The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (375 page)

sleep. Look, who comes here.

I bet that with his pure love and worried mind, he

took his bow and arrows and went out to

sleep. Look, someone coming.

Enter SILVIUS

SILVIUS

My errand is to you, fair youth;

My gentle Phebe bid me give you this:

I know not the contents; but, as I guess

By the stern brow and waspish action

Which she did use as she was writing of it,

It bears an angry tenor: pardon me:

I am but as a guiltless messenger.

Pretty youth, I have been tasked to find you:

my gentle Phebe asked me to give you this.

I don’t know the contents, but I would guess,

from the stern forehead and her wasplike movements

that she had while writing it,

that it is an angry letter. Excuse me from this,

I am a blameless messenger.

ROSALIND

Patience herself would startle at this letter

And play the swaggerer; bear this, bear all:

She says I am not fair, that I lack manners;

She calls me proud, and that she could not love me,

Were man as rare as phoenix. 'Od's my will!

Her love is not the hare that I do hunt:

Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well,

This is a letter of your own device.

Patience herself would be startled reading this letter,

and would fight back. I must bear it all:

she says I am not attractive, that I lack manners,

that I am proud, and that she would not love me

even if men were as rare as phoenix birds. By God!

I am not hunting after her love,

why does she write this to me? Shepherd,

I think you wrote this letter.

SILVIUS

No, I protest, I know not the contents:

Phebe did write it.

No, honestly. I don’t know what it says;

Phebe wrote it.

ROSALIND

Come, come, you are a fool

And turn'd into the extremity of love.

I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand.

A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think

That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands:

She has a huswife's hand; but that's no matter:

I say she never did invent this letter;

This is a man's invention and his hand.

Come on, you are a fool

and have done extreme things because of love.

I saw her hand, she has a rough hand,

brown in color – in fact I thought

that she was wearing gloves, but they were her hands.

She has housewife’s hands, but that doesn’t matter:

I say she never wrote this letter,

and that it is the invention of a man and his hand.

SILVIUS

Sure, it is hers.

Certainly it is hers.

ROSALIND

Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style.

A style for-challengers; why, she defies me,

Like Turk to Christian: women's gentle brain

Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention,

Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect

Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter?

It is written in such a boisterous and cruel style –

like she wants a challenger. She challenges me

like a Turk does a Christian. A woman’s gentle brain

could not have dropped such rude words,

such black words, blacker in meaning

than in their words even. Will you hear it?

SILVIUS

So please you, for I never heard it yet;

Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty.

If you would like; I haven’t heard it yet,

though I have heard a lot of Phebe’s cruelty.

ROSALIND

She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes.

She acts like herself to me, now. Listen how she writes.

Reads

Art thou god to shepherd turn'd,

That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?

Can a woman rail thus?

“Are you a god turned into a shepherd,

that you know how to burn my heart?”

Can a woman rail like this?

SILVIUS

Call you this railing?

You think this is railing?

ROSALIND

[Reads]

Why, thy godhead laid apart,

Warr'st thou with a woman's heart?

Did you ever hear such railing?

Whiles the eye of man did woo me,

That could do no vengeance to me.

Meaning me a beast.

If the scorn of your bright eyne

Have power to raise such love in mine,

Alack, in me what strange effect

Would they work in mild aspect!

Whiles you chid me, I did love;

How then might your prayers move!

He that brings this love to thee

Little knows this love in me:

And by him seal up thy mind;

Whether that thy youth and kind

Will the faithful offer take

Of me and all that I can make;

Or else by him my love deny,

And then I'll study how to die.

“Why have you set aside your divinity

in order to war with a woman’s heart?”

Have you heard such railing?

“When the eyes of other men wooed me,

they did nothing to hurt me.”

Meaning I am a beast.

“If the scorn coming from your bright eyes

has the power to make me feel love,

then what awful effects

would come from you looking kindly at me!

While you rebuke me, I love you –

how much more powerfully would your prayers move me!

He that brings this love letter to you

does not know of my love for you

so send your reply by him.

Tell me whether your youth and beauty

can take my faithful offer

giving you me and everything I can,

or else tell him that you deny my love

so that I can prepare to die.”

SILVIUS

Call you this chiding?

You call this a cruel letter?

CELIA

Alas, poor shepherd!

How saw, poor shepherd!

ROSALIND

Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity. 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; for here comes more company.

You pity him? He does not deserve pity. Why

would you love such a woman? In order to make you into an

instrument so she can play her own songs on you? That should not

be endured! Go back to her, for I see

that your love has made you into her own tame pet, and tell

her: if she loves me, then I say she should love

you. If she will not love you, then I will never have her unless

you beg me to take her. If you are a true lover

then go without speaking. More people are coming.

Exit SILVIUS

Enter OLIVER

OLIVER

Good morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you know,

Where in the purlieus of this forest stands

A sheep-cote fenced about with olive trees?

Good morning, pretty ones. Can you tell me, if you know,

where in this forest stands

a shepherd’s cottage, fenced with olive trees?

CELIA

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.

It is west of this place, down in the next valley.

The willows by the murmuring stream

on your right will take you to the house.

At this time, though, the house is empty

and no one is there.

OLIVER

If that an eye may profit by a tongue,

Then should I know you by description;

Such garments and such years: 'The boy is fair,

Of female favour, and bestows himself

Like a ripe sister: the woman low

And browner than her brother.' Are not you

The owner of the house I did inquire for?

If seeing something can be aided by hearing something,

then I think I know you from a description I heard

of your clothes and years: “The boy is pretty,

like a woman, and carries himself

like a mature sister: the woman is shorter

and darker than her brother.” Aren’t you

the owners of the house I am asking about?

CELIA

It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are.

Since you ask, it is not boasting to say that we are.

OLIVER

Orlando doth commend him to you both,

And to that youth he calls his Rosalind

He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he?

Orland sends his regards to you both

and to whomever he calls Rosalind,

he sends this bloody handkerchief. Are you him?

ROSALIND

I am: what must we understand by this?

I am, what does this mean?

OLIVER

Some of my shame; if you will know of me

What man I am, and how, and why, and where

This handkercher was stain'd.

It means some shame of mine, if you will listen to me say

who I am, and how, and why, and where

this handkerchief was stained.

CELIA

I pray you, tell it.

Please, tell us.

OLIVER

When last the young Orlando parted from you

He left a promise to return again

Within an hour, and pacing through the forest,

Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy,

Lo, what befell! he threw his eye aside,

And mark what object did present itself:

Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age

And high top bald with dry antiquity,

A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,

Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck

A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself,

Who with her head nimble in threats approach'd

The opening of his mouth; but suddenly,

Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself,

And with indented glides did slip away

Into a bush: under which bush's shade

A lioness, with udders all drawn dry,

Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch,

When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis

The royal disposition of that beast