40 Fandoms of Lent: As You Like It/Twelfth Night
As You Like It/Twelfth Night by Shakespeare
G
"If music be the food of love, play on," said Orsino dreamily, listening to the bards playing in the Forest of Arden.
Orlando looked at him suspiciously.
"Aren't you in the wrong play? I thought this one was mine - mine and Rosalind's."
Orsino waved an airy hand.
"A mere bagatelle, my boy. My beloved Viola - the woman, not the instrument - feels that travel broadens the mind."
Orlando frowned.
"That's all very well, but doesn't that usually refer to physical travel rather than inter-play hopping?"
"You are too literal, Orlando. I would have thought that considering you fell in love with a boy-who-was-really-a-girl-but-was-being-played-by-a-boy, you would know that nothing is that simple. It is perfectly clear: a change of plays is merely another form of travelling - and as good as a rest."
Orlando glanced at where Rosalind was chatting amiably with Viola and Celia. They were giggling, and apparently exchanging notes on their relationships.
"Well," he said grumpily, "I suppose I'll have to put up with it. But when your Viola invites Rosalind AND her cousin Celia to stay with you in Twelfth Night, remember it's all your own fault."
Orsino turned suddenly pale at the thought.
"Viola!" he called across the glade.
His wife turned a questioning face to him.
"Yes?"
"We have to go. We have to go now, at once!"
"But where, darling; and why?"
"Back to our own play. It's a matter of urgency! Ladies; gentleman" - an ironic look at Orlando - "it has been a pleasure."
And as they disappeared from the page, Orsino wisely avoiding the question of 'why', Orlando couldn't help a small smile of triumph.
G
"If music be the food of love, play on," said Orsino dreamily, listening to the bards playing in the Forest of Arden.
Orlando looked at him suspiciously.
"Aren't you in the wrong play? I thought this one was mine - mine and Rosalind's."
Orsino waved an airy hand.
"A mere bagatelle, my boy. My beloved Viola - the woman, not the instrument - feels that travel broadens the mind."
Orlando frowned.
"That's all very well, but doesn't that usually refer to physical travel rather than inter-play hopping?"
"You are too literal, Orlando. I would have thought that considering you fell in love with a boy-who-was-really-a-girl-but-was-being-played-by-a-boy, you would know that nothing is that simple. It is perfectly clear: a change of plays is merely another form of travelling - and as good as a rest."
Orlando glanced at where Rosalind was chatting amiably with Viola and Celia. They were giggling, and apparently exchanging notes on their relationships.
"Well," he said grumpily, "I suppose I'll have to put up with it. But when your Viola invites Rosalind AND her cousin Celia to stay with you in Twelfth Night, remember it's all your own fault."
Orsino turned suddenly pale at the thought.
"Viola!" he called across the glade.
His wife turned a questioning face to him.
"Yes?"
"We have to go. We have to go now, at once!"
"But where, darling; and why?"
"Back to our own play. It's a matter of urgency! Ladies; gentleman" - an ironic look at Orlando - "it has been a pleasure."
And as they disappeared from the page, Orsino wisely avoiding the question of 'why', Orlando couldn't help a small smile of triumph.