Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy
Can do all this that he hath promised?
Do you believe, Orlando, that the boy Can accomplish all that he has promised?
You really think that kid can do everything he said?
you believe him?
I sometimes do believe and sometimes do not,
As those that fear they hope, and know they fear.
I sometimes do believe and sometimes do not, As those that fear they hope, and know they fear.
I don't know. Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Like when you want something so badly it scares you.
half yes half no scared to hope
Patience once more whiles our compact is urged.
Please, just a moment while we confirm our agreement.
Hold on, let me explain the deal.
wait let me explain
That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her.
I would do that, had I kingdoms to give with her.
I'd do it gladly if I had whole kingdoms to offer.
if i had kingdoms yes
That would I, were I of all kingdoms king.
I would do that, were I king of all kingdoms.
I'd do it if I were king of everything.
if i were king yes
That will I, should I die the hour after.
I will do that, even if I die the hour after.
I'll marry you even if I die right after.
yes even if it kills me
But if you do refuse to marry me,
You’ll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd?
But if you do refuse to marry me, Will you give yourself to this most faithful shepherd?
But if you won't marry me, you'll marry him instead? This faithful shepherd?
if you refuse me you marry him?
So is the bargain.
That is the agreement.
That's the deal.
yes
Though to have her and death were both one thing.
I would do that even if having her and death were the same thing.
I'd do it even if it meant my death.
even if it kills me yes
I have promised 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, Phoebe, 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.
I have promised to settle all this confusion. Keep your word, Duke, to give your daughter. You keep your word, Orlando, to receive his daughter. Keep your word, Phoebe—you'll marry me, Or else, refusing me, wed this shepherd instead. Keep your word, Silvius—you'll marry her If she refuses me. And from here I go To resolve all these doubts completely.
Okay, listen. I promised to fix all this. Duke, you give your daughter. Orlando, you take her. Phoebe, you marry me or marry Silvius. Silvius, you marry her if she refuses me. And I'm going to make all of it happen.
you all promised i promised i'm going to do this everything settles tomorrow
Hymen's entrance is the most deliberately ambiguous theatrical moment in As You Like It. The text neither confirms nor denies whether Hymen is a supernatural being: he is simply there, leading Rosalind and Celia back in, speaking in formal verse, singing his blessing, and departing. Directors have staged this every possible way — as an actual theatrical magic, as a courtier in costume whom Rosalind has arranged, as a theatrical convention the play openly winks at, as a genuine divine presence the forest enables.
Shakespeare's comedies often permit this kind of productive ambiguity. What matters is not whether Hymen is real but what his presence does: it elevates the four marriages from plot mechanics to ceremony. The moment feels sanctified because it is staged as sacred, regardless of the metaphysics. This is also how comedy works on audiences: we consent to the heightened reality of it.
There is a second layer worth noting. In Roman mythology, Hymen's absence from a wedding was an ill omen — his presence here is therefore a blessing by definition. And his lines have the quality of incantation: 'Then is there mirth in heaven when earthly things made even / Atone together.' The conditional 'then' is almost liturgical. He is not announcing what is happening; he is making it happen by speaking it. This is what ceremony does. Whether it requires a god or a man in a costume is, in the end, not the question the play is asking.
I do remember in this shepherd boy
Some lively touches of my daughter’s favour.
I can see in this shepherd boy Some lively touches of my daughter's face.
This boy has some of my daughter's looks about him.
he looks like her
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 tutored 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.
My lord, the first time I ever saw him I thought he was a brother to your daughter. But, my lord, this boy was forest-born And has been tutored in the mysteries Of many desperate studies by his uncle, Whom he reports to be a great magician, Hidden in the depths of this forest.
The moment I saw him, I thought he looked like your daughter's brother. But he was born here and raised here. His uncle—he's a magician, a really powerful one—taught him all kinds of magic.
when i saw him i thought he was her brother but he's forest-born raised by a magician
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
called fools.
There's sure to be another flood coming, and these couples are heading to the ark. Here comes a pair of very strange creatures—in every language they're called fools.
There's another flood happening and all these couples are two by two like Noah's ark. Here come two more fools.
more couples arking up like two fools
Salutation and greeting to you all.
Greetings to you all.
Hello everyone.
hey
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.
Good my lord, welcome him. This is the quick-witted gentleman I've often met in the forest. He has been a courtier—or so he swears.
My lord, let me introduce him. This is the witty guy I keep running into here. Says he used to be at court.
he's that wit guy says he was at court
If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation. I have trod a
measure; I have flattered 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.
If anyone doubts that, let him test me. I have danced the courtly measure; I have flattered a lady; I have been diplomatic with my friend and smooth with my enemy; I have ruined three tailors with unpaid bills; I have been in four quarrels and nearly fought one.
Want proof? I've done court dances. Flattered ladies. Been fake with enemies. Ruined three tailors financially. Had four quarrels, almost fought one.
i've danced flattered ladies been fake ruined tailors fought almost
And how was that ta’en up?
And how was that quarrel settled?
How'd you settle it?
how was it settled?
Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the seventh cause.
Well, we met and found the quarrel was only at the seventh level.
We met and found we were only at the seventh cause.
seventh cause
How seventh cause?—Good my lord, like this fellow?
The seventh cause? Good lord, do you like this fellow?
The seventh cause? You like him, my lord?
he's entertaining
I like him very well.
I like him very well.
Yes, I do.
i do
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-favoured thing, sir, but mine own; a poor humour of mine, sir, to
take that that no man else will. Rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir,
in a poor house, as your pearl in your foul oyster.
May God reward you, sir—I hope you'll continue to like me. I come here, sir, among the other country couples about to be married, to swear and break oaths according to what marriage demands and what passion breaks. A poor woman, sir, an ugly thing, but mine; a poor fancy of mine, sir—to take what no other man wants. But true honesty lives like a miser, sir, in a poor house, just as your pearl lives in its foul oyster.
Thanks, my lord. I'm here with the other couples to get married and promise what marriage requires. I'm marrying a poor, plain girl, but she's mine. Some might think I'm crazy for taking what nobody else wanted. But real virtue is rare—like finding a pearl in a nasty oyster.
i'm here to marry a poor plain girl but she's mine real virtue is rare
By my faith, he is very swift and sententious.
By my faith, he is very quick and speaks in wise sayings.
He's sharp and clever.
he's clever
According to the fool’s bolt, sir, and such dulcet diseases.
Like a fool's arrow, sir—it goes straight but without much force. And other similar fashionable afflictions.
Like a fool's wit—fast but not deep. That kind of thing.
fast not deep
But, for the seventh cause. How did you find the quarrel on the seventh
cause?
But explain the seventh cause. How did you find the quarrel was at the seventh cause?
Tell me about the seventh cause. How'd you get there?
explain the seventh
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 called 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 called the “quip modest”. If again it was not well cut, he
disabled my judgement. This is called the “reply churlish”. If again it
was not well cut, he would answer I spake not true. This is called the
“reproof valiant”. If again it was not well cut, he would say I lie.
This is called the “countercheck quarrelsome”, and so, to the “lie
circumstantial”, and the “lie direct”.
Upon a lie seven times removed—hold yourself more gracefully, Audrey—as thus, sir. I disliked the cut of a certain courtier's beard. He sent me word that if I said his beard was not well cut, he thought it was. This is called the 'polite retort.' If I sent him word that it was not well cut, he would send me word that he cut it to please himself. This is called the 'modest rebuke.' If again it was not well cut, he said my judgment was wrong. This is called the 'rude reply.' If again it was not well cut, he would say I didn't speak the truth. This is called the 'forceful proof.' If again it was not well cut, he would say I was a liar. This is called the 'aggressive counterchallenge,' and then to the 'circumstantial lie' and the 'direct lie.'
It goes back to a lie at the seventh remove—sit up straight, Audrey—like this. I said some courtier's beard was badly cut. He said if I said that, he'd think it was fine. That's called 'polite response.' If I said it again, he'd say he cut it to please himself—that's 'modest correction.' If I kept saying it, he'd tell me I was wrong—'rude reply.' Then he'd say I lied—'forceful proof.' Then he'd call me a liar outright—'aggressive counterchallenge.' And finally, the direct accusation of lying.
some guy's beard i said it was bad he defended it i kept pushing it escalated seven levels to a direct lie
And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut?
And how many times did you say his beard was not well cut?
How many times did you say his beard was bad?
how many times?
I durst go no further than the lie circumstantial, nor he durst not
give me the lie direct; and so we measured swords and parted.
I didn't dare go beyond the circumstantial lie, and he didn't dare give me the direct lie. So we measured swords and parted.
I stopped before the direct lie, and he did too. So we just measured swords and left.
we stopped measured swords left
Rosalind speaks six words to her father and six words to Orlando, and they are exactly the same words. This is the most formally precise moment in the play, and the most emotionally charged.
The repetition is doing several things at once. First, it refuses hierarchy: she will not rank her love for her father against her love for her husband. Both receive the whole gift. In a play that is very conscious of the power structures governing women — whose daughter, whose wife, whose property — this is a quiet refusal to submit to that grammar. She gives herself; she is not given.
Second, the simplicity of the language — six plain words, the most common words in the language — is a formal coming-off of the disguise. Rosalind has been speaking in elaborate Arden prose for three acts: witty, layered, double-edged. This line is none of those things. It is simply true, and she says it twice so there can be no mistake.
Third, the parallel structure produces an odd sensation in performance: the audience has just watched Rosalind give herself to her father, and then watches her give herself again to Orlando in the same words. The second giving does not diminish the first. They accumulate. This is what the play has been arguing about love all along: it does not divide, it multiplies.
Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie?
Can you list in order now all the degrees of the lie?
Can you list all seven?
list them all
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 peacemaker; much virtue in “if.”
O sir, we quarrel by the book, by the rules, just as you have books for good manners. I will name the degrees: first, the retort polite; second, the quip modest; third, the reply churlish; fourth, the proof forceful; fifth, the countercheck aggressive; sixth, the lie circumstantial; seventh, the lie direct. All these you may avoid except the lie direct, and you may avoid even that with an 'if.' I knew a time when seven justices could not resolve a quarrel, but when the parties met themselves, one of them only thought of an 'if'—like, 'if you said so, then I said so'—and they shook hands and swore brotherhood. Your 'if' is the only peacemaker; great power in 'if.'
We quarrel by the rules, like there's a handbook. Let me name them: one, polite response; two, modest jab; three, rude reply; four, forceful proof; five, aggressive counterchallenge; six, circumstantial lie; seven, direct lie. You can avoid them all except the direct lie, and you can even avoid that with an 'if.' I knew judges who couldn't settle a quarrel, but when the two guys met and one said 'if you said so, then I said so,' they shook hands. The word 'if' is the only thing that makes peace. So much power in 'if.'
first polite then modest then rude then forceful then aggressive then circumstantial then direct but if—just if— changes everything
Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? He’s as good at anything, and yet a
fool.
Isn't this a rare fellow, my lord? He's skilled at anything, and yet he's a fool.
This guy is something else, my lord. He knows everything and he's still a fool.
he's remarkable
He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of
that he shoots his wit.
He uses his foolishness like a hunting blind, and from behind that disguise he shoots his wit.
He hides behind being a fool and that's how he gets his wit in.
fool as disguise wit as weapon
Speaks in formal verse, invocations, blessings. His presence is the play deciding it will resolve itself ceremonially rather than realistically. Whether he is a god, a courtier in costume, or a theatrical device hardly matters — he does what he is there to do: make the marriages feel sanctified rather than merely convenient. His lines have a quality of incantation, of things being said that make them true.
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.
Then there is joy in heaven When earthly things are put in order And come together in harmony. Good Duke, receive your daughter. Hymen brought her from heaven, Yes, brought her here, So that you might join her hand with his, Whose heart is within his breast.
When earthly things are put right There's joy in heaven. Duke, your daughter. Hymen brought her here from heaven So her hand could join with his And their hearts could be one.
heaven celebrates when things align here is your daughter hymen brought her from heaven
If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter.
If my eyes tell me the truth, you are my daughter.
If I can trust what I see, you're my daughter.
you're my daughter
If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind.
If my eyes tell me the truth, you are my Rosalind.
If what I see is real, you're my Rosalind.
you're rosalind
If sight and shape be true,
Why then, my love adieu.
If sight and shape tell truth, Then, my love, goodbye.
If you're really here and really her, Then I'm done.
if this is real i'm done
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.
Peace, everyone! I will settle this confusion. It is I who must conclude These most extraordinary events. Here are eight people who must join hands To be united in Hymen's bonds, If truth proves these promises true.
Quiet! I'm sorting this out. I have to conclude This strange story. Eight of you, join hands For Hymen's bonds If everything is true.
be quiet i'm settling this eight of you join hands if it's true
Every major character in As You Like It ends the play bound to someone else — a marriage, a restoration, a reunion. Every character except Jaques. His departure is not a failure or a punishment; the play offers him the feast and he declines it, politely and on his own terms. Why does Shakespeare write this exit?
Partly it is realism. A comedy that coerced everyone into celebration would be a lie. Jaques's temperament — his constitutional preference for melancholy, for analysis over participation — has been established over five acts. For him to suddenly join the dancing would be a betrayal of character. Shakespeare has spent too much time building him as a genuine alternative sensibility to trash it in the last scene for the sake of unanimity.
But there is something more precise going on. Jaques's decision to seek out Frederick — the converted villain — rather than celebrate the victory is the last and most revealing thing about him. He is not interested in happiness; he is interested in transformation. Frederick has actually changed, and that is the most interesting thing in the forest to Jaques. The others are being restored to what they were. Frederick has become something new. Jaques is constitutionally drawn to the harder case.
The play needs him to leave because a fully unanimous happy ending would be a kind of propaganda. Jaques's departure acknowledges that not everyone fits into the green world's conclusions. The comedy is generous enough to let him go with his dignity and his character intact. His parting blessings — one per character, each precisely targeted — are his last act of observation, and they are affectionate. He is not bitter. He just isn't staying.
O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me
Even daughter, welcome in no less degree.
Oh my dear niece, welcome—you are welcome to me As much as my own daughter.
Welcome, my dear niece. You're as welcome as my own daughter.
welcome as my daughter
Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine.
Your faithfulness has earned my love.
Your faith has made me love you.
your faith made me love you
Frederick's conversion is dispatched in twelve lines by a character we have never met. He raises an army, marches to the forest's edge, meets an old religious man, and converts — all of it reported, none of it dramatized. On a first reading this can feel like exactly what it is: a plot solution, the villain problem neatly resolved so the happy ending can proceed.
But the offstage quality is the point. Shakespeare is not dramatizing Frederick's conversion because Frederick is not the play's subject. The play has been interested in the people he exiled, not in him. His reform matters only instrumentally — it restores what was taken. Showing it in detail would give him the last act he doesn't deserve.
There is also something in the form of his conversion that is meaningful. Frederick doesn't lose a battle; he meets 'an old religious man' and talks to him. Persuasion is the play's primary tool — Rosalind has been persuading people all through Arden, and the forest's power has been a kind of moral persuasion throughout. Frederick is finally persuaded by the same mechanism, just not on stage.
And then there is Jaques, who immediately announces he is going to Frederick. The philosopher who couldn't celebrate anyone in the forest finally finds someone worth studying: the man who opted out of power. In a play full of people who went into the forest for shelter, Frederick's conversion is the play's strangest and most extreme version of the same movement. He comes to the edge of the forest and the forest gets him too, in its way. Jaques is right to be interested.
The middle brother, appearing only in this scene, bearing the news that resets the political world. He has no defined personality — he is a plot function, a messenger, the deus ex machina delivered in human form. His very brevity is part of the joke: after five acts of intricate comic construction, the villain's reform and the Duke's restoration are dispatched in twelve lines by a man we've never met.
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.
Let me speak—I have a word or two. I am the second son of old Sir Rowland, Who bring these tidings to this gathering. Duke Frederick, hearing how each day Men of great worth came to this forest, Raised a powerful army to march here With the specific purpose of capturing His brother here and striking him down. And to the edge of this wild forest he came, Where he met an old religious man, After talking with him, was converted Both from his plan and from the world itself, He gave his crown to his banished brother, And restored all their lands back To those who had been exiled with him. This is true And I stake my life on it.
Let me speak. I'm the second son of Sir Rowland. I bring news. Duke Frederick heard about all the noble men Coming to this forest, so he raised an army to capture his brother And kill him. He came to the forest's edge, Met an old holy man, and talked to him. And was completely converted. Gave up his plan, Left the world behind, gave his crown To his brother, and gave back all the lands To the exiles. This is true. I swear on my life.
duke frederick heard about the nobles raised an army met a holy man got converted gave up everything crown and lands
Welcome, young man.
Thou offer’st fairly to thy brother’s 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 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 new-fall’n dignity,
And fall into our rustic revelry.
Play, music! And you brides and bridegrooms all,
With measure heaped in joy to th’ measures fall.
Welcome, young man. You offer these tidings as a gift to your brother's wedding: To one man his lands withheld, and to another A whole dukedom restored. First, here in this forest let us finish What was begun well and completed well here. And after, let everyone in this happy group Who has endured hardship and danger with us Share in the good fortune of our restored power, According to their rank and worth. For now, forget this newly-won rank and title, And join us in our rustic celebration. Play, music! And all you brides and bridegrooms, Dance with joy to the measures of the dance.
Welcome. You've given your brother the best wedding gift—to one his lands back, to another a whole kingdom restored. Now let's finish what we started here in the forest. And everyone who suffered with us will share in our good fortune. Forget about rank for now and just celebrate. Music! Dancing! Everyone!
welcome his lands his kingdom finish here every one who suffered shares the good music dancing
Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly,
The Duke hath put on a religious life
And thrown into neglect the pompous court.
Sir, if I may. If I heard you correctly, The Duke has taken a religious life And abandoned the pomp of court.
Wait. Did I hear right? The Duke took a religious life And gave up court?
the duke gave up court took a vow?
He hath.
He has.
He did.
yes
To him will I. Out of these convertites
There is much matter to be heard and learned.
Then I will go to him. Among these converts There is much to be learned and heard.
Then I'm going with him. Those people have much to teach me.
i'm going to learn from them
Stay, Jaques, stay.
Stay, Jaques, stay.
Wait.
wait
To see no pastime, I. What you would have
I’ll stay to know at your abandoned cave.
To see no pleasures—that's not for me. What you have to say, I'll learn at your abandoned cave.
I'm not staying for the party. I'll see you at the cave.
no party for me see you later
Proceed, proceed! We will begin these rites,
As we do trust they’ll end, in true delights.
Let's continue! We will begin these ceremonies, Trusting that they will end in true joy.
Let's keep going. We'll start these ceremonies Believing they'll end in real happiness.
let's begin it'll end in joy
The Reckoning
This is the scene the whole play has been building toward, and Shakespeare knows it — so he slows down, lets every thread come in and be named, and then resolves them one by one with the deliberate ceremony of a conductor closing a symphony. The revelation of Rosalind is the emotional center: she gives herself twice, once to her father and once to her lover, in exactly the same words, and the repetition is one of the most quietly devastating moments in the comedies. Around it, Hymen performs his ceremony, four couples are bound, a tyrant converts offstage, and Jaques — who has been the play's truth-teller throughout — declines to join the party and walks away with his dignity intact. The ending is full, but it is not simple.
If this happened today…
Picture the final episode of a long-running reality dating show — but the producer decides to make it strange and beautiful instead of cheap. The contestant who spent the season in disguise reveals herself to the man she's been coaching on how to woo her. Her long-lost dad is also in the room and didn't know she was there. A ritual officiant appears from somewhere that isn't quite explained. Four couples get paired off. Then someone texts in: the villain has had a religious awakening and is giving everything back. And the one cast member everyone expected to melt into the happy ending shakes hands all around, says something pointed and affectionate, and leaves to go find the newly converted man and study him instead.