All language subtitles for As You Like It (2006) EN

(Stringed instrument plays)

(Thud outside)

My lord.

(Gasps)

(Whispers)

(Applause)

Now!

(Shouting)

(Screaming)

No!

Father!

(Shouting in Japanese)

My lord! My lord!

Sir. Sir. It's for you.

(Commotion)

What's the news?

The old Duke is banished
by his younger brother, the new Duke.

So where will the old Duke live?

Well, they say he is already
in the Forest of Arden.

Come on, come on.

I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz,

be merry.

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 know my father hath no child but I,
nor none is like to have.

And truly, when he dies,

thou shalt be his heir, for what he hath
taken away from thy father perforce,

I will render thee again in affection.

By mine honour I will,
and when I break that oath, let me turn monster.

Therefore, my sweet Rose,
my dear Rose, be merry.

What shall be our sport, then?

(Floorboards creak)

(Shrieking)

How now, wit, whither wander you?

Mistress, you must come away to your father.

- Were you made the messenger?
- No, by mine honour.

But I was bid to come for you.

Monsieur Le Beau. What's the news?

I will tell you the beginning,

and if it please your ladyships,

you may see the end,

for the best is yet to do.

(Thunder rumbles)

What make you here?

Nothing.

I am not taught to make anything.

- Know you where you are, sir?
-0, sir, very well.

Know you before whom, sir?

Ay, better than him I am before knows me.
I know you are my eldest brother,

and in the gentle condition of blood
you should so know me.

The courtesy of nations allows you my better,
in that you are the first born,

but the same tradition takes not away my blood,
were there 20 brothers betwixt us.

Sweet masters, be patient.

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

- Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?
- I am no villain!

I am the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys.

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.

For your father's remembrance, be at accord!

Let me go, I say!

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.

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.

Get you with him, you old dog!

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.

You wrestle before the new Duke?

Marry, sir,

and we came to acquaint you with...
a matter.

Ah.

He is given, sir, secretly to understand
that your younger brother, Orlando,

hath a disposition
to come in against him to try a fall.

Your brother is but young and tender,

and for your love,
Charles would be loath to foil him.

I tell thee, Charles,

it is the stubbornest young fellow,

full of ambition,

a secret and a villainous contriver against me,
his natural brother.

Therefore...

use thy discretion.

For he will practise against thee by poison,

entrap thee by some treacherous device,

and never leave till he hath ta'en thy life.

I am heartily glad we came hither to you.

He'll give him his payment.

God keep Your Worship.

Farewell, good Charles.

I hope I shall see an end of him,

for my soul, yet I know not why,
hales nothing more than he.

Yet...

he's gentle.

Never school'd and yet learned,

full of noble device.

And so much in the heart of my own people,
who best know him,

hat I am altogether misprised.

But...

it shall not be so long.

This wrestler...

shall clear all.

Shall we see this wrestling, cousin?

You must if you stay here.

They are ready.

{Drumming)

How now, daughter and cousin?

Are you crept hither to see the wrestling?

Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave.

You will take little delight in it, I can tell you,
there is such odds in the man.

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.

Young man, have you challenged
Charles the wrestler?

Young gentleman,
your spirits are too bold for your years.

We pray you for your own sake to embrace
your safety and give over this attempt.

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.

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,

he world no injury, for in it I have nothing.

Only in the world I fill up a place which may be
betier supplied when I have made it empty.

The little strength that I have,
I would it were with you.

And mine, to eke out hers.

Fare you well.

Come, where is this young gallant
that is so desirous to lie with his mother earth?

Ready, sir.

You shall try but one fall.

Now Hercules be thy speed, young man.

{Drumming)

{In Japanese)

You should not have mocked me.

(Audience shouts encouragement)

0, excellent, young man.

No more. No more.

How dost thou, Charles?

He cannot speak, my lord.

Bear him away.

What is thy name, young man?

Orlando, my liege,
the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys.

I would thou hadst been son to some man else.

The world esteemed thy father honourable,

but I did find him still mine enemy.

Thou shouldst have better pleased me
with this deed

hadst thou descended from another house.

My father loved Sir Rowland as his soul,
and all the world was of my father's mind.

My father's rough and envious disposition
sticks me at heart.

Sir, you have well deserved.

Wear this necklace for me.

One out of suits with fortune,

that could give more,
but that her hand...lacks means.

- Can I not say, 'l thank you"?
- Did you call?

Sir.

You have wrestled well. (Laughs)

And overthrown...

more than your enemies.

Will you go, coz?

0O, poor Orlando!

Thou art overthrown.

Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you
to leave this place.

Albeit you have deserved high commendation,
true applause, and love.

Pray you, tell me which of the two was daughter
of the Duke that here was at the wrestling?

Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners.
But yet indeed the shorter is his daughter.

The other is daughter to the banish'd Duke.

And here detain'd by her usurping uncle,
to keep his daughter company,

whose loves are dearer
than the natural bond of sisters.

But I can tell you that of late this duke
hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece,

grounded upon no other argument
but that the people praise her for her virtues

and pity her for her good father's sake.

And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady
will suddenly break forth.

Sir, hereafter, in a better world than this,

I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.

I rest much bounden to you. Fare you well.

Thus must I from the smoke into the smother,

from tyrant duke unto a tyrant brother.

But heavenly...

Rosalind!

(Shouting)

Why, Rosalind!

Cupid have mercy, not a word?

Not one to throw at a dog.

But is all this for your father?

No, some of it is for my child's father.

Let us talk in good earnest.

Is it possible on such a sudden,

you should fall into so strong a liking
with old Sir Rowland's youngest son?

The Duke, my father, loved his father dearly.

Doth it therefore ensue
that you should love his son dearly?

Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste,
and get you from our court.

- Me, uncle?
- You, cousin.

Within these ten days, if that thou beest found
so near our public court as 20 miles,

thou diest for it.

I do beseech your Grace, let me
the knowledge of my fault bear with me.

Never so much as in a thought unborn
did I offend Your Highness.

Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not.

Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor.

Thou art thy father's daughter, there's enough.

Dear sovereign, hear me speak.

Ay, Celia, we stayed her for your sake,

else had she with her father ranged along.

She is too subtle for thee,

and her smoothness, her very silence and her
patience speak to the people, and they pity her.

Thou art a fool.

She robs thee of thy name,

and thou wilt show more bright
and seem more virtuous when she is gone.

Then open not thy lips. Firm and irrevocable
is my doom which I have passed upon her.

She is banished.

Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege.

I cannot live out of her company.

You are a fool.

You...niece, provide yourself!

If you outstay the time, upon mine honour,
and in the greatness of my word,

you die.

Who's there?

O, my sweet master.

0O, you memory of old Sir Rowland.

Why, what make you here?

Your brother - no, no, brother, yet the son -

yet not the son, I will not call him son.

He's heard your praises,

and this night he means to burn this stable
where you use to lie,

and you within it.

- Whither Adam wouldst thou have me go?
- No matter whither, so you stay not here.

Yet this I will not do, do howl can.

I rather will submit me to the malice
of a diverted blood and bloody brother!

But do not so.

I have 500 crowns.

The thrifty hire I saved under your father.

All this I give you. Let me be your servant.

Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty.
I'll do the service of a younger man.

0, good old man,

thou art not for the fashion of these times,
where none will sweat but for promotion.

But come thy ways, we'll go along together.

And I will follow thee to the last gasp,
with truth and loyalty.

From 17 years till now, almost fourscore,

here lived I,

but now live here no more.

At 17, many their fortunes seek,

but at fourscore, it is too late a week.

Yet fortune cannot recompense me better
than to die well and not my master's debtor.

(Sighs)

O, my poor Rosalind!

Whither wilt thou go?

O, prithee, be cheerful.

Know'st thou not the Duke
hath banished me, his daughter?

- That he hath not.
- No, hath not?

Rosalind lacks, then, the love
which teaches thee that thou and I am one.

Shall we be sunder'd?

Shall we part, sweet girl?

No.

Let my father seek another heir.

Therefore devise with me how we may fly,

whither to go, and what to bear with us.

And do not seek to take your change upon you,
to bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out.

For by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale,

say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee.

- Why, whither shall we go?
- To seek my uncle in the Forest of Arden.

Alas, what danger will it be to us,
maids as we are, to travel forth so far?

I'll put myself in poor and mean attire,
and with a kind of umber smirch my face.

The like do you, so shall we pass along
and never stir assailants.

Were it not better,
because that I am more than common tall,

that I did suit me all points like a man?

What shall I call thee when thou art..a man?

I'll have no worse a name
than Jove's own page,

and therefore, look you, call me Ganymede.

But what will you be called?

Something that hath a reference to my state.

No longer Celia,

but Aliena.

But, cousin, what if we essayed to steal
the clownish fool out of your father's court?

Would he not be a comfort to our travel?

He'll go along o'er the wide world with me.

Let's away!

(Sighs)

God speed our flight.

Now go we in content,
to liberty, and not to banishment.

Come.

(Thinks) Well, this is the Forest of Arden.

Now am I in Arden, the more fool I.

When I was at home I was in a better place.

(Groans)

(Shrieks)

DUKE SENIOR:
Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,

hath not old custom made this life more sweet
than that of painted pomp?

Are not these woods
more free from peril than the envious court?

Here feel we not the penalty of Adam,
the seasons' difference,

as the icy fang and churlish chiding
of the winter's wind,

which when it bites and blows upon my body,
even till I shrink with cold,

I smile, and say,

"This is no flattery.

These are counsellors
that feelingly persuade me what [ am."

Sweet are the uses of adversity,

which like the toad, ugly and venomous,
wears yet a precious jewel in his head.

And this our life, exempt from public haunt,

finds tongues in trees,

books in the running brooks,

sermons in stones,

and good...in everything.

I would not change it.

(Applause)

Come, shall we go and kill us venison?

Jaques.

And yet it irks me...

JACQUES: He's no better than his brother.

...the poor dappled fools,
being native burghers of this desert city,

should in their own confines with forked heads
have their round haunches gor'd.

Indeed, my lord,
the melancholy Jaques grieves at that,

and in that kind swears you do more usurp
than doth your brother...that hath banish'd you.

Can it be possible...that no man saw them?

My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft
your Grace was won't to laugh, is also missing.

Hisperia, the Princess' gentlewoman,

confesses that she secretly o'erheard
your daughter and her cousin

much commend the parts and graces
of the wrestler

that did but lately foil the sinewy Charles.

And she believes wherever they are gone,
that youth is surely in their company.

Send to his brother.

Fetch that gallant hither.

I'll make him find him.

Do this suddenly,

and let not search and inquisition quail
to bring again these foolish runaways!

O, Jupiter, how weary are my spirits!

I care not for my spirits,
if my legs were not weary.

I could find it in my heart to disgrace
my man's apparel and to cry like a woman.

But I must comfort the weaker vessel,
therefore, courage, good Aliena.

I pray you, bear with me.

I cannot go no further.

For my part,
I'd rather bear with you than bear you.

(Man roars)

That is the way to make her scorn you still.

O, Corin, that thou knew'st howl do love her!

I partly guess, for I have lov'd ere now.

No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess.

Though in thy youth, thou wast as true a lover
as ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow.

But if thy love were ever like to mine,
as sure I think did never man love so,

how many actions most ridiculous
hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?

Into a thousand that I have forgotten.

Then thou didst never love so heartily.

If thou remember'st not the slightest folly
that ever love did make thee run into,

thou hast not lov'd.

Or if thou hast not sat as { do now,

wearing thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
thou hast not lov'd.

Or if thou hast not broke from company,
abruptly, as my passion now makes me,

thou hast not lov'd.

O, Phoebe, Phoebe, Phoebe!

Alas, poor shepherd.
Searching of thy wound,

I have by hard adventure found mine own.

And I mine.

I remember when I was in love.

We that are true lovers run into strange capers,

but as all is mortal in nature,
so is all nature in love mortal in folly.

Thou speak'st wiser than thou art 'ware of.

Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own wit,
Al break my shins against it.

Jove, Jove! This shepherd's passion
is much upon my fashion.

And mine, though it grows
something stale with me.

I pray you, one of you question yon man,
if he for gold will give us any food.

I faint almost to death.

Holla, you, clown!

Peace, fool, he's not thy kinsman.

- Who calls?
- Your betters, sir.

Else are they very wretched.

Peace, I say.

Good even to you, friend.

And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.

I prithee, shepherd,

if that love or gold can in this desert place
buy entertainment,

bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed.

Here's a young maid with travel much
oppress'd, and faints for succour.

Fair sir, I pity her,

and wish, for her sake more than for mine own,
my fortunes were more able to relieve her.

But I am shepherd fo 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.

Besides his cote, his flocks and bounds of feed
are now on sale.

And at our sheepcote now by reasons
of his absence, there is nothing you will feed on.

But what is, come see.

I pray thee, if it stand with honesty,
buy thou the cottage, pasture and the flock.

And thou shalt have to pay for it of us.

CELIA: And we will mend thy wages.

I like this place,
and willingly could waste my time in it. Argh!

Go with me.

If you like upon report the soil, the profit,
and this kind of life,

I will your very faithful feeder be,
and buy it with your gold right suddenly.

& Under the green tree

& Who loves to lie with me?

& And turn his merry note

3 Unto the sweet bird's throat

4 Come hither, come hither

4 Come hither, come

& Here shall he see no enemy

& But winter and rough weather

More, more, I prithee, more.

It will make you melancholy, Monsieur 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.

Ny voice is ragged. I know I cannot please you.

I do not desire you to please me,
I do desire you to sing.

Come, more. Another stanza.
Call you 'em stanzas?

What you will, Monsieur Jaques.

Nay, I care not for their names.

They owe me nothing.

Will you sing?

More at your request than to please myself.

Well, then, if ever I thank any man,
I'll thank you.

Come, warble.

The Duke hath been all this day to look you.

And I have been all this day to avoid him.

I'll go sleep...

il can.

If I cannot,
I'll rail against all the firstborn of Egypt.

Good morrow, fool.

No, sir, call me not fool,
till heaven hath sent me fortune.

(Chuckles)

Dear master, I can go no further.

O, I die for food.

Here lie I down, and measure out my grave.

Farewell, kind master.

(Laughter)

What? You look merrily...

A fool, a fool!

I met a fool in the forest.

A motley fool, a miserable world.

As I do live by food, I met a fool.

Who laid him down and basked him in the sun.

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 11.

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.

What fool is this?

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.

Thou shalt have one.

It is my only suit.

Provided that you weed
your better judgements 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. (Blows raspberry)

For so fools have.

Invest me in my motley.

Give me leave to speak my mind,

and I will through and through
cleanse the foul body of the infected world!

If they will patiently receive my medicine.

Which is he that killed the deer?

DUKE SENIOR: No deer.

Forbear, and eat no morel!

- Why, I have ate none yet.
- Nor shalt not till necessity be served!

Of what kind should this cock come of?

(Yells)

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?

You touch'd my vein at first, but forbear, I say!

He dies that touches any of this fruit,
till 1 and my affairs are answered.

And you will not be answered with reason,
I must die?

DUKE SENIOR: What would you have?

Your gentleness shall force,
more than your force move us to gentleness.

I almost die for food, and let me have it!

Sit down...and feed,

and welcome to our table.

Speak you so gently?

Pardon me, I... I pray you.

I thought that all things had been savage here.

Let gentleness my strong enforcement be,

in the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.

Therefore,

sit you down...in gentleness.

There is an old, poor man, who after me
hath many a weary step limped in pure love.

Tl he be first sufficd, oppress d with two weak
evils, age and hunger, I will not touch a bit.

Go find him out,
and we will nothing waste till you return.

I thank ye, and be blest for your good comfort.

Thou seest, we are not all alone unhappy.

This wide and universal theatre
presents more woeful pageants...

...than the scene wherein we play in.

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 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, the 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.

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 everything.

Welcome. Set down your venerable burden
and let him feed.

I thank you most for him.

So had you need.

I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.

Welcome, fall to.

Give us some music, and, good cousin, sing.

3 Blow, blow, thou winter wind

& Thou art not so unkind

& As man's ingratitude

& Thy tooth is not so keen

J 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

3 This life is most jolly

Be truly welcome hither.

I am the Duke that lov'd your father.

Good old man.

Thou art right welcome as thy master is.

Give me your hand,
and let me all your fortunes understand.

Not see him since?

Sir, sir, that cannot be.

Find out thy brother whereso'er he is.

Seek him with candle.

Bring him, dead or living.

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.

I never lov'd my brother in my life.

More villain thou.

(Sobs)

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.

0, 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 everywhere.

Run, run, Orlando!

Carve on every tree,

the fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she!

Rosalind!

Come on.

(Bleating of sheep)

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

Truly, shepherd?

In respect of itself, it is a good life,

but in respect that it is a shepherd's life,
it is naught.

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 that it is in the fields,
it pleaseth me well,

but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious.

Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd?

No more but that I know the more one sickens,
{he 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 pastures makes fat sheep,
and that a great cause of the night is...

.lack of the sun.

A natural philosopher.

Wast ever in court, shepherd?

- No, truly.
- Then thou art damned.

Nay, I hope.

No, truly thou art damned,
like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side.

For not being at court? Your reason?

Why, if thou wast never at court,
thou never saw'st good manners,

and if thou never saw'st good manners,
thy manners must be wicked,

and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation.

Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd.

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.

Instance, briefly; come, instance.

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

Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat?

Sir,

I am a true labourer.

Owe no man hate,

envy no man's happiness.

I'm 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.

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.

(Female laughter)

ROSALIND: "From the east to western Ind,
no jewel is like Rosalind.

Her worth being mounted on the wind,
through all the world bears Rosalind.

All the pictures fairest lin'd
are but black to Rosalind.

Let no face be kept in mind
but the fair of Rosalind."

Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,
such a nut is Rosalind.

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

Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.

Come, shepherd,
let us make an honourable retreat.

(Bleating)

(Woman strains)

Audrey?

(Gasps)

Come on.

(Stifles giggle)

- Know you who hath done this?
-Isitaman?

And a chain that you once wore about his neck.

- Change you colour?
- I prithee who?

O, Lord.

- Nay, but who is it?
- Is it possible?

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

O, wonderful!

It is young Orlando,

that tripped up the wrestler's heels
and your heart both in an instant.

- Orlando?
- Orlando.

What did he when thou saw'st him?
What said he? How looked 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.

I found him under a tree, like a dropped acorn.

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

- Give me audience, good madam.
- Proceed.

There he lay,
stretched along like a wounded knight.

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

Cry holla to thy tongue, I prithee,
it curvels unseasonably.

He was furnished like a hunter.

O, ominous! He comes to kill my heart.

I would sing my song without a burden.
Thou bringest me out of tune.

Do you not know I am a woman?

When I think, I must speak!

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

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

God by you.

Let's meet as little as we can.

I do desire we may be better strangers.

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

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

Rosalind is your love's name?

Yes, just.

I do not like her name.

There was no thought of pleasing you
when she was christened.

- What stature is she of?
- Just as high as my heart.

You are full of pretty answers.

Not so, but I answer you right.

You have a nimble wit.
Will you sit down with me?

And we two will rail against
our mistress the world, and all our misery.

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

The worst fault you have is to be in love.

(Orlando laughs)

Tis afaultl will not change for your best virtue.

I am weary of you.

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

He is drowned in the brook.
Look but in and you shall see him.

Why, there I shall see mine own figure.

Adieu, good Monsieur Melancholy.

Farewell, good Signor Love.

I will speak to him like a saucy lackey,
and under that habit play the knave with him.

Do you hear, forester?

Very well. What would you?

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

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

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!

Where dwell you, pretty youth?

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

Are you native of this place?

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

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 touched with so many giddy offences, as
he hath generally taxed their whole sex withal.

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

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.

I prithee, recount some of them.

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 fancymonger,

I would give him some good counsel,

for he seems to have
the quotidian of love upon him.

I am he that is so loveshaked.

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.

What were his marks?

A lean cheek, which you have not;

a blue eye and sunken, which you have not;

an unquestionable spirit, which you have not.

Then your hose should be ungartered, your
bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned,

your shoe untied, and everything 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.

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

Me believe it? You may as soon
make her that you love believe it.

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

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

Neither rhyme nor reason
can express how much.

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 punished and cured

is that the lunacy is so ordinary
that the whippers are in love too.

Yet profess curing it by counsel.

Did you ever cure any so?

Yes, one, and in this manner.

He was to imagine me his love, his mistress,

and I set him every day to woo me.

(Orlando chuckles)

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 cured 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 it.

I would not be cured, youth.

I would cure you
if you would but call me Rosalind,

and come every day and woo me.

Now by the faith of my love, I will.

- Will you?
- With all my heart, good youth.

Nay, you must call me...Rosalind.

TOUCHSTONE:
1 will fetch up your goats, Audrey.

And how, Audrey.

Am I the man yet?

Doth my simple feature content you?

Your features?

Lord warrant us!

(Screams)

What features?

- I am here with thee and thy goats.
(Goat bleats)

As the most capricious poet, honest Ovid,
was among the Goths.

Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical.

I do not know what "poetical” is.

Is it honest in deed and word?

Is it a true thing?

No, truly. For the truest poetry is the
most feigning, and lovers are given to poetry,

and what they swear in poetry,
it may be said as lovers they do feign.

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

...poetical?

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.

Would you not have me honest?

No, truly, unless thou wen hard favoured.

For honesty coupled to beauty
is to have honey as sauce to sugar.

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

To cast away honesty upon a foul slut
were to put good meat into an unclean dish.

I am not a slut!

Though I thank the gods I am foul.

Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness.
Sluttishness may come hereafter.

But be it as it may be, I will...

...marry thee.

(Shrieks with delight)

And to that end,
I have been with the vicar of the next village,

who hath promised to meet me
in this place of the forest, and to couple us.

I would fain see this meeting.

Well, the gods give us joy.

Courage.
As horns are odious, they are necessary.

You are well met. Will you dispatch us here
or shall we follow you to your chapel?

Is there none here to give the woman?

I will not take her on gift of any man!

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

Proceed, proceed.

I'll give her.

Good even, good Monsieur...
What-do-you-call-it?

How do you, sir? You are very well met.

God 'ild you for your last company.
I am very glad to see you.

Even atoy in hand here, sir.

Nay, pray, be covered.

Will you be married, Motley?

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.

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.

L'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.

Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.

We must be married!

Never talk to me, I will weep.

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

But have I not cause to weep?

As good cause as one would desire,
therefore weep.

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

Nay, certainly there is no truth in him.

Do you think so? Not true in love?

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

You have heard him swear downright he was.

"Was" is not "is".

Oww!

Mistress and master, you have oft enquir'd
after the shepherd that complained of love,

who you saw sitting by me on the turf

praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
that was his mistress.

Well, and what of him?

If you will see a pageant of true love,
go hence awhile.

Oww!

(Giggling)

Sweet Phoebe.

Do not scorn me, do not, Phoebe.

Say that you love me not,
but say not so in bitterness.

I would not be thy executioner.

I fly thee for I would not injure thee.

If ever, as that ever may be near, you meet in
some fresh cheek the power of fancy,

then shall you know the wounds invisible
that love's keen arrows make.

But till that time, come not thou near me and
when that time comes, afflict me with thy mocks.

Pity me not, as till that time I shall not pity thee.

And why, I pray you?

Who might be your mother, that you insult,
exult, and all at once, over the wretched?

What, though you have no beauty -

as by my faith I see no more in you
than without candle may go dark to bed -

must you be therefore proud and pitiless?

Why, what means this?

Why do you look on me?

'Od's my little life,
I think she means to tangle my eyes, too!

No, faith, proud mistress.

Hope not after it.

'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair,
your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream,

that can entame my spirits to your worship.

You foolish shepherd,

wherefore do you follow her?

You are a thousand times a properer man
than she a woman.

'Tis not her glass, but you that flatters her.

But mistress, know yourself.

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.

Cry the man mercy, love him, take his offer.

Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together.

I had rather hear you chide than this man woo.

He's fallen in love with your foulness,
and she'll fall in love with my anger.

I pray you, do not fall in love with me,
for I am falser than vows made in wine.

Besides,

I like you not!

Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might,
"Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?"

Sweet Phoebe!

- What say'st thou, Silvius?
- Sweet Phoebe, pity me.

Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.

Wherever sorrow is, relief would be.

If you do sorrow at my grief in love,

by giving love your sorrow
and my grief were both extermined.

Thou hast my love. Is not that neighbourly?

I would have you!

Know'st thou
the youth that spoke to me erewhile?

Not very well, but I have met him oft.

Think not I love him, though I ask for him.

'Tis but a peevish boy.

Yet he talks well.

It is a pretty youth, not very pretty.

There was a pretty redness in his lip.

A little riper and more lusty red
than that mixed in his cheek.

"Twas just the difference betwixt
the constant red and the mingled damask.

I have more cause to hate him than to love him.

For what had he to do to chide at me?

He said mine eyes were black, and my hair
black, and now I am rememberd, scormd at me.

I marvel why I answer'd not again.

I'll write to him a very taunting letter,
and thou shalt bear it. Wilt thou, Silvius?

Phoebe, with all my heart.

I'll write it straight.
The matter's in my head and in mine heart.

I'll be bitter with him, and passing short.

Go with me, Silvius.

We shall find a time, Audrey.

Patience, gentle Audrey.

Faith, the priest was good enough,
for all the old gentleman's saying.

Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest
lays claim to you.

He hath no interest in me in the world.

It is meat and drink to me to see a clown.

William.

Good ev'n, Audrey.

God ye good ev'n, William.

And good ev'n to you, sir.

Good ev'n, gentle friend.
O, cover thy head, cover thy head.

Nay, prithee be covered.

How old are you, friend?

Five and twenty, sir.

A ripe age.

Is thy name William?

- William, sir.
- A fair name.

- Wast born in the forest here?
- Ay, sir, I thank God.

"Thank God." Good answer. Art rich?

Faith, sir, so so.

"So so" is good, very good, very excellent good.

And yet it is not, it is but so so.

(Chuckles)

Art thou wise?

Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit.

(Laughs delightedly)

Why, thou say'st well.

I do now remember a saying.

"The fool doth think he is wise,
but the wise man knows himself to be a fool."

You do love this maid?

I do, sir.

Give me your hand.

- Art thou learned?
- No, sir.

Then learn this of me.

Argh!

To have is to have, for it is a figure in rhetoric

that drink, being poured out of a cup into
a glass, by filling the one doth empty the other.

For all your writers do consent that ipse is he.

Now you are not ipse, for I am he.

Which he, sir?

He, sir, that must marry this woman!

Therefore, you clown,
abandon the society of this female,

or, clown, I kill thee!

I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways.

- Therefore depart!
- Do, good William.

God rest you merry, sir.

(Chuckles)

Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey!

I prithee, pretty youth,
let me be better acquainted with thee.

They say you are a melancholy fellow.

{ am so.

I do love it better than laughing.

Those that are in extremity of either
are abominable fellows,

and betray themselves to every
modern censure, worse than drunkards.

Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.

Why then, 'tis good to be a post.

I have neither the scholar's melancholy,
which is emulation,

nor the musician's, which is fantastical,

nor the courtier's, which is proud,

nor the soldier's, which is ambitious,

nor the lawyer's, which is politic,

nor the lady's, which is nice,

nor the lover's, which is all these.

But it is a melancholy of mine own,

compounded of many simples,
extracted from many objects,

and indeed the sundry contemplation
of my travels,

in which my often rumination wraps me ina...

...most humorous...

sadness.

Atraveller?

By my faith, you have great reason to be sad.

I fear you have sold your own lands
to see other men's.

Then to have seen much and to have nothing
is to have...rich eyes and poor hands.

Yes.

I have gained my experience.

I'd rather have a fool to make me merry
than experience to make me sad,

and to travel for it, too.

Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind.

Nay, then, God by you,
and you talk in blank verse.

Farewell, Monsieur Traveller.

Why, how now, Orlando,
where have you been all this while?

You, alover?

And you serve me such another trick,
never come in my sight more.

My fair Rosalind,
I come within an hour of my promise.

Break an hour's promise in love!

Pardon me, dear Rosalind.

Nay, and you be so tardy,
come no more in my sight.

I had as lief be wooed of a...snail.

Of a snail?

Ay, of a snail.

For though he comes slowly,
he carries his house on his head.

And I am your Rosalind.

It pleases him to call you so, but he hath
a Rosalind of a better leer than you.

Come, woo me, woo me.

For now I am in a holiday humour
and like enough to consent.

What would you say to me now,
and I were your very, very Rosalind?

I would kiss before I spoke.

Nay, you were better speak first.

Am not I your Rosalind?

I take some joy to say you are,
because I would be talking of her.

Well, in her person...

I say, I will not have you.

Then in mine own person, I die.

Men have died from to time
and worms have eaten them, but not for love.

I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind,
for I protest her frown might kill me.

By this hand, it will not kill a fly.

But come, now, I will be your Rosalind
in a more coming-on disposition,

and ask me what you will, I will grant it.

Then love me, Rosalind.

Yes, faith will I,

Fridays and Saturdays and all.

And wilt thou have me?

Ay, and twenty such.

What say'st thou?

Are you not good?

I hope so.

Why then, can one desire
too much of a good thing?

Come, sister.

You shall be the priest and marry us.

Give me your hand, Orlando.

What do you say, sister?

Pray thee, marry us.

I cannot say the words.

You must begin, "Will you, Orlando..."

Go to.

Will you, Orlando,

have to wife this Rosalind?

I will.

I do take thee...

...Orlando,

for my husband.

Now, tell me,

how long you would have her,
after you have possessed her?

For ever and a day.

Say a day, without the "ever".

No, no, Orlando.

Men are April when they woo,
December when they wed.

Maids are May when they are maids,
but the sky changes when they are wives.

I will be more jealous of thee
than a Barbary cock pigeon over his hen,

more clamorous than a parrot against rain,
more newfangled than an ape,

more giddy in my desires than a monkey.

I will weep...for nothing,

like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that
when you are disposed to be merry.

I will laugh like a hyena,
and that when thou art inclined to sleep.

But will my Rosalind do so?

By my life, she will do as I do.

O, but she is wise.

By two o'clock, Rosalind, I'll be with thee again.

Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours.

I must attend the Duke at dinner.

By two o'clock I will be with thee again.

Ay, go your ways,

go your ways.

I knew what you would prove. My friends
told me as much, and I thought no less.

That flattering tongue of yours won me.

Two o'clock is your hour?

Ay, sweet Rosalind.

You have simply misused our sex
in your love prate.

(Sighs)

Coz, coz, coz,

my pretty little coz,

that thou didst know
how many fathom deep I am in love!

But it cannot be sounded.

My affection...

...hath an unknown bottom.

Like the Bay of Portugal.

I'll tell thee, Aliena,

I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando.

I'll go find a shadow...

and sigh till he come.

And ['ll sleep.

(Growls)

(Fierce growling)

(Lions roars and is silent)

- (Groans)
- Sh, sh.

Rosalind.

"He that brings this love to thee
little knows this love in me."

Phoebe did write it.

Wilt thou love such a woman?

What, to make thee an instrument,
and play false strains upon thee?

Not to be endured.

Well, go your way to her,
for I see love hath made thee a tame snake,

and say this to her,
that if she love me, I charge her to love thee.

If she will not, I will never have her,
unless thou entreat for her.

If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word.

Pray you, if you know,

where in the purlieus of this forest

stands a sheepcote...

_fenc'd about with olive trees?

West of this place,
down in the neighbour bottom.

The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream,

left on your right hand, brings you to the place.

But at this hour the house doth keep itself,
there's none within.

If that an eye may profit by a tongue,

hen I should know you.

Are not you the owner of the house
I did...enquire for?

It is no boast, being asked, to say we are.

Orlando...

...doth commend him to you both.

And to that youth he calls his Rosalind,
he sends this bloody napkin.

Are you he?

(Thud)

- Are you his brother?
- Wast you he rescued?

Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him?

'Twas I. But 'tis not I.

Brief, I recoverd him, bound up his wound,

and after some small space,
being strong at heart,

he sent me hither, stranger as I am,
to tell this story,

that you might excuse his broken promise.

I pray you, tell your brother
how well I counterfeited.

Heigh-ho.

(Both giggle)

This was not counterfeit.

There is too great testimony in your complexion
that it was a passion of earnest.

Counterfeit, I assure you.

Well, then, take a good heart
and counterfeit to be a man.

Sol do. But, in faith,
I should have been a woman by right.

Come, you look paler and paler.

Neither call the giddiness of it in question,

the poverty of her,

the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing,
nor her sudden consenting.

But say with me, I love Aliena.

Say with her, that she loves me.

Consent with both
that we may enjoy each other.

It shall be to your good,
for our father's house and...

...all the revenue that was old Sir Rowland's

will I estate upon you.

And here live and die a shepherd.

You have my consent.

Let your wedding be tomorrow.

Thither will I invite the Duke
and all's contented followers.

Go you and prepare Aliena.

(Shrieks)

My dear Orlando!

How it grieves me to see thee
wear thy heart in a scarf.

It is my arm.

I thought thy heart had been wounded
with the claws of a lion.

Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady.

Did your brother tell you howl counterfeited to
swoon when he showed me your handkerchief?

Ay,

and greater wonders than that.

Your brother and my sister no sooner met
but they looked.

No sooner looked, but they loved.

No sooner loved, but they sighed.

No sooner sighed,
but they asked one another the reason.

No sooner knew the reason,
but they sought the remedy.

And in these degrees
have they made a pair of stairs...to marriage.

They shall be married tomorrow
and I will bid the Duke to the nuptial.

But...

O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness
through another man's eyes.

By so much the more shall I tomorrow
be at the height of heart-heaviness

by how much I shall think my brother happy...

in having what he wishes for.

Why, then, tomorrow
I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind?

I can live no longer by thinking.

I will weary you then no longer with idle talking.

Believe then, if you please,
that I can do strange things.

I have, since I was three year old,
conversed with a magician,

most profound in his art, and yet not damnable.

If you do love Rosalind
so near the heart as your gesture cries it out,

when your brother marries Aliena,
shall you marry her.

I know into what straits of fortune she is driven,
and it is not impossible to me,

if it appear not inconvenient to you,

to set her before your eyes tomorrow,
human as she is, and without any danger.

Speakest thou in sober meanings?

If you will be married tomorrow, you shall,

and to Rosalind if you will.

Youth, you have done me much ungentleness
to show the letter that I writ to you.

I care not if I have. It is my study
to seem despiteful and ungentle to you.

You are there followed by a faithful shepherd.
Look upon him, love him. He worships you.

Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love.

It is to be all made of sighs and tears,
and so am I for Phoebe.

- And I for Ganymede.
- And I for Rosalind.

And I for no woman.

It is to be all made of faith and service,
and so am I for Phoebe.

- And I for Ganymede.
- And I for Rosalind.

And I for no woman.

It is to be all made of fantasy,

all made of passion,
and all made of wishes,

all adoration, duty, and observance,

all humbleness, all patience and impatience,

all purity, all trial, all obedience.

And so am I for Phoebe.

- And so am I for Ganymede.
- And so am I for Rosalind.

And so am I for no woman.

- If this be so, why blame you me to love you?
- If this be so, why blame you me to love you?

If this be so, why blame you me to love you?

Why do you speak, too,
"Why blame you me to love you?"

To her that is not here nor doth not hear.

- Ganymede!
- Phoebe!

Pray you, no more of this, 'tis like
the howling of Irish wolves against the moon.

I will help you if I can.

I would love you if I could.

Tomorrow meet here all together.

I will marry you if ever I marry woman,
and I'll be married tomorrow.

I will satisfy you if ever I satisfy man,
and you shall be married tomorrow.

I will content you if what pleases you contents
you, and you shall be married tomorrow.

As you love Rosalind, meet.

As you love Phoebe, meet.

And as I love no woman, I'll meet.

So, fare you well.

- I have left you commands.
- I'll not fail if I live.

- Nor I.
- Nor I.

Welcome, welcome.

He is in the Forest of Arden.

And 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.

Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy
can do all this that he hath promised?

I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not.

As those that fear they hope,
and know they fear.

I do remember in this shepherd boy
some lively touches of my daughter's favour.

My lord, the first time that I ever saw him,
methought he was a brother to your daughter.

(Laughter)

There is sure another flood toward,
and these couples are coming to the ark.

Here comes a pair of very strange beasts.

(Ribald laughter)

Audrey!

Salutation and greeting to you all.

I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the
country copulatives, to swear, and to forswear,

according as marriage binds and blood breaks.

A poor virgin, sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir,
but mine own.

A poor humour of mine, sir,
to take that that no man else will.

(Chuckles)

Is not this a rare fellow, my lord?

He's as good at anything,

and yet a fool.

Then is there mirth in heaven,

when earthly things made even atone together.

Good Duke, receive thy daughter.

Hymen from heaven brought her,
yea, brought her hither,

that thou mightst join her hand
with his, whose heart within his bosom is.

To you I give myself,

for I am yours.

To you I give myself,

for I am yours.

If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter.

If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind.

I'll have no father if you be not he.

I'll have no husband if you be not he.

Nor ne'er wed woman if you be not she.

You and you,

no cross shall part.

You and you,

are heart in heart.

You to his love must accord,

or have a woman to your lord.

You and you are sure together,
as the winter to foul weather.

Let me have audience for a word or two!

I am the second son of old Sir Rowland,
that bring these tidings to this fair assembly.

Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day
men of great worth resorted to this forest,

addressed a mighty power, which were on foot,

in his own conduct,
purposely to take his brother here,

and put him to the sword.

And to the skirts of this wild wood he came,
where, meeting with an old religious man,

after some question with him was converted,
both from his enterprise and from the world;

his crown bequeathing to his banished brother,
and all their lands restored to them again

that were with him exiled.

This to be true, I do engage my life.

Welcome, young man.

Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding.

(Sighs contentedly)

First, in this forest, let us do those ends
that here were well begun and well begot.

And after, every of this happy number

that have endured shrewd days and nights with
us, shall share the good of our returned fortune,

according to the measure of their states.

Meantime, forget this nevi/fallen dignity,
and fall into our rustic revelry!

Play, music, and you,
brides and bridegrooms all,

with measure heaped in joy to the measure fall!

(Cheering)

Sir, by your patience.

If I heard you rightly,
the Duke hath put on a religious life

and thrown into neglect the pompous court?

He hath.

To him will I.

Out of these convertites,
there is much matter to be heard and learned.

You to your former honour I bequeath,

your patience and your virtue well deserves it.

So

to your pleasures,

I am for other than for dancing measures.

Stay, Jaques, stay.

To see no pastime, I.

What you would have...

I'll stay to know at...

...some abandoned cave.

Proceed, proceed!

We'll so begin these rites
as we do trust they'll end, in true delights!

(Cheering)

J It was a lover and his lass

& With a hey and a ho
and a hey noni-no

& That o'er the green cornfield did pass

& In spring time, the only pretty ring time

& When birds do sing,
hey, ding-a-ding ding ding

& Sweet lovers

& Sweet lovers

& Sweet lovers love the spring

& This carol they began that hour

& With a hey and a ho
and a hey noni-no

& How that a life was but a flower

& In spring time, the only pretty ring time

& When birds do sing,
hey, ding-a-ding ding ding

& Sweet lovers

& Sweet lovers

& Sweet lovers love the spring

& And therefore take the present time

& With a hey and a ho
and a hey noni-no

& For love is crowned with the prime

& In spring time, the only pretty ring time

& When birds do sing,
hey, ding-a-ding ding ding

& Sweet lovers

& Sweet lovers

& Sweet lovers love the spring!

(Cheering)

& Sweet lovers

& Sweet lovers love the spring!

It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue,

but it is no more unhandsome
than to see the lord the prologue.

If it be true that good wine needs no bush,
'tis true that a good play needs no epilogue.

Yet to good wine they do use good bushes,

and good plays prove the better
by the help of good epilogues.

My way is to conjure you,
and I'll begin with the women.

I charge you, O, women,

for the love you bear to men,
to like as much of this play as please you.

And I charge you,

O, men,

for the love you bear to women -

as I perceive by your simpering
none of you hates them -

that between you and the women
the play may please.

If I were a woman I would kiss
as many of you as had beards that pleased me,

complexions that liked me,
and breaths that I defied not.

And I am sure, as many of you as have good
beards, or good faces, or sweet breaths,

will for my kind offer, when I make curtsy,

bid me...

farewell.

DIRECTOR: And cut.