As you like it E-Book

William Shakespeare

• Herausgeber: William Shakespeare
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

William Shakespeare - As You Like It is a pastoral comedy by William Shakespeare believed to have been written in 1599 and first published in the First Folio, 1623. The plays first performance is uncertain, though a performance at Wilton House in 1603 has been suggested as a possibility. As You Like It follows its heroine Rosalind as she flees persecution in her uncles court, accompanied by her cousin Celia to find safety and, eventually, love, in the Forest of Arden. In the forest, they encounter a variety of memorable characters, notably the melancholy traveller Jaques who speaks many of Shakespeares most famous speeches (such as "All the worlds a stage" and "A fool! A fool! I met a fool in the forest"). Jaques provides a sharp contrast to the other characters in the play, always observing and disputing the hardships of life in the country. Historically, critical response has varied, with some critics finding the work of lesser quality than other Shakespearean works and some finding the play a work of great merit.

Leseprobe

AS YOU LIKE IT

by William Shakespeare

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

  DUKE, living in exile   FREDERICK, his brother, and usurper of his dominions   AMIENS, lord attending on the banished Duke   JAQUES, " " " " " "   LE BEAU, a courtier attending upon Frederick   CHARLES, wrestler to Frederick   OLIVER, son of Sir Rowland de Boys   JAQUES, " " " " " "   ORLANDO, " " " " " "   ADAM, servant to Oliver   DENNIS, " " "   TOUCHSTONE, the court jester   SIR OLIVER MARTEXT, a vicar   CORIN, shepherd   SILVIUS, "   WILLIAM, a country fellow, in love with Audrey   A person representing HYMEN

  ROSALIND, daughter to the banished Duke   CELIA, daughter to Frederick   PHEBE, a shepherdess   AUDREY, a country wench

Lords, Pages, Foresters, and Attendants

SCENE: OLIVER'S house; FREDERICK'S court; and the Forest of Arden

ACT I. SCENE I. Orchard of OLIVER'S house

Enter ORLANDO and ADAM

  ORLANDO. 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     hir'd; but I, 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 seems to take from     me. He lets me feed with his 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.

Enter OLIVER

  ADAM. Yonder comes my master, your brother.   ORLANDO. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me     up. [ADAM retires]   OLIVER. Now, sir! what make you here?   ORLANDO. Nothing; I am not taught to make any thing.   OLIVER. What mar you then, sir?   ORLANDO. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a     poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness.   OLIVER. Marry, sir, be better employed, and be nought awhile.   ORLANDO. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them? What     prodigal portion have I spent that I should come to such penury?   OLIVER. Know you where you are, sir?   ORLANDO. O, sir, very well; here in your orchard.   OLIVER. Know you before whom, sir?   ORLANDO. 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 twenty brothers betwixt us. I have as     much of my father in me as you, albeit I confess your coming     before me is nearer to his reverence.   OLIVER. What, boy! [Strikes him]   ORLANDO. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this.   OLIVER. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?   ORLANDO. I am no villain; I am the youngest son of Sir Rowland de     Boys. 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 pull'd out thy     tongue for saying so. Thou has rail'd on thyself.   ADAM. [Coming forward] Sweet masters, be patient; for your father's     remembrance, be at accord.   OLIVER. Let me go, I say.   ORLANDO. I will not, till I please; you shall hear me. My father     charg'd you in his will to give me good education: you have     train'd me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all     gentleman-like 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.   OLIVER. 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.   ORLANDO. I no further offend you than becomes me for my good.   OLIVER. 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   OLIVER. 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

  DENNIS. Calls your worship?   OLIVER. Was not Charles, the Duke's wrestler, here to speak with me?   DENNIS. So please you, he is here at the door and importunes access     to you.   OLIVER. Call him in. [Exit DENNIS] 'Twill be a good way; and     to-morrow the wrestling is.

Enter CHARLES

CHARLES. Good morrow to your worship. OLIVER. Good Monsieur Charles! What's the new news at the new court? CHARLES. 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. OLIVER. Can you tell if Rosalind, the Duke's daughter, be banished with her father? CHARLES. 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. OLIVER. Where will the old Duke live? CHARLES. 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. OLIVER. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new Duke? CHARLES. 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 disguis'd 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 loath 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 thing of his own search and altogether against my will. OLIVER. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I had myself 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. CHARLES. 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 OLIVER. 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 school'd 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 kindle the boy thither, which now I'll go about. Exit

SCENE II. A lawn before the DUKE'S palace

Enter ROSALIND and CELIA

  CELIA. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.   ROSALIND. 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.   CELIA. 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 temper'd     as mine is to thee.   ROSALIND. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to     rejoice in yours.   CELIA. 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.   ROSALIND. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports.     Let me see; what think you of falling in love?   CELIA. 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.   ROSALIND. What shall be our sport, then?   CELIA. Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from her     wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally.   ROSALIND. 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.   CELIA. 'Tis true; for those that she makes fair she scarce makes     honest; and those that she makes honest she makes very     ill-favouredly.   ROSALIND. Nay; now thou goest from Fortune's office to Nature's:     Fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of     Nature.

Enter TOUCHSTONE

  CELIA. 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?   ROSALIND. Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when     Fortune makes Nature's natural the cutter-off of Nature's wit.   CELIA. Peradventure this is not Fortune's work neither, but     Nature's, who perceiveth our natural wits too dull to reason of     such goddesses, and hath sent this natural for our whetstone; for     always the dullness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits. How     now, wit! Whither wander you?   TOUCHSTONE. Mistress, you must come away to your father.   CELIA. Were you made the messenger?   TOUCHSTONE. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come for you.   ROSALIND. Where learned you that oath, fool?   TOUCHSTONE. 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 pancakes were naught and the mustard     was good, and yet was not the knight forsworn.   CELIA. How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge?   ROSALIND. Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom.   TOUCHSTONE. Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and swear     by your beards that I am a knave.   CELIA. By our beards, if we had them, thou art.   TOUCHSTONE. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were. But if you     swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn; 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 pancackes or     that mustard.   CELIA. Prithee, who is't that thou mean'st?   TOUCHSTONE. One that old Frederick, your father, loves.   CELIA. My father's love is enough to honour him. Enough, speak no     more of him; you'll be whipt for taxation one of these days.   TOUCHSTONE. The more pity that fools may not speak wisely what wise     men do foolishly.   CELIA. By my troth, thou sayest 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

  ROSALIND. With his mouth full of news.   CELIA. Which he will put on us as pigeons feed their young.   ROSALIND. Then shall we be news-cramm'd.   CELIA. 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.   CELIA. Sport! of what colour?   LE BEAU. What colour, madam? How shall I answer you?   ROSALIND. As wit and fortune will.   TOUCHSTONE. Or as the Destinies decrees.   CELIA. Well said; that was laid on with a trowel.   TOUCHSTONE. Nay, if I keep not my rank-   ROSALIND. Thou losest thy old smell.   LE BEAU. You amaze me, ladies. I would have told you of good     wrestling, which you have lost the sight of.   ROSALIND. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling.   LE BEAU. I will tell you the beginning, and, if it please your