When As You Like It was first performed, the role of Rosalind was played by a boy — almost certainly a young man in his mid-to-late teens, one of the company's 'boy players' who specialized in female roles before their voices broke. This was not a curiosity; it was the standard theatrical practice of the Elizabethan stage, where women were not permitted to act in public performances.
Shakespeare builds his entire comedy around this fact. Rosalind is a woman. She disguises herself as a boy named Ganymede. Ganymede then offers to roleplay 'Rosalind' for Orlando, so that he can practice wooing. So at any given moment in Acts 3 and 4, the audience is watching: a boy actor, playing a woman, disguised as a boy, pretending to be that woman again. The layers are not accidental — they are the point.
The epilogue collapses them all. 'If I were a woman' is spoken by a performer who is, at this moment, in costume as Rosalind, out of character, addressing the audience directly. The line does something impossible: it acknowledges that the performer is not a woman, without actually breaking the theatrical spell — because the acknowledgment is itself performed.
For modern audiences who come to the play with a female Rosalind, the line tends to read as a charming rhetorical device, a playful hypothetical. For Shakespeare's original audience, it was a moment of genuine exposure — the boy dropping the mask to show there was another mask underneath, and then bowing. The ambiguity between performer and character, between what's real and what's staged, is where As You Like It lives. The epilogue makes that ambiguity its subject.
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 furnished 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 simpering, 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 pleased me, complexions
that liked 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.
It is not customary for a lady to speak the epilogue, but it is no less unseemly than for a lord to speak the prologue. If it be true that good wine requires no advertisement, then it is also true that a good play requires no epilogue. Yet even good wines benefit from good advertising, and good plays prove better with the help of skillful epilogues. What a difficult position I am in then—neither am I a skilled epilogue, nor can I persuade you on behalf of a good play! I am not dressed as a beggar, so I will not beg you. My method is to appeal to you directly, and I will begin with the women. I charge you, women, for the love you bear to men, to enjoy as much of this play as pleases you. And I charge you, men, for the love you bear to women—as I can see from your smiling that none of you dislikes them—that together with the women, the play may please you. If I were a woman, I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, faces that I liked, and breaths that I found acceptable. And I am certain that as many as have good beards, or good faces, or sweet breaths will, in return for my kind offer, bid me farewell when I curtsy.
It's weird for a woman to do the epilogue, but it's no weirder than a man doing the prologue. If good wine doesn't need marketing, then good plays don't need epilogues either. But honestly? Good wine gets better with good marketing, and good plays get better with good epilogues. So here I am, not a good epilogue-giver, not selling you on this being a good play. I'm not dressed like someone begging for applause, so I won't. Instead I'm going to charm you. First to the women: if you loved any part of this, please say so. And to the men: I can see you like women fine—none of you look like you hate us. So help us women out and like the play too. If I were a woman, I'd kiss everyone whose beard looked good, whose face I liked, whose breath didn't kill me. And everyone with a good beard, good face, or sweet breath—I promise you that much—so when I bow, you'll clap.
weird for me to do this but good wine needs good labels and good plays need good epilogues women: did you like it? men: you like women right? so like the play if i were a woman i'd kiss all of you with good beards and good faces so clap for me
The Reckoning
The epilogue is a formal theatrical courtesy that Shakespeare turns into something philosophically mischievous. Rosalind steps forward as herself — or as the boy playing herself — and begins dismantling the fourth wall with the same precision she used to dismantle Orlando's courtly posturing. She acknowledges the audience as a fact, acknowledges her own theatrical status as a fact, and then uses both to extract applause. The speech is charming and it knows it's charming, which is part of the charm. What makes it linger is the moment when she says 'if I were a woman' — the female character played by a male actor standing before an audience and pulling the mask up just slightly to show the other mask underneath.
If this happened today…
Imagine the lead in a sold-out production of a gender-bending play stepping out of character to address the audience directly at curtain call — before the clapping starts. They say: 'I know the custom is for the director to say something, but I thought I'd do it instead. If it's okay with you. The play wasn't perfect, but neither is wine without a label on the bottle — and you still drink it. I'm asking the women first: if any of it pleased you, say so. And gentlemen: I know none of you hate women — I can see it from here — so help the ladies out. And if I were a woman' — they pause, look down at themselves, look back up — 'I'd kiss the ones who were kind to me tonight.' Then they bow, and wait.