Orlando, in his new life, did not forget the lady whom he had seen at the wrestling match, and who had so quickly won his heart. As he had no chance of speaking to Rosalind, the only way in which he could show his love was to carve her name on all the trees, and perpetually to write verses in her praise, which he hung all over the forest.
“Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love,” he would say. “O Rosalind, these trees shall be my books, and I will trace my thoughts in their bark, so that every eye which looks in this forest shall see your praise everywhere.”
Rosalind came across some of these papers, and wondered greatly who the person could be who thus carved and hung her name on all the trees; but Celia, who had also found some of the verses, was able to enlighten her, for she had happened to see the writer. On hearing that it was really Orlando, Rosalind became quite excited, and Celia had no time to answer half the eager questions showered on her before Orlando himself came that way.
Rosalind now for the first time rather regretted her boy’s dress, for, of course, Orlando did not recognise the cousins in their present attire. But, at any rate, in the guise of a saucy youth she determined to have a little fun, and presently a whimsical idea occurred to her nimble brain. Seeing how disconsolate Orlando was, she suggested to him that she should pretend to be really his Rosalind, and that he should address all his affectionate speeches and verses to her exactly in the same way as he would have done to the real person. If he did this, she said, she would soon cure him of his love.
Orlando replied that he did not want to be cured, but, all the same, he was perfectly willing to go every day to the shepherd’s cottage, and talk to this youth as if he were really Rosalind. The plan succeeded admirably.
Since he could not have Rosalind herself, it pleased Orlando to be always talking about her, and he did not notice how much in earnest this half-jesting companionship gradually became.
Audrey, the goatherd.
As time went on, the exiles from Duke Frederick’s court made other acquaintances in the forest. Touchstone had found an object of interest, which served as an excellent butt for displaying his satire. This was a rustic goatherd, called Audrey, a simple, not bad-natured girl, but one of the very stupidest and most ignorant specimens of humanity possible to imagine. Touchstone seemed to be quite fascinated by her extreme silliness, and out of sheer perversity declared he meant to marry her. As for Audrey, she was perfectly unconscious of any ridicule he chose to lavish on her, and followed Touchstone about like a willing little slave.