send more if the man will be thankful.
    Let me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the
    knowledge of his chin.

  CELIA. It is young Orlando, that tripp'd up the wrestler's heels
    and your heart both in an instant.

  ROSALIND. Nay, but the devil take mocking! Speak sad brow and true
    maid.

  CELIA. I' faith, coz, 'tis he.

  ROSALIND. Orlando?

  CELIA. Orlando.

  ROSALIND. Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose?
    What did he when thou saw'st him? What said he? How look'd he?
    Wherein went he? What makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where
    remains he? How parted he with thee? And when shalt thou see him
    again? Answer me in one word.

  CELIA. You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first; 'tis a word too
    great for any mouth of this age's size. To say ay and no to these
    particulars is more than to answer in a catechism.

  ROSALIND. But doth he know that I am in this forest, and in man's
    apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled?

  CELIA. It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the
    propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my finding him, and
    relish it with good observance. I found him under a tree, like a
    dropp'd acorn.

  ROSALIND. It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it drops forth
    such fruit.

  CELIA. Give me audience, good madam.

  ROSALIND. Proceed.

  CELIA. There lay he, stretch'd along like a wounded knight.

  ROSALIND. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes
    the ground.

  CELIA. Cry 'Holla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets
    unseasonably. He was furnish'd like a hunter.

  ROSALIND. O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.

  CELIA. I would sing my song without a burden; thou bring'st me out
    of tune.

  ROSALIND. Do you not know I am a woman? When I think, I must speak.
    Sweet, say on.

  CELIA. You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here?

                   Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES

  ROSALIND. 'Tis he; slink by, and note him.

  JAQUES. I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as
    lief have been myself alone.

  ORLANDO. And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you too
    for your society.

  JAQUES. God buy you; let's meet as little as we can.

  ORLANDO. I do desire we may be better strangers.

  JAQUES. I pray you mar no more trees with writing love songs in
    their barks.

  ORLANDO. I pray you mar no more of my verses with reading them
    ill-favouredly.

  JAQUES. Rosalind is your love's name?

  ORLANDO. Yes, just.

  JAQUES. I do not like her name.

  ORLANDO. There was no thought of pleasing you when she was
    christen'd.

  JAQUES. What stature is she of?

  ORLANDO. Just as high as my heart.

  JAQUES. You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been
    acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conn'd them out of rings?

  ORLANDO. Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence
    you have studied your questions.

  JAQUES. You have a nimble wit; I think 'twas made of Atalanta's
    heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two will rail against
    our mistress the world, and all our misery.

  ORLANDO. I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against
    whom I know most faults.

  JAQUES. The worst fault you have is to be in love.

  ORLANDO. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am
    weary of you.

  JAQUES. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found you.

  ORLANDO. He is drown'd in the brook; look but in, and you shall see
    him.

  JAQUES. There I shall see mine own figure.

  ORLANDO. Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.

  JAQUES. I'll tarry no longer with you; farewell, good Signior Love.

  ORLANDO. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good Monsieur
    Melancholy.
                                                     Exit JAQUES

  ROSALIND. [Aside to CELIA] I will speak to him like a saucy lackey,
    and under that habit play the knave with him.- Do you hear,
    forester?

  ORLANDO. Very well; what would you?

  ROSALIND. I pray you, what is't o'clock?

  ORLANDO. You should ask me what time o' day; there's no clock in
    the forest.

  ROSALIND. Then there is no true lover in the forest, else sighing
    every minute and groaning every hour would detect the lazy foot
    of Time as well as a clock.

  ORLANDO. And why not the swift foot of Time? Had not that been as
    proper?

  ROSALIND. By no means, sir. Time travels in divers paces with
    divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time
    trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands still
    withal.

  ORLANDO. I prithee, who doth he trot withal?

  ROSALIND. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the
    contract of her marriage and the day it is solemniz'd; if the
    interim be but a se'nnight, Time's pace is so hard that it seems
    the length of seven year.

  ORLANDO. Who ambles Time withal?

  ROSALIND. With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich man that hath
    not the gout; for the one sleeps easily because he cannot study,
    and the other lives merrily because he feels no pain; the one
    lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning, the other
    knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury. These Time ambles
    withal.

  ORLANDO. Who doth he gallop withal?

  ROSALIND. With a thief to the gallows; for though he go as softly
    as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there.

  ORLANDO. Who stays it still withal?

  ROSALIND. With lawyers in the vacation; for they sleep between term
    and term, and then they perceive not how Time moves.

  ORLANDO. Where dwell you, pretty youth?

  ROSALIND. With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the skirts of
    the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.

  ORLANDO. Are you native of this place?

  ROSALIND. As the coney that you see dwell where she is kindled.

  ORLANDO. Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in
    so removed a dwelling.

  ROSALIND. I have been told so of many; but indeed an old religious
    uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inland
    man; one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love.
    I have heard him read many lectures against it; and I thank God I
    am not a woman, to be touch'd with so many giddy offences as he
    hath generally tax'd their whole sex withal.

  ORLANDO. Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid
    to the charge of women?

  ROSALIND. There were none principal; they were all like one another
    as halfpence are; every one fault seeming monstrous till his
    fellow-fault came to match it.

  ORLANDO. I prithee recount some of them.

  ROSALIND. No; I will not cast away my physic but on those that are
    sick. There is a man haunts the forest that abuses our young
    plants with carving 'Rosalind' on their barks; hangs odes upon
    hawthorns and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the
    name of Rosalind. If I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give
    him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love
    upon him.

  ORLANDO. I am he that is so love-shak'd; I pray you tell me your
    remedy.

  ROSALIND. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you; he taught me
    how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes I am sure you
    are not prisoner.

  ORLANDO. What were his marks?

  ROSALIND. A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye and sunken,
    which you have not; an unquestionable spirit, which you have not;
    a beard neglected, which you have not; but I pardon you for that,
    for simply your having in beard is a younger brother's revenue.
    Then your hose should be ungarter'd, your bonnet unbanded, your
    sleeve unbutton'd, your shoe untied, and every thing about you
    demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such man; you
    are rather point-device in your accoutrements, as loving yourself
    than seeming the lover of any other.

  ORLANDO. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.

  ROSALIND. Me believe it! You may as soon make her that you love
    believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do than to confess
    she does. That is one of the points in the which women still give
    the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that
    hangs the verses on the trees wherein Rosalind is so admired?

  ORLANDO. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I
    am that he, that unfortunate he.

  ROSALIND. But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak?

  ORLANDO. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.

  ROSALIND. Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as
    well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why
    they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so
    ordinary that the whippers are in love too. Yet I profess curing
    it by counsel.

  ORLANDO. Did you ever cure any so?

  ROSALIND. Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to imagine me his
    love, his mistress; and I set him every day to woo me; at which
    time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate,
    changeable, longing and liking, proud, fantastical, apish,
    shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles; for every
    passion something and for no passion truly anything, as boys and
    women are for the most part cattle of this colour; would now like
    him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now
    weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor from his
    mad humour of love to a living humour of madness; which was, to
    forswear the full stream of the world and to live in a nook
    merely monastic. And thus I cur'd him; and this way will I take
    upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart,
    that there shall not be one spot of love in 't.

  ORLANDO. I would not be cured, youth.

  ROSALIND. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, and
    come every day to my cote and woo me.

  ORLANDO. Now, by the faith of my love, I will. Tell me where it is.

  ROSALIND. Go with me to it, and I'll show it you; and, by the way,
    you shall tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go?

  ORLANDO. With all my heart, good youth.

  ROSALIND. Nay, you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you
    go?                                                   Exeunt

Orlando enters with a piece of paper on which he has written a sonnet to Rosalind. He says that he will write his love poems on the bark of the trees. Orlando then hangs his sonnet on a tree and leaves it there, commenting, "Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree". Corin and Touchstone enter. Touchstone tells Corin what he thinks about the shepherd's life and then asks Corin if he was ever at court. Corin tells him "no" and Touchstone then says that Corin is therefore damned. He reasons that if Corin was never in court he never learned good manners, so his manners must be wicked, and if he has wicked manners then he is damned. Corin does his best to protest but cannot win the verbal battle against Touchstone. Rosalind, dressed as Ganymede, enters reading a poem that she has found on a tree. Every other line rhymes with Rosalind and Touchstone mocks it when she is done. He then composes a poem that has the same rhyme structure but insults Rosalind by comparing her either to animals or prostitutes. He then remarks, "Truly, the tree yields bad fruit". Celia, dressed as Aliena, enters with a poem as well. She proceeds to read it and it turns out to also be addressed to Rosalind. Celia sends away Corin and Touchstone before turning to Rosalind and asking if she knows who is hanging her name on every tree. Rosalind says that she does not and then pleads with Celia to tell her. Celia finally reveals that Orlando is the man leaving all the verses. Orlando and Jaques enter, and the two women hide in order to listen to them. Jaques tells Orlando that he would have been just as happy without his company, and Orlando says the same thing. Orlando then agrees to not mar any more trees with his writing as long as Jaques does not mar the verses by reading them unsympathetically. Jaques tells Orlando that he was seeking a fool when he met him. Orlando quips, "He is drowned in the brook. Look but in, and you shall see him". Jaques gets up and leaves after he realizes that he has been called a fool. Rosalind comes out and speaks to Orlando, asking him what the time is. He tells her there is no time in the forest, but she points out that time moves at different speeds for everyone. She then introduces Celia as a shepherdess and also her sister. Orlando, thinking she is a young man, remarks that she has a superb accent for a rustic man. Rosalind pretends to have had an uncle from the inland who taught her how to speak. Rosalind tells Orlando that a man has been going around the forest ruining the trees by carving the name Rosalind on the them. He admits to being that man and asks if she knows a remedy. She tells him that he is obviously not in love with Rosalind since his cheeks are not lean, nor is he disheveled enough to be in love. Orlando swears that he is in love with Rosalind and asks her if there is a cure. She tells him she once before cured a man of his love by making the man pretend that she was his mistress. After much acting the man went truly man and ended up living a monastic life. Orlando tells her that he does not want to be cured, but Rosalind says that if he pretends she is Rosalind she will do her best to cure him. He agrees to go to her cottage and to start calling her Rosalind

Back in the forest of Arden, where the rest of the play takes place, Orlando busies himself with posting poems on the trees of the forest, all dedicated to the oh-so-dreamy Rosalind. Corin and Touchstone enter, bantering as usual. Corin asks how Touchstone likes living "the shepherd's life" and the two men proceed to debate the pros and cons of country life vs. life at court. Touchstone bags on country manners and calls Corin a bumpkin for never having visited the court. Corin says that "those that are good manners at/ the court are as ridiculous in the country as the behavior of/ the country is most mockable at the court." As an example, Corin says that the court custom of kissing hands would be silly in the country because shepherds are always handling sheep, which are smelly and "greasy." Touchstone compares shepherds to "bawds" and says they earn a living by facilitating "the copulation of cattle." Thankfully, Rosalind interrupts. She enters dressed as Ganymede and reading some of Orlando's cheesy, rhyming poetry. Here's a sample: "From the east to western Ind / No jewel is like Rosalind./ Her worth being mounted on the wind/ Through all the world bears Rosalind." Touchstone compares Orlando's rhymes to a stream of chatty dairywomen who are on their way to market. Then he mocks Orlando's verse by making up his own rhyming poem. Mimicking Orlando's simple verse, Touchstone compares Rosalind to the kind of girl you don't bring home to Mom. As Touchstone teases, Celia enters, reading more terrible love poems found on the trees. Rosalind agrees that the poetry is awful, and Celia, clearly seeing some girl-talk is in order, sends Touchstone off with Corin so the two girls can chat. After some chitchat, it becomes clear to Celia that Rosalind hasn't figured out one important fact: The poems have obviously been written by Orlando. Celia teases as Rosalind pleads and begs to know who it is that's fawning over her so foolishly . On discovering that Orlando is responsible, Rosalind gushes excitedly. Mostly, she is desperate to find out what Orlando's been up to, and most importantly, whether he knows she's been traipsing about the forest dressed as a boy. Also, she wants to know if he still looks as cute as he did the day he won the wrestling match. Just as Celia and Rosalind are fussing with each other over love, guess who should come strolling through the forest? It's Orlando! Rosalind and Celia stand off to the side and eavesdrop. Orlando and Jaques are bickering. Jaques thinks Orlando is a fool of love, and Orlando suggests Jaques should...drown himself. Jaques exits. Seeing her chance, Rosalind decides to talk to her crush. Rosalind/Ganymede ambles up and asks Orlando what time it is. Orlando replies, like a genius, that there's no clock in the forest, which lets Rosalind/Ganymede launch into a dissertation about how a true lover could tell time easily--by his heart sighing every minute and groaning every hour. Then she proposes that time seems to pass at different speeds for various people, complete with examples that are especially interesting for their language and thus boring to summarize. You should think about reading them. Orlando asks the "boy" where he lives and Rosalind/Ganymede claims to live with his "sister," Aliena. Rosalind/Ganymede claims that though he was raised in the forest, he picked up his courtly accent from his uncle. Rosalind/Ganymede complains about the idiot who has been trashing the forest with bad poetry about some girl named "Rosalind." Orlando, taking the bait, admits he's the love-struck poet and asks Rosalind/Ganymede for advice. Rosalind/Ganymede quips that Orlando can't possibly be in love because he lacks all of the tell-tale signs of being in love: a lean cheek, sunken eyes, neglected beard, and all manner of disheveled clothing. Rosalind/Ganymede points out Orlando is so well-groomed that he's clearly enamored of himself as much as anyone else--not exactly the mark of a lovesick idiot. Orlando says he can convince Ganymede of his love for Rosalind. Rosalind/Ganymede declares that s/he can cure Orlando of his lovesickness. The plan unfurls. Rosalind/Ganymede claims to have cured another man of love by having the man visit him every day, to pretend the "boy" was his mistress. Rosalind/Ganymede abused him with all the attitude you'd only tolerate when in love. Eventually, Rosalind/Ganymede gave him so much grief that the poor guy gave up to live as a monk. Orlando claims that such a tactic wouldn't cure him of his love for Rosalind, which obviously means he'll show up at Rosalind/Ganymede's house every day and pretend woo him to prove it. Rosalind/Ganymede, pleased at this outcome, agrees. S/he says Orlando must call him Rosalind from now on, which is so very fitting and so very, very weird at the same time.

Orlando has problems that are quite different from his brother's. Oliver must find Orlando; Orlando would like to seek Rosalind if he could, but since he cannot, he has been spending his days hanging love poems on trees and carving the name "Rosalind" onto trees. As a result, when this scene opens, Orlando is about to decorate more trees in this manner when Corin and Touchstone enter. They begin to discuss the relative merits of the life in the country and at court but are interrupted by Rosalind , who comes in reading one of the poems. "From the east to western Ind," she reads, "No jewel is like Rosalind." Touchstone is not impressed, and so he parodies the "false gallop" of the verse with a poem of his own. Celia joins them, reading yet another love poem, and orders Touchstone and Corin to leave them to themselves. Celia intimates to Rosalind that she knows who the writer of the poems is, and Rosalind begs to be told. Upon hearing that it is Orlando who has probably written the poems, she asks so many questions that Celia cannot find time to answer them all, but Celia does tell Rosalind that she saw the poet in a forester's garb, lying "under a tree, like a dropped acorn." At that moment, Orlando and Jaques enter. They spend a few minutes verbally sparring , and then Jaques takes his leave. The lovers now confront one another, but Orlando does not, of course, realize that he is speaking to Rosalind in disguise, and so she resolves to "speak to him like a saucy lackey and under that habit play the knave with him." Thus she gaily banters with him about such subjects as time, women, and a certain lovesick youth who haunts the forest carving the name "Rosalind" on tree trunks. Orlando freely confesses that it is he who is that lovesick fellow, and "Ganymede" generously offers to "cure" Orlando of his love-sickness: Orlando must pretend that young Ganymede is the fair Rosalind, and Orlando must visit Ganymede's cottage daily to court Ganymede, who will impersonate Rosalind. Like a goodhearted comrade, Ganymede promises his friend Orlando that he will cure him of his lunacy. He will show Orlando just how silly women are; Orlando consents. "With all my heart, good youth," he tells Ganymede, he will attempt the cure while Ganymede will, like a coquette "like him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now weep for him, then spit at him." But Ganymede insists that Orlando must steel himself for the cure; he tells Orlando that he must not call him "good youth." "Nay . . . call me Rosalind," Ganymede orders. Once more, the lovesick Orlando agrees.

Orlando's hanging his verses in the trees reflects a commonplace convention in the pastoral genre of Elizabethan writers. Another convention of the time was to carve verses or names into the bark of trees. Here, Shakespeare is satirizing these conventions. Later, in the encounter between Corin and Touchstone, it is interesting to note that Corin uses the respectful and formal words "master" and "you" in addressing the clown, while Touchstone condescendingly says "shepherd" and uses the familiar pronoun "thou." Each is amused by the other's quick mind -- Touchstone is admired because of his wit, and Corin is admired because of his rustic answers. Neither takes the other too seriously, however. The role of Corin, one might note, is included as a foil to Silvius. Corin is a real shepherd who knows something about sheep -- that is, about shearing and herding; in addition, he has some difficulty expressing himself, much like William and Audrey, who also are representatives of true country life. Yet his thoughts, while very often seeming "homely," are shrewd. In contrast, Silvius  is a representative from the pastoral genre of literature. He is dressed like a shepherd, and he wanders about all the day talking of love, but he knows nothing of tending sheep. Shakespeare uses this contrast, obviously, to point out the difference between the two shepherds and, more important, to satirize the precious, romantic idealism of the pastoral genre. Also associated with this, there is a set of contrasts in Touchstone's poem and Orlando's poetry. Touchstone's poem is in a realistic vein, and it satirizes the romantic notions of Orlando's poetry. At that time, a great many love poems were composed, and many of them were as amateurishly bad as Orlando's. Many, of course, were worse. The pact between Rosalind  and Orlando leads to some of the most humorous moments in the play. This dramatic gimmick was not original with Shakespeare , but Shakespeare embellished it and complicated it with disguises, and, from the first production, it was a sure-fire success with Elizabethan audiences, who always enjoyed intricate plots and intrigue. Here, the heroine finds herself in a position to hear her lover extol her virtues and his love for her without his being aware of her identity. The dramatic irony is a touch of brilliance.


SCENE III.

The forest

Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES behind

  TOUCHSTONE. Come apace, good Audrey; I will fetch up your goats,
    Audrey. And how, Audrey, am I the man yet? Doth my simple feature
    content you?

  AUDREY. Your features! Lord warrant us! What features?

  TOUCHSTONE. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most
    capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.

  JAQUES. [Aside] O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove in a
    thatch'd house!

  TOUCHSTONE. When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a man's
    good wit seconded with the forward child understanding, it
    strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room.
    Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical.

  AUDREY. I do not know what 'poetical' is. Is it honest in deed and
    word? Is it a true thing?

  TOUCHSTONE. No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning,
    and lovers are given to poetry; and what they swear in poetry may
    be said as lovers they do feign.

  AUDREY. Do you wish, then, that the gods had made me poetical?

  TOUCHSTONE. I do, truly, for thou swear'st to me thou art honest;
    now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst
    feign.

  AUDREY. Would you not have me honest?

  TOUCHSTONE. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favour'd; for honesty
    coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar.

  JAQUES. [Aside] A material fool!

  AUDREY. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods make me
    honest.

  TOUCHSTONE. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut were
    to put good meat into an unclean dish.

  AUDREY. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul.

  TOUCHSTONE. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness;
    sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will
    marry thee; and to that end I have been with Sir Oliver Martext,
    the vicar of the next village, who hath promis'd to meet me in
    this place of the forest, and to couple us.

  JAQUES. [Aside] I would fain see this meeting.

  AUDREY. Well, the gods give us joy!

  TOUCHSTONE. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger
    in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the wood, no
    assembly but horn-beasts. But what though? Courage! As horns are
    odious, they are necessary. It is said: 'Many a man knows no end
    of his goods.' Right! Many a man has good horns and knows no end
    of them. Well, that is the dowry of his wife; 'tis none of his
    own getting. Horns? Even so. Poor men alone? No, no; the noblest
    deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man therefore
    blessed? No; as a wall'd town is more worthier than a village, so
    is the forehead of a married man more honourable than the bare
    brow of a bachelor; and by how much defence is better than no
    skill, by so much is horn more precious than to want. Here comes
    Sir Oliver.

                       Enter SIR OLIVER MARTEXT

    Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met. Will you dispatch us here
    under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel?

  MARTEXT. Is there none here to give the woman?

  TOUCHSTONE. I will not take her on gift of any man.

  MARTEXT. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful.

  JAQUES. [Discovering himself] Proceed, proceed; I'll give her.

  TOUCHSTONE. Good even, good Master What-ye-call't; how do you, sir?
    You are very well met. Goddild you for your last company. I am
    very glad to see you. Even a toy in hand here, sir. Nay; pray be
    cover'd.

  JAQUES. Will you be married, motley?

  TOUCHSTONE. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb, and
    the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and as pigeons
    bill, so wedlock would be nibbling.

  JAQUES. And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married
    under a bush, like a beggar? Get you to church and have a good
    priest that can tell you what marriage is; this fellow will but
    join you together as they join wainscot; then one of you will
    prove a shrunk panel, and like green timber warp, warp.

  TOUCHSTONE. [Aside] I am not in the mind but I were better to be
    married of him than of another; for he is not like to marry me
    well; and not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me
    hereafter to leave my wife.

  JAQUES. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.

  TOUCHSTONE. Come, sweet Audrey;
    We must be married or we must live in bawdry.
    Farewell, good Master Oliver. Not-
               O sweet Oliver,
               O brave Oliver,
           Leave me not behind thee.
    But-
                 Wind away,
               Begone, I say,
           I will not to wedding with thee.
                           Exeunt JAQUES, TOUCHSTONE, and AUDREY

  MARTEXT. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave of them all
    shall flout me out of my calling.                       Exit

Touchstone has fallen in love with a goatherd named Audrey. She is a simpleton and does not even know what the word "poetical" means. Touchstone comments on the fact that she is chaste and good looking, but Audrey wishes that she were "foul", obviously thinking that "foul" is a term of praise. Touchstone ignores her nonsense and tells her that he will marry her. Throughout this scene Jaques is in the background watching and making sarcastic comments Sir Oliver Martext, a vicar in the nearby village, arrives to marry them. He asks if there is someone to give away Audrey, telling Touchstone that someone must give her or the marriage is not lawful. Jaques emerges from his hiding place and agrees to give her away. However, before the wedding takes place Jaques asks Touchstone whether an educated man such as himself really wants to be married in the middle of nowhere. After listening to Jaques, Touchstone finally agrees to postpone his marriage and allow Jaques to counsel him

Touchstone has been busy finding love of his own with Audrey, a simple shepherd girl. He intends to marry her. As Touchstone fawns over Audrey, Jaques follows. Touchstone woos Audrey with pretty words about poetry and honesty. That's all good, except when we said Audrey was simple, we meant simple. To put it, well, simply, Audrey doesn't get his poetry-- it's over her head. Touchstone is fine with that, though. To give you a touch of their bandying, Audrey says she is grateful to the gods that she is foul , because it means she isn't promiscuous. Touchstone replies he's glad too, and perhaps if they're lucky, "sluttishness may come hereafter." Touchstone announces that a local vicar, Sir Oliver Martext, has promised to meet the pair in the forest and marry them. So they're making this happen. Like, right now. Touchstone then has a long speech about how Arden is full of "horn-beasts," an allusion to the animals in the forest and to cuckolds. Anyway, Touchstone is interrupted from the "horn-beast" speech when Sir Oliver Martext, the vicar, shows up. The vicar refuses to marry the couple if no one is there to give away the bride. Jaques, who has not left yet, agrees to stand up and give Audrey away. Glad we got that little formality nailed down. Yet we're still not good to go. Jaques points out that Touchstone is a man of the court, and it isn't really fitting that he be married under a bush in the middle of the forest. He really should have a church wedding. Touchstone gives us a saucy aside: If he isn't properly married, it will be easier to leave his wife. In the end, Touchstone calls Audrey away, and says they'll have to wait a little longer to get married...properly.

There are other, less romantic lovers in the Forest of Arden. For example, there is the "poetic" and philosophical Touchstone and the earthy Audrey. Yielding to instinct, Touchstone has wooed and has finally won Audrey, perhaps Shakespeare's most dull-witted country wench. The pair hurry along to meet Sir Oliver Martext, the vicar of the neighboring village, and are followed by Jaques, who is, as might be expected, amused by the incongruous pair. When Sir Oliver arrives, they discover that there is no one to give the bride away, so Jaques offers his services, but he recommends that they be married by a priest as "this fellow will but join you together as they join wainscot." Touchstone, however, would prefer it that way because, as he says in an aside, "not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife." So he decides to find a proper person to marry him and Audrey, and he goes off with Audrey and Jaques, merrily singing and leaving behind a bemused Sir Oliver.

Audrey, very much like Corin and, later, like William, is a realistic, country person. All are contrasts to the pastoral lovers, Silvius and Phebe. The relationship between Audrey and Touchstone is very realistic; this couple is concerned with sexual love, not with chaste, romantic, "poetic" love. Touchstone says, "We must be married, or we must live in bawdry." Contrast this realism with the verbal excesses of Silvius: "Then shall you know the wounds invisible / That love's keen arrows make," Silvius says to Phebe. His words are colored with an abundance of poetic "romance"; occasionally, Orlando also reaches these poetic heights. Touchstone's wooing of Audrey is particularly humorous because she never understands the sparring verbal wit of Touchstone at all. This doesn't bother her unduly, however, and it is her very lack of concern that amuses Jaques, who also finds Touchstone's utterances full of profound wisdom, still one richer vein of humor in this merry comedy.


SCENE IV.

The forest

Enter ROSALIND and CELIA

  ROSALIND. Never talk to me; I will weep.

  CELIA. Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider that tears
    do not become a man.

  ROSALIND. But have I not cause to weep?

  CELIA. As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep.

  ROSALIND. His very hair is of the dissembling colour.

  CELIA. Something browner than Judas's.
    Marry, his kisses are Judas's own children.

  ROSALIND. I' faith, his hair is of a good colour.

  CELIA. An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the only colour.

  ROSALIND. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of
    holy bread.

  CELIA. 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.

  ROSALIND. But why did he swear he would come this morning, and
    comes not?

  CELIA. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.

  ROSALIND. Do you think so?

  CELIA. 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 covered
    goblet or a worm-eaten nut.

  ROSALIND. Not true in love?

  CELIA. Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in.

  ROSALIND. You have heard him swear downright he was.

  CELIA. '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.

  ROSALIND. 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 laugh'd and let me go. But what talk we of fathers when
    there is such a man as Orlando?

  CELIA. O, 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.
    Who comes here?

                         Enter CORIN

  CORIN. Mistress and master, you have oft enquired
    After the shepherd that complain'd of love,
    Who you saw sitting by me on the turf,
    Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
    That was his mistress.

  CELIA. Well, and what of him?

  CORIN. If you will see a pageant truly play'd
    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.

  ROSALIND. O, come, let us remove!
    The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.
    Bring us to this sight, and you shall say
    I'll prove a busy actor in their play.                Exeunt

Rosalind and Celia are waiting for Orlando to arrive. Rosalind gets worried when he does not appear, and Celia tells her that a promise from a lover means nothing. Corin, the old shepherd, enters and tells Rosalind that he has located Silvius and Phoebe. He informs her that she can watch the two lovers together if she comes with him. Rosalind says, "Bring us to this site, and you shall say / I'll prove a busy actor in their play"

Still in the forest with Celia, Rosalind gushes for a bit over Orlando, who has such pretty red-brown hair. Rosalind, however, is upset--Orlando promised to show up that morning to pretend-woo "Ganymede" and still hasn't arrived. Celia suggests that maybe he's no longer in love with Rosalind. Celia points out that love is fickle, and tells Rosalind she heard that Orlando has been passing time in the forest with the exiled Duke Senior, Rosalind's own father. Rosalind, you may have noticed, has not mentioned seeing her dad yet, and now she tells us she met him yesterday, joked with him a little bit, and left, never revealing she was actually his daughter and not a country boy. She sighs that there's no reason to discuss her father when there's Orlando to discuss instead. As Rosalind moons about being love-struck, Corin enters and asks them if they'd like to see a funny scene: a faithful lover being scorned and destroyed. They'll get this tasty little entertainment treat if they just follow him. Rosalind is eager to see it, as at the moment she's all about love and scheming about her own involvement in others' affairs.

When this scene opens, Rosalind is at the point of tears; she is sitting in the forest with Celia, waiting for Orlando, who has not kept his first appointment for the "1ove cure." Celia teases her friend about Orlando's unreliability, but then she points out that Orlando is probably helping take care of matters for Rosalind's father, Duke Senior. Rosalind reveals that she has met her father in the forest, but she says that he did not recognize her in her disguise. Her father's plight and his presence in the forest don't concern her unduly, however; she can think only of Orlando. Happily, Corin comes along, offering them, and us, some diversion: a "pageant" of love -- Silvius courting the scornful Phebe.

This scene clearly shows us the depth of Rosalind's love for Orlando. That Celia is not in love at this time and is practical in her advice tends to make Rosalind's love seem all the more intense, of course. There is a certain degree of melodramatic pathos to the situation, and for that reason we are ready to laugh at the overindulgent "love" of Silvius for Phebe. Corin's invitation to the girls to watch the couple is a clever bit of dramatic balancing; his realistic speech offers a refreshing contrast to the romantic verbosity of the girls.