'As You LIKE IT' was first printed in the folio col- | akin to us—who tolerates our follies, who compassionlection of 1623. There appears to have been an inten-ates even our faults, who mingles in our gaiety, who tion to publish it separately, for we find it entered in the registers of the Stationers' Company, together with 'Henry V.' and 'Much Ado about Nothing.' There is no exact date to this entry, but it is conjectured to have been made in 1600. The text of the original folio is, upon the whole, a very correct one. 66 rejoices in our happiness; who leads us to scenes of surpassing loveliness, where we may forget the painful lessons of the world, and introduces us to characters whose generosity, and faithfulness, and affection, and simplicity may obliterate the sorrows of our experience of man's worser nature." It is not in Jaques alone, but in the entire dramatic group, that we must seek the tone of the poet's mind, and to that have our own minds attuned. Mr. Campbell, speaking of the characters of this comedy, says, "Our hearts are so stricken by these benevolent beings that we easily forgive the other more culpable but at last repentant characters." This is not the effect which could have been produced if the dark shades of a painful commerce with the world had crossed that "sunshine of the breast which lights up the " inaccessible" thickets, and sparkles amidst the "melancholy boughs" of the forest of Arden. Jaques may be Shakspere's first type “of the censurer of mankind;" but Jaques is precisely the reverse of the character which the poet would have chosen, had he intended the censure to have more than a dramatic force-to be universally true and not individually characteristic. "Ay, now am I in Arden!" Touchstone thought that when he was at home he was in a better place. But here is the home of every true lover of poetry. What a world of exquisite images do Shakspere's pic descriptions, of trees, and flowers, and rivulets, and fountains, such as we may cut out and paste into an album. But a touch here and there carries us into the heart of his living scenery. And so, whenever it is our happy lot to be wandering Of all Shakspere's comedies we are inclined to think that 'As You Like It' is the most read. It possesses not the deep tragic interest of 'The Merchant of Venice,' nor the brilliant wit and diverting humour of 'Much Ado about Nothing,' nor the prodigal luxuriance of fancy which belongs to A Midsummer-Night's Dream,' nor the wild legendary romance which imparts its charm to 'A Winter's Tale,' nor the grandeur of the poetical creation of The Tempest.' The peculiar attraction of As You Like It' lies, perhaps, in the circumstance that "in no other play do we find the bright imagination and fascinating grace of Shakspere's youth so mingled with the thoughtfulness of his naturer age." This is the character which Mr. Hallam gives of this comedy, and it appears to us a very just one. But in another place Mr. Hallam says, "There seems to have been a period of Shakspere's life when his heart was ill at ease and ill content with the world or his own conscience. The memory of hours misspent, the pang of affection misplaced or unrequited, the experience of man's worser nature, which intercourse with ill-chosen associates, by chance or circumstances, peculiarly❘tures of this forest call up! He gives us no positive set teaches;—these, as they sank down into the depths of his great mind, seem not only to have inspired into it the conception of Lear' and 'Timon,' but that of one primary character, the censurer of mankind. This type is first seen in the philosophic melancholy of Jaques, gazing with an undiminished serenity, and with a gaiety of fancy, though not of manners, on the follies of the world. It assumes a graver cast in the exiled Duke of the same play." Mr. Hallam then notices the like type in Measure for Measure' and the altered 'Hamlet,' as well as in Lear' and 'Timon; and adds, "In the later plays of Shakspere, especially in Macbeth' and The Tempest,' much of moral speculation will be found, but he has never returned to this type of character in the personages." Without entering into a general examination of Mr. Hallam's theory, which evidently includes a very wide range of discussion, we must venture to think that the type of character first seen in Jaques, and presenting a graver cast in the exiled Duke, is so modified by the whole conduct of the action of this comedy, by its opposite characterisation, and by its prevailing tone of reflection, that it offers not the slightest evidence of having been pro-beauty, as belongs to no other representation of pastoral duced at a period of the poet's life "when his heart was scenes; which takes us into the depths of solitude, and ill at ease and ill content with the world or his own shows us how the feelings of social life alone can give us conscience." The charm which this play appears to us tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, to possess in a most remarkable degree, even when Sermons in stones, and good in everything; compared with other works of Shakspere, is that, while which builds a throne for intellect “under the greenwe behold "the philosophic eye, turned inward on the wood tree," and there, by characteristic satire, gently mysteries of human nature "-(we use Mr. Hallam's indicates to us the vanity of the things which bind us own forcible expression)-we also see the serene brow to the world; whilst he teaches us that life has its and the playful smile, which tell us that "the philoso-happiness in the cultivation of the affections,-in couphic eve" belongs to one who, however above us. is still tent and independence of spirit. "Under the shade of melancholy boughs," we think of the oak beneath which Jaques lay along,— "whose antique root peeps out Upon the brook that brawls along this wood;" and of the dingle where Touchstone was with Audrey and her goats; and of the "Sheepcote feuce'd about with olive-trees," where dwelt Rosalind and Celia; and of the hawthorns and brambles upon which Orlando hung odes and elegies. In this delicious pastoral the real is blended with the poetical in such intimate union, that the highest poetry appears to be as essentially natural as the most familiar gossip; and the loftiest philosophy is interwoven with the occurrences of every-day life, so as to teach us that there is a philosophical aspect of the commonest things. It is this spirit which informs Shakspere's forest of Arden with such life, and truth, and " AS YOU LIKE IT. FERSONS REPRESENTED. DUKE, living in exile. Appears, Act II. sc. 1; sc. 7. Act V. sc. 4. FREDERICK, brother to the Duke, and usurper of his dominions. Appears, Act I. sc. 2; sc. 3. Act II. sc. 2. Act III. sc. 1. AMIENS, a lord attending upon the Duke in his banishment. Appears, Act II. sc. 1; sc. 5; sc. 7. Act V. sc. 4. JAQUES, a lord attending upon the Duke in his banishment. Appears, Act I. sc. 2. CHARLES, wrestler to Frederick. Appears, Act I. sc. 1; sc. 2. OLIVER, son of Sir Rowland de Bois. JAQUES, son of Sir Rowland de Bois. ORLANDO, son of Sir Rowland de Bois. Aryears, Act I. sc. 1; se 2. Act II. sc. 3; se. 6; sc. 7. Act III. sc. 2. Act IV. sc. 1. Act V. sc. 2; sc. 4. ADAM, servant to Oliver. Appears, Act I. sc. 1. Act II. sc. 3; sc. 6; sc. 7. DENNIS, servant to Oliver. Appears, Act 1. sc. 1. TOUCHSTONE, a clown. Appears, Act 1. sc. 2. Act 1, sc. 4. Act III se. 2; me. 8. Act V. sc. 1; sc. 3; sc. 4. SIR OLIVER MARTEXT, a vicar. Appears, Act III. sc. 3. CORIN, a shepherd. Appears, Act II. sc. 4. Act III. sc. 2; sc. 4; sc. 5. Act V. sc. i Appears, Act II. sc. 4. Act III. sc. 5. Act IV. sc. 2 WILLIAM, a country fellow, in love with Audrey. A person representing Hymen. ROSALIND, daughter to the banished Duke. Appears, Act 1. sc. 2; sc. 3. Act II. sc. 4. Act III. sc. 2; sc. 4; sc. 5. Act IV. sc. 1; sc. 3. Act V. sc. 2; sc. 4. CELIA, daughter to Frederick. Appears, Act I. sc. 2; sc. 3. Act II. sc. 4. Act III. sc. 2; sc. 4; sc. 5. Act IV. sc. 1; sc. 3. Act V. sc. 4. PHEBE, a shepherdess. Appears, Act III. sc. 5. Act V. sc. 2; sc. 4. Appears, Act III. sc. 3. Act V. sc. 1; sc. 3; sc. 4. SCENE, FIRST, NEAR OLIVER'S HOUSE; AFTERWARDS, PARTLY IN THE USURPER's Court, and PARTLY IN THE FOREST OF ARDEN. ACT I. SCENE I.-An Orchard, near Oliver's House. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM. Orl. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed me by will, but poor a thousand crowns; and, as thou say'st, 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 1, 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 b seems to take from me: he lets me feed with nis 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. Stays-detains. с His countenance-his behaviour, his bearing. * Mines-indermines, seeks to destroy. Oli. What, boy! Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this. Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? Orl. I am no villain: I am the youngest son of sir Rowland de Bois; 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. Oli. Let me go, I say. Orl. 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 gentlemanlike qualities: the spirit of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer endure it: therefore allow me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor allottery my father left me by testament; with that I will go buy my fortunes. Oli. And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent? Well, sir, get you in: I will not long be troubled with you: you shall have some part of your will: I pray you, leave me. Orl. I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good. Oli. Get you with him, you old dog. Adam. Is old dog my reward? Most true, I have lost my teeth in your service.-God be with my old master! he would not have spoke such a word. [Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM. Oli. Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? I will physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. Holla, Dennis! Enter DENNIS. Den. Calls your worship? Oli. Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, here to speak with me? Den. So please you, he is here at the door, and importunes access to you. Oli. Call him in. [Exit DENNIS.]-T will be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is. Enter CHARLES. Cha. Good morrow to your worship. Oli. Good monsieur Charles !-what 's the new news at the new court? Cha. There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news that is, the old duke is 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. Oli. Can you tell if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, be banished with her father? Cha. O, no; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves her, being ever from their cradles bred together, that she would have 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. Oli. Where will the old duke live? Cha. They say he is already in the forest of Arden, and a many merry men with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England: they say many young gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world. Oli. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke? a Villain. We have here the two meanings of the word. Oliver uses it in the sense of worthless fellow; Orlando in that of one of mean birth,-the original sense. Cha. Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand that your younger brother, Orlando, hath a disposition to come in 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 loth 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. Oli. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I had my self 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 villainous contriver against me his natural brother; therefore use thy discretion; I had as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger: And thou wert best look to 't; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will 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 villainous this day living. I speak but brotherly of him; but, should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder. Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to you: If he come to-morrow I'll give him his payment: If ever he go alone again I'll never wrestle for prize more: And so, God keep your worship. [Exit. b Oli. Farewell, good Charles.-Now will I stir this gamester I hope I shall see an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than he. Yet he 's gentle; never 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 kindles the boy thither, which now I'll go about. [Exit. SCENE II-A Lawn before the Duke's Palace. Enter ROSALIND and CELIA. Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. Ros. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of; and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget a banished father, you must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure. Cel. Herein I see thou lov'st me not with the full weight that I love thee: if my uncle, thy 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. Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to rejoice in yours. Cel. You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to have; and, truly, when he dies thou shalt be his heir: for what he hath taken away from thy father, perforce, I will render thee again in affection; by mine honour I will; and when I break that oath let me a Gamester-adventurer at this game. Enchantingly beloved-beloved, of all ranks, to a degree that looks like enchantment. • Kindle-instigate. tum monster: therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry. Ros. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports: let me see;-what think you of falling in love? Cel. Marry, I prithee do, to make sport withal; but love no man in good earnest; nor no further in sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou mayst in honour come off again. Ros. What shall be our sport then? Cel. Let us sit and mock the good housewife, Fortune, from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally. Ros. 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. Cel. 'T is true: for those that she makes fair she scarce makes honest; and those that she makes honest she makes very ill favouredly. Ros. Nay, now thou goest from fortune's office to nafure's: fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of nature. Enter TOUCHSTONE. Cel. No? When nature hath made a fair creature, may she not by fortune fall into the fire? Though nature hath given us wit to flout at fortune, hath not fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument? Ros. Indeed, there is fortune too hard for nature; when fortune makes nature's natural the cutter off of nature's wit. Cel. Peradventure, this is not fortune's work neither, bat nature's; who, perceiving our natural wits too dall to reason of such goddesses, 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 ? Touch. Mistress, you must come away to your father. Touch. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come for you. Ros. Where learned you that oath, fool? Touch. 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 panrakes were naught, and the mustard was good; and yet was not the knight forsworn. Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge? Ros. Then shall we be news-crammed. Cel. All the better; we shall be the more marketable. Bon jour, monsieur le Beau: What's the news? Le Beau. Fair princess, you have lost much good sport. Cel. Sport? Of what colour? Le Beau. What colour, madam? How shall I answer you? Ros. As wit and fortune will. Touch. Or as the destinies decree. Cel. Well said; that was laid on with a trowel.a Ros. Thou losest thy old smell. Le Beau. You amaze b me, ladies: I would have told you of good wrestling, which you have lost the sight of. Ros. Yet 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. Cel. Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried. Le Beau. There comes an old man, and his three sons, Cel. I could match this beginning with an old tale. Le Beau. Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence ;— Ros. With bills on their necks,-"Be it known unto all men by these presents," Le Beau. The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the duke's wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him, and broke three of his ribs, that there is little hope of life in him: so he served the second, and so the third: Yonder they lie; the poor old man, their father, making such pitiful dole over them, that all the beholders take his part with weeping. Ros. Alas! Touch. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies have lost? Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of. Touch. Thus men may grow wiser every day! it is the first time that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport for ladies. Cel. Or I, I promise thee. Ros. But is there any else longs to see this broken music in his sides? is there yet another dotes upon rib breaking?-Shall we see this wrestling, cousin? Le Beau. You must, if you stay here: for here is the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to perform it. Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming: Let us now stay and see it. CHARLES, and Attendants. Ros. Ay, marry; now unmuzzle your wisdom. Touch. Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave. Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou art. Touch. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were: but if you swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn: Flourish. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, ORLANDO, 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. Cel. Prithee, who is 't that thou mean'st? Touch. One that old Frederick, your father, loves. Cel. 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. Touch. The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely, what wise men do foolishly. Cel. By my troth, thou say'st 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. Enter LE BEAU. Ros. With his mouth full of news. Duke F. Come on; since the youth will not be entreated, his own peril on his forwardness. Ros. Is yonder the man? Le Beau. Even he, madam. Cel. Alas, he is too young: yet he looks successfully. Duke F. How now, daughter and cousin? are you crept hither to see the wrestling? Ros. Ay, my liege; so please you give us leave. Duke F. You will take little delight in it, I can tell you, there is such odds in the man.c In pity of the challenger's youth I would fain dissuade him, but he will not be entreated: Speak to him, ladies; see if you can move him. Cel. Call him hither, good monsieur le Beau. Laid on with a trowel-coarsely. A gross flatterer is still Cel. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their said to lay it on with a trowel. b Amaze-confuse Odds in the man. The meaning would appear to be, the challenger is unequal. Duke F. Do so; I'll not be by. [DUKE goes apart. | Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the princess calls for you. Orl. I attend them, with all respect and duty. Ros. Young man, have you challenged Charles the wrestler? Orl. No, fair princess; he is the general challenger: I come but in, as others do, to try with him the strength of my youth. Cel. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your years: You have seen cruel proof of this man's strength: if you saw yourself with your eyes, or knew yourself with your judgment, the fear of your adventure would consel you to a more equal enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own safety, and give over this attempt. Ros. Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore be misprised: we will make it our suit to the duke that the wrestling might not go forward. Orl. I beseech you, punish me not with your hard thoughts, wherein I confess me much guilty to deny so fair and excellent ladies anything. But let your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my trial: wherein if I be foiled, there is but one shamed that was never gracious; if killed, but one dead that is willing to be so: I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me; the world no injury, for in it I have nothing; only in the worio I fill up a place which may be better supplied when I have made it empty. Ros. The little strength that I have, I would it were with you. Cel. And mine, to eke out hers. Ros. Fare you well. Pray Heaven, I be deceived in you! Cha. Come, where is this young gallant, that is so desirous to lie with his mother earth? Orl. Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working. Duke F. You shall try but one fall. Cha. No, I warrant your grace; you shall not entreat him to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him from a first. Orl. You mean to mock me after; you should not have mocked me before: but come your ways. Ros. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man! Cel. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the leg. [CHARLES and ORLANDO wrestle. Ros. O excellent young man! Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should down. [CHARLES is thrown. Shout. Duke F. No more, no more. Orl. Yes, I beseech your grace; I am not yet well breathed. Duke F. How dost thou, Charles? Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord. Duke F. Bear him away. [CHARLES is borne out. What is thy name, young man? Orl. Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of sir Rowland de Bois. Duke F. I would thou hadst been son to some man The world esteem'd thy father honourable, [Exeunt DUKE FRED., Train, and LE BEAU. "Wherein is used in the sense of in that. I'll ask him what he would:Did you call, sir?- Cel. [Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA. Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue? I cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference. O poor Orlando! thou art overthrown; Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by man ners; But yet, indeed, the shorter is his daughter: I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. [Exit. SCENE III.—A Room in the Palace. Enter CELIA and ROSALIND. Cel. Why, cousin; why, Rosalind;-Cupid har mercy!-not a word? |