ACT V. SCENE I. The forest  Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY    TOUCHSTONE. We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey.   AUDREY. Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old     gentleman's saying.   TOUCHSTONE. A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile Martext.     But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to     you.   AUDREY. Ay, I know who 'tis; he hath no interest in me in the     world; here comes the man you mean.                           Enter WILLIAM    TOUCHSTONE. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown. By my troth,     we that have good wits have much to answer for: we shall be     flouting; we cannot hold.   WILLIAM. Good ev'n, Audrey.   AUDREY. God ye good ev'n, William.   WILLIAM. And good ev'n to you, sir.   TOUCHSTONE. Good ev'n, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover thy     head; nay, prithee be cover'd. How old are you, friend?   WILLIAM. Five and twenty, sir.   TOUCHSTONE. A ripe age. Is thy name William?   WILLIAM. William, sir.   TOUCHSTONE. A fair name. Wast born i' th' forest here?   WILLIAM. Ay, sir, I thank God.   TOUCHSTONE. 'Thank God.' A good answer.     Art rich?   WILLIAM. Faith, sir, so so.   TOUCHSTONE. 'So so' is good, very good, very excellent good; and     yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thou wise?   WILLIAM. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit.   TOUCHSTONE. 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.' The heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a     grape, would open his lips when he put it into his mouth; meaning     thereby that grapes were made to eat and lips to open. You do     love this maid?   WILLIAM. I do, sir.   TOUCHSTONE. Give me your hand. Art thou learned?   WILLIAM. No, sir.   TOUCHSTONE. Then learn this of me: to have is to have; for it is a     figure in rhetoric that drink, being pour'd out of 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.   WILLIAM. Which he, sir?   TOUCHSTONE. He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, you     clown, abandon- which is in the vulgar leave- the society- which     in the boorish is company- of this female- which in the common is     woman- which together is: abandon the society of this female; or,     clown, thou perishest; or, to thy better understanding, diest;     or, to wit, I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into     death, thy liberty into bondage. I will deal in poison with thee,     or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy with thee in faction;     will o'er-run thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred and     fifty ways; therefore tremble and depart.   AUDREY. Do, good William.   WILLIAM. God rest you merry, sir.                         Exit                            Enter CORIN    CORIN. Our master and mistress seeks you; come away, away.   TOUCHSTONE. Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey. I attend, I attend.                                                           Exeunt     SCENE II. The forest  Enter ORLANDO and OLIVER    ORLANDO. Is't possible that on so little acquaintance you should     like her? that but seeing you should love her? and loving woo?     and, wooing, she should grant? and will you persever to enjoy     her?   OLIVER. 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 my 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.   ORLANDO. You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow.     Thither will I invite the Duke and all's contented followers. Go     you and prepare Aliena; for, look you, here comes my Rosalind.                          Enter ROSALIND    ROSALIND. God save you, brother.   OLIVER. And you, fair sister.                             Exit   ROSALIND. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee wear     thy heart in a scarf!   ORLANDO. It is my arm.   ROSALIND. I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws of a     lion.   ORLANDO. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady.   ROSALIND. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to swoon     when he show'd me your handkercher?   ORLANDO. Ay, and greater wonders than that.   ROSALIND. O, I know where you are. Nay, 'tis true. There was never     any thing so sudden but the fight of two rams and Caesar's     thrasonical brag of 'I came, saw, and overcame.' For your brother     and my sister no sooner met but they look'd; no sooner look'd but     they lov'd; no sooner lov'd but they sigh'd; no sooner sigh'd but     they ask'd one another the reason; no sooner knew the reason but     they sought the remedy- and in these degrees have they made pair     of stairs to marriage, which they will climb incontinent, or else     be incontinent before marriage. They are in the very wrath of     love, and they will together. Clubs cannot part them.   ORLANDO. They shall be married to-morrow; 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     to-morrow be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I     shall think my brother happy in having what he wishes for.   ROSALIND. Why, then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for     Rosalind?   ORLANDO. I can live no longer by thinking.   ROSALIND. I will weary you, then, no longer with idle talking. Know     of me then- for now I speak to some purpose- that I know you are     a gentleman of good conceit. I speak not this that you should     bear a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch I say I know you     are; neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may in some     little measure draw a belief from you, to do yourself good, and     not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, that I can do     strange things. I have, since I was three year old, convers'd     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 to-morrow, human as she is, and without any     danger.   ORLANDO. Speak'st thou in sober meanings?   ROSALIND. By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, though I say I     am a magician. Therefore put you in your best array, bid your     friends; for if you will be married to-morrow, you shall; and to     Rosalind, if you will.                       Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE      Look, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers.   PHEBE. Youth, you have done me much ungentleness     To show the letter that I writ to you.   ROSALIND. I care not if I have. It is my study     To seem despiteful and ungentle to you.     You are there follow'd by a faithful shepherd;     Look upon him, love him; he worships you.   PHEBE. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love.   SILVIUS. It is to be all made of sighs and tears;     And so am I for Phebe.   PHEBE. And I for Ganymede.   ORLANDO. And I for Rosalind.   ROSALIND. And I for no woman.   SILVIUS. It is to be all made of faith and service;     And so am I for Phebe.   PHEBE. And I for Ganymede.   ORLANDO. And I for Rosalind.   ROSALIND. And I for no woman.   SILVIUS. 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 Phebe.   PHEBE. And so am I for Ganymede.   ORLANDO. And so am I for Rosalind.   ROSALIND. And so am I for no woman.   PHEBE. If this be so, why blame you me to love you?   SILVIUS. If this be so, why blame you me to love you?   ORLANDO. If this be so, why blame you me to love you?   ROSALIND. Why do you speak too, 'Why blame you me to love you?'   ORLANDO. To her that is not here, nor doth not hear.   ROSALIND. Pray you, no more of this; 'tis like the howling of Irish     wolves against the moon. [To SILVIUS] I will help you if I can.     [To PHEBE] I would love you if I could.- To-morrow meet me all     together. [ To PHEBE ] I will marry you if ever I marry woman,     and I'll be married to-morrow. [To ORLANDO] I will satisfy you if     ever I satisfied man, and you shall be married to-morrow. [To     Silvius] I will content you if what pleases you contents you, and     you shall be married to-morrow. [To ORLANDO] As you love     Rosalind, meet. [To SILVIUS] As you love Phebe, meet;- and as I     love no woman, I'll meet. So, fare you well; I have left you     commands.   SILVIUS. I'll not fail, if I live.   PHEBE. Nor I.   ORLANDO. Nor I.                                         Exeunt     SCENE III. The forest  Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY    TOUCHSTONE. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audre'y; to-morrow will we     be married.   AUDREY. I do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is no     dishonest desire to desire to be a woman of the world. Here come     two of the banish'd Duke's pages.                              Enter two PAGES    FIRST PAGE. Well met, honest gentleman.   TOUCHSTONE. By my troth, well met. Come sit, sit, and a song.   SECOND PAGE. We are for you; sit i' th' middle.   FIRST PAGE. Shall we clap into't roundly, without hawking, or     spitting, or saying we are hoarse, which are the only prologues     to a bad voice?   SECOND PAGE. I'faith, i'faith; and both in a tune, like two gipsies     on a horse.                        SONG.         It was a lover and his lass,           With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,         That o'er the green corn-field did pass           In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,         When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding.         Sweet lovers love the spring.          Between the acres of the rye,           With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,         These pretty country folks would lie,           In the spring time, &c.          This carol they began that hour,           With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,         How that a life was but a flower,           In the spring time, &c.          And therefore take the present time,           With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,         For love is crowned with the prime,           In the spring time, &c.    TOUCHSTONE. Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no great     matter in the ditty, yet the note was very untuneable.   FIRST PAGE. YOU are deceiv'd, sir; we kept time, we lost not our     time.   TOUCHSTONE. By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear such     a foolish song. God buy you; and God mend your voices. Come,     Audrey.                                               Exeunt     SCENE IV. The forest  Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, JAQUES, ORLANDO, OLIVER, and CELIA    DUKE SENIOR. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy     Can do all this that he hath promised?   ORLANDO. I sometimes do believe and sometimes do not:     As those that fear they hope, and know they fear.                 Enter ROSALIND, SILVIUS, and PHEBE    ROSALIND. Patience once more, whiles our compact is urg'd:     You say, if I bring in your Rosalind,     You will bestow her on Orlando here?   DUKE SENIOR. That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her.   ROSALIND. And you say you will have her when I bring her?   ORLANDO. That would I, were I of all kingdoms king.   ROSALIND. You say you'll marry me, if I be willing?   PHEBE. That will I, should I die the hour after.   ROSALIND. But if you do refuse to marry me,     You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd?   PHEBE. So is the bargain.   ROSALIND. You say that you'll have Phebe, if she will?   SILVIUS. Though to have her and death were both one thing.   ROSALIND. I have promis'd to make all this matter even.     Keep you your word, O Duke, to give your daughter;     You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter;     Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me,     Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd;     Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her     If she refuse me; and from hence I go,     To make these doubts all even.                                        Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA   DUKE SENIOR. I do remember in this shepherd boy     Some lively touches of my daughter's favour.   ORLANDO. My lord, the first time that I ever saw him     Methought he was a brother to your daughter.     But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born,     And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments     Of many desperate studies by his uncle,     Whom he reports to be a great magician,     Obscured in the circle of this forest.                      Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY    JAQUES. There is, sure, another flood toward, and these couples are     coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of very strange beasts which     in all tongues are call'd fools.   TOUCHSTONE. Salutation and greeting to you all!   JAQUES. Good my lord, bid him welcome. This is the motley-minded     gentleman that I have so often met in the forest. He hath been a      courtier, he swears.   TOUCHSTONE. If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation.     I have trod a measure; I have flatt'red a lady; I have been     politic with my friend, smooth with mine enemy; I have undone     three tailors; I have had four quarrels, and like to have fought     one.   JAQUES. And how was that ta'en up?   TOUCHSTONE. Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the     seventh cause.   JAQUES. How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this fellow.   DUKE SENIOR. I like him very well.   TOUCHSTONE. God 'ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. 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-favour'd thing, sir, but mine own; a     poor humour of mine, sir, to take that that man else will. Rich     honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor house; as your pearl     in your foul oyster.   DUKE SENIOR. By my faith, he is very swift and sententious.   TOUCHSTONE. According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such dulcet     diseases.   JAQUES. But, for the seventh cause: how did you find the quarrel on     the seventh cause?   TOUCHSTONE. Upon a lie seven times removed- bear your body more     seeming, Audrey- as thus, sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain     courtier's beard; he sent me word, if I said his beard was not     cut well, he was in the mind it was. This is call'd the Retort     Courteous. If I sent him word again it was not well cut, he would     send me word he cut it to please himself. This is call'd the Quip     Modest. If again it was not well cut, he disabled my judgment.     This is call'd the Reply Churlish. If again it was not well cut,     he would answer I spake not true. This is call'd the Reproof     Valiant. If again it was not well cut, he would say I lie. This     is call'd the Countercheck Quarrelsome. And so to the Lie     Circumstantial and the Lie Direct.   JAQUES. And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut?   TOUCHSTONE. I durst go no further than the Lie Circumstantial, nor     he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we measur'd swords     and parted.   JAQUES. Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie?   TOUCHSTONE. O, sir, we quarrel in print by the book, as you have     books for good manners. I will name you the degrees. The first,     the Retort Courteous; the second, the Quip Modest; the third, the     Reply Churlish; the fourth, the Reproof Valiant; the fifth, the     Countercheck Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with Circumstance;     the seventh, the Lie Direct. All these you may avoid but the Lie     Direct; and you may avoid that too with an If. I knew when seven     justices could not take up a quarrel; but when the parties were     met themselves, one of them thought but of an If, as: 'If you     said so, then I said so.' And they shook hands, and swore     brothers. Your If is the only peace-maker; much virtue in If.   JAQUES. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord?     He's as good at any thing, and yet a fool.   DUKE SENIOR. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the     presentation of that he shoots his wit:            Enter HYMEN, ROSALIND, and CELIA. Still MUSIC      HYMEN.    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.   ROSALIND. [To DUKE] To you I give myself, for I am yours.     [To ORLANDO] To you I give myself, for I am yours.   DUKE SENIOR. If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter.   ORLANDO. If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind.   PHEBE. If sight and shape be true,     Why then, my love adieu!   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.   HYMEN.    Peace, ho! I bar confusion;             'Tis I must make conclusion               Of these most strange events.             Here's eight that must take hands             To join in Hymen's bands,               If truth holds true contents.             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.             Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing,             Feed yourselves with questioning,             That reason wonder may diminish,             How thus we met, and these things finish.                         SONG             Wedding is great Juno's crown;               O blessed bond of board and bed!             'Tis Hymen peoples every town;               High wedlock then be honoured.             Honour, high honour, and renown,             To Hymen, god of every town!    DUKE SENIOR. O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me!     Even daughter, welcome in no less degree.   PHEBE. I will not eat my word, now thou art mine;     Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine.                   Enter JAQUES de BOYS    JAQUES de BOYS. 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,     Address'd 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 banish'd brother,     And all their lands restor'd to them again     That were with him exil'd. This to be true     I do engage my life.   DUKE SENIOR. Welcome, young man.     Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding:     To one, his lands withheld; and to the other,     A land itself at large, a potent dukedom.     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 endur'd shrewd days and nights with us,     Shall share the good of our returned fortune,     According to the measure of their states.     Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity,     And fall into our rustic revelry.     Play, music; and you brides and bridegrooms all,     With measure heap'd in joy, to th' measures fall.   JAQUES. Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly,     The Duke hath put on a religious life,     And thrown into neglect the pompous court.   JAQUES DE BOYS. He hath.   JAQUES. To him will I. Out of these convertites     There is much matter to be heard and learn'd.     [To DUKE] You to your former honour I bequeath;     Your patience and your virtue well deserves it.     [To ORLANDO] You to a love that your true faith doth merit;     [To OLIVER] You to your land, and love, and great allies     [To SILVIUS] You to a long and well-deserved bed;     [To TOUCHSTONE] And you to wrangling; for thy loving voyage     Is but for two months victuall'd.- So to your pleasures;     I am for other than for dancing measures.   DUKE SENIOR. Stay, Jaques, stay.   JAQUES. To see no pastime I. What you would have     I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave.               Exit   DUKE SENIOR. Proceed, proceed. We will begin these rites,     As we do trust they'll end, in true delights.    [A dance] Exeunt  EPILOGUE                            EPILOGUE.   ROSALIND. 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. What a     case am I in then, that am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot     insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play! I am not     furnish'd like a beggar; therefore to beg will not become me. 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 simp'ring 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     pleas'd me, complexions that lik'd me, and breaths that I defied     not; and, I am sure, as many as have good beards, or good faces,     or sweet breaths, will, for my kind offer, when I make curtsy,     bid me farewell.  THE END      1593  THE COMEDY OF ERRORS  by William Shakespeare