Never talk to me, I will weep.
Show me how to grieve.
Teach me how to cry.
teach me to grieve
Do, I prithee, but yet have the grace to consider that tears do not
become a man.
Please do so, but remember that tears do not become a man.
I will, but try to remember that crying doesn't suit a guy.
tears don't look good on you
But have I not cause to weep?
But have I not cause to weep?
But don't I have the right to cry?
don't i have reason to cry
As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep.
As good cause as one would desire.
More reason than anyone could ask for.
plenty of reasons
His very hair is of the dissembling colour.
What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue?
What's this feeling that makes it so hard to speak?
why can't i speak
Something browner than Judas’s. Marry, his kisses are Judas’s own
children.
He has stolen the kiss of Diana. A nun of winter's convent kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them.
He's got that cold, chaste kiss down perfectly — like a nun from winter would kiss. His lips are pure ice.
his kiss is cold like a frozen nun no passion at all
I’ faith, his hair is of a good colour.
I fear you have sold your own lands to see Ganymede's eyes.
I think you'd give everything just to see Ganymede's face.
you'd sell your life for a look
An excellent colour. Your chestnut was ever the only colour.
Do not take offense; I speak only in jest.
I'm just joking around.
i'm kidding
For two full acts, Rosalind has been in control. She engineers the disguise, she manages the name (Ganymede), she sets up the love-game with Orlando — proposing to 'cure' him of love while secretly deepening her own. In 3-2, she's dazzling. In 3-3, she's watching from the audience. By 3-4, the performance is starting to cost her something.
The clearest sign is the oscillation between criticizing Orlando and defending him — sometimes within the same breath. She calls his hair the 'dissembling colour' (Judas-red, treacherous) and forty words later declares chestnut 'the only colour.' This isn't indecision. It's the symptom of someone who can't sustain a position because the emotional stakes are too high. Every critical thought she has about Orlando is immediately overturned by feeling.
Celia sees this. Her deadpan line about tears not suiting a man — 'have the grace to consider that tears do not become a man' — is both a practical warning (the disguise is slipping) and a diagnosis: Rosalind is behaving like someone in love, not someone administering a cure. The game has turned.
This scene is brief by the play's standards, but it performs critical structural work. It establishes that Rosalind is now the patient, not the therapist. Whatever happens in 4-1 — when Orlando arrives and the role-play continues — will be conducted by someone who is genuinely in danger of the thing she was supposed to be curing. The comedy deepens because the stakes are now real on both sides.
And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy bread.
But why did he never come, then?
But why hasn't he shown up?
where is he
He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana. A nun of winter’s
sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in
them.
He has acquired the kind of chaste, cold lips that a nun from winter's convent would have. The very ice of chastity is what you see in them.
His mouth is like a nun's in winter — frozen, absolutely pure, zero warmth. All he's got is that icy chastity thing.
lips like a nun in winter completely frozen no heat, no passion just pure cold
But why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes not?
But why does he stay away, then?
So why isn't he here?
so where is he
Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.
Nay, but if he keep his promise—
Well, if he keeps his word—
if he shows up
Do you think so?
Then love him, Celia.
Then love him.
then love him
Yes. I think he is not a pick-purse nor a horse-stealer, but for his
verity in love, I do think him as concave as a covered goblet or a
worm-eaten nut.
He is probably not a criminal or a thief, but as for his honesty in love, I think him as hollow as a covered goblet or a wormy nut.
He's not a crook or a horse-thief, but about being honest in love? I think he's as empty as an upside-down cup or a rotten nut inside.
he's not a criminal but his love is hollow completely empty inside
Not true in love?
Not he, when he is best provoked.
No, not even when he should be.
no, he won't
Yes, when he is in, but I think he is not in.
I will believe it when I see it.
I'll believe it when it happens.
when i see it
You have heard him swear downright he was.
But what is your argument?
What's your point?
what's your evidence
In comedy, the straight man is often the most undervalued role. They don't get the laughs; they set them up. Celia's function in this scene is exactly that — she provides the level surface against which Rosalind's instability registers as instability.
But Celia is more than a reaction mechanism. Her skepticism is substantive. When she points out that tears don't prove sincerity, or that a man who swore love and then didn't show up has produced actual counter-evidence, she's right. She isn't just playing devil's advocate — she's keeping Rosalind honest, or at least trying to.
There's also something quietly rueful about Celia's position in this scene. She's watching her best friend fall completely apart over a man they met three days ago, a man whose virtues are entirely theoretical from Celia's perspective. The friendship was their life before the Forest. Now Rosalind barely notices she's there. Celia's needling wit — 'tears do not become a man,' 'therefore weep,' 'your chestnut was ever the only colour' — is also a strategy for staying present in a conversation that keeps threatening to leave her behind.
Watch what Celia doesn't say. She never tells Rosalind her love is foolish, or that Orlando will disappoint her, or that this isn't worth it. She holds her skepticism right up to the edge of cruelty and stops. That restraint is the measure of her love for Rosalind — which is, quietly, the deepest love in the play.
“Was” is not “is”. Besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than the
word of a tapster. They are both the confirmer of false reckonings. He
attends here in the forest on the Duke your father.
'Was' is not 'is.' Besides, a lover's oath is no stronger than a bartender's word. Both are just used to cover false accounts. He is here in the forest, attending on your father.
'Was' isn't 'is.' Plus, a lover's promise means nothing more than a bartender swearing up your tab. They both just lie. He's here in the forest serving your father.
was isn't is lovers' oaths are lies like a bartender's word he's here but what does that prove
I met the Duke yesterday, and had much question with him. He asked me
of what parentage I was. I told him, of as good as he, so he laughed
and let me go. But what talk we of fathers when there is such a man as
Orlando?
I saw the Duke yesterday and had a long conversation with him. He asked my parentage, and I told him it was as good as his. He laughed and let me pass. But why talk of fathers when there is such a man as Orlando?
I ran into your dad yesterday. He asked who my family was, so I told him mine was as good as his. He laughed and let me go. But why are we talking about fathers when there's Orlando?
met your dad yesterday he laughed at me but who cares when there's orlando
O, that’s a brave man! He writes brave verses, speaks brave words,
swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart
the heart of his lover, as a puny tilter, that spurs his horse but on
one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose. But all’s brave that
youth mounts and folly guides. Who comes here?
Oh, he's a brave man! He writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, cutting right through the heart of his lover like a clumsy jouster who spurs his horse on only one side and breaks his lance like a fool. But everything's brave when youth is in the saddle and folly is the guide.
Oh, he's so brave! Writes great poems, says grand things, swears grand oaths, then smashes them right through your heart like some bad jouuster who can't even aim right. But I guess everything's brave when you're young and stupid.
so brave brilliant verses beautiful oaths all shattered right through your heart
Mistress and master, you have oft enquired
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.
Mistress and master, you have often asked about the shepherd who was complaining of love — the one you saw sitting beside me, praising the proud, disdainful shepherdess who was his beloved.
Mistress and master, you've asked before about that shepherd who's heartbroken over love — the one you saw with me, always going on about that proud shepherdess he loves.
you asked about the love-sick shepherd who sits with me praise that proud girl constantly
Well, and what of him?
Yes, we did.
Yes, we did.
yeah we did
If you will see a pageant truly played
Between the pale complexion of true love
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain,
Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you,
If you will mark it.
If you will come see a play truly performed between the pale face of true love and the flushed arrogance of scorn and pride, follow me a little way, and I will show you, if you will watch carefully.
If you want to watch a perfect performance of true love up against pure disdain, come with me a bit. I'll show you if you pay attention.
want to see love vs disdain played out perfectly follow me i'll show you
O, come, let us remove.
The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.
Bring us to this sight, and you shall say
I’ll prove a busy actor in their play.
Oh, come, let us go. The sight of lovers feeds those in love. Take us to this scene, and you will see I will be an active participant in their play.
Come on, let's go. Watching people in love makes you feel it too. Show us, and I'll jump right in with them.
let's go lovers feed more love i'll get involved i'll perform with them
The Reckoning
Rosalind has been playing the cure for love, and the cure is backfiring. She's been waiting for Orlando and he hasn't come, and she's been crying — which is awkward because she's still dressed as a boy. Celia watches with the affectionate skepticism of someone who can see exactly what's happening. Their banter about Orlando's hair color is a delaying tactic, a way to stay in motion so neither of them has to say the obvious: Rosalind is in love, entirely, without a net. When Corin arrives to offer them a front-row seat to Silvius and Phoebe's spectacle, Rosalind leaps at it — watching other people love badly is the next best thing to being loved herself. She doesn't yet know she's about to watch something that enrages her.
If this happened today…
Your therapist assigned you homework: spend time with someone who's terrible at relationships, observe their patterns, report back. The catch is you've started doing all the things they told you to stop doing — checking your phone every five minutes, rewriting texts, crying in the bathroom. Your best friend watches you spiral and maintains a carefully neutral expression. Then a neighbor texts: want to come watch my friend make the most cringe-worthy attempts at flirting you've ever seen? You say yes immediately, because at least when you're watching someone else's disaster you're not thinking about yours. You walk over. It turns out to be more complicated than you expected.