Here is the line-by-line paraphrase of Rosalind’s monologue from As You Like It:

Original: I have been told so of many: but indeed an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inland man; one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love.
Modern: Many people have told me that, but actually my old uncle who became a monk taught me how to talk - he used to live in the city when he was young and knew all about romance because he fell in love there.

Original: I have heard him read many lectures against it; and I thank God, I am not a woman, to be touched with so many giddy offences as he hath generally taxed their whole sex withal.
Modern: I’ve heard him give many speeches against love, and I thank God I’m not a woman who has to deal with all the silly faults he says women are guilty of.

Original: There were none principal; they were all like one another as half-pence are; every one fault seeming monstrous till his fellow fault came to match it.
Modern: There weren’t any main faults - they were all alike, like identical coins; each fault seemed huge until the next fault came along to match it.

Original: No, I will not cast away my physic, but on those that are sick.
Modern: No, I won’t waste my medicine except on people who are actually sick.

Original: There is a man haunts the forest, that abuses our young plants with carving -Rosalind- on their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns, and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind: if I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him.
Modern: There’s a man wandering around this forest who damages our young trees by carving “Rosalind” into their bark and hangs love poems on thorns and bushes, treating the name Rosalind like it’s sacred - if I could meet this romantic fool, I’d give him some good advice because he clearly has a daily fever of love.

Original: There is none of my uncle.s marks upon you: he taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner.
Modern: You don’t show any of my uncle’s signs of being in love - he taught me how to recognize a man in love, and I’m sure you’re not trapped in that flimsy prison.

Original: A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye and sunken, which you have not; an unquestionable spirit, which you have not; a beard neglected, which you have not: but I pardon you for that, for, simply, your having in beard is a younger brother’s revenue.
Modern: A thin face, which you don’t have; dark circles under sunken eyes, which you don’t have; a moody, antisocial attitude, which you don’t have; an unkempt beard, which you don’t have - but I forgive you for that since your facial hair is about as sparse as a younger son’s inheritance.

Original: Then, your hose should be ungartered, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and everything about you demonstrating a careless desolation.
Modern: Then your stockings should be falling down, your hat should be messy, your sleeves unbuttoned, your shoes untied, and everything about you should show careless despair.

Original: But you are no such man: you are rather point-device in your accoutrements; as loving yourself than seeming the lover of any other.
Modern: But you’re not like that at all - you’re perfectly dressed and groomed, more like someone who loves himself than someone in love with another person.

Original: Me believe it! you may as soon make her that you love believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do than to confess she does; that is one of the points in the which women still give the lie to their consciences.
Modern: Make me believe it! You’d have just as much luck convincing the woman you love, and I guarantee she’s more likely to believe you than to admit she loves you back - that’s one way women lie to themselves.

Original: But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired?
Modern: But seriously, are you the one who hangs those poems on the trees where Rosalind is so praised?

Original: But are you so much in love as your rimes speak?
Modern: But are you really as much in love as your poems claim?

Original: Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why they are not so punished and cured is, that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too.
Modern: Love is just madness, and I’m telling you, it deserves the same treatment as insanity - being locked up and beaten; the only reason lovers aren’t punished and cured that way is because this madness is so common that even the people who would do the punishing are in love too.

Original: Yet I profess curing it by counsel.
Modern: But I claim I can cure it with advice.

Original: Yes, one; and in this manner.
Modern: Yes, one person, and here’s how I did it.

Original: He was to imagine me his love, his mistress; and I set him every day to woo me: at which time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing and liking; proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles, for every passion something, and for no passion truly anything, as boys and women are, for the most part, cattle of this colour; would now like him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love to a living humour of madness, which was, to forswear the full stream of the world, and to live in a nook merely monastic.
Modern: He had to pretend I was his beloved, and I made him court me every day - during which I acted like a moody young person: sad, feminine, changeable, wanting and rejecting, proud, silly, foolish, shallow, fickle, crying one minute and smiling the next, showing some emotion for everything but never truly feeling anything, the way boys and women usually are; I’d like him one moment, hate him the next, welcome him then reject him, cry for him then spit at him - until I drove him from the madness of love to actual madness, where he gave up on the world and went to live alone like a monk.

Original: And thus I cured him; and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep.s heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in’t.
Modern: That’s how I cured him, and I’ll do the same for you - I’ll wash your emotions as clean as a healthy sheep’s heart so there won’t be a trace of love left in you.

Original: I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, and come every day to my cote and woo me.
Modern: I could cure you if you would just call me Rosalind and come to my cottage every day to court me.

Original: Go with me to it and I’ll show it you; and by the way you shall tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go?
Modern: Come with me and I’ll show you where it is, and on the way you can tell me where you live in the forest. Will you come?

Original: Nay, you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you go?
Modern: No, you have to call me Rosalind. Come on, sister, are you coming with us?

In Act III, Scene ii, line 39 and the surrounding sequence, Orlando enters the Forest of Arden and begins his lovesick ritual of hanging poems dedicated to Rosalind on trees throughout the woodland. He recites verses praising her beauty and virtues, declaring his intention to carve her name into every tree bark so that all who pass through the forest will read of his devotion. This passionate display of courtly love represents Orlando’s attempt to process his feelings for Rosalind, whom he believes he may never see again after fleeing Duke Frederick’s court.

Shortly after Orlando exits, Corin and Touchstone enter, followed by Rosalind (disguised as the young man Ganymede) and Celia (disguised as Aliena). The women discover Orlando’s poems hanging from the trees, and Rosalind realizes with excitement and trepidation that her beloved has followed her into exile. This discovery sets up the central comedic conceit of the play’s middle acts: Rosalind must navigate her feelings for Orlando while maintaining her masculine disguise, leading to increasingly complex and humorous situations as she interacts with him without revealing her true identity.

As You Like It follows the story of Rosalind, daughter of the banished Duke Senior, who lives at court with her cousin Celia under the rule of the usurping Duke Frederick. When the young nobleman Orlando defeats the court wrestler Charles, Rosalind and Orlando fall instantly in love. However, Duke Frederick suddenly banishes Rosalind, fearing her popularity threatens his power. Celia chooses to flee with her beloved cousin, and together they escape to the Forest of Arden where Rosalind’s father lives in exile with his loyal followers.

To ensure their safety during their journey and life in the forest, Rosalind disguises herself as a young man named Ganymede, while Celia takes the identity of a shepherdess called Aliena. Meanwhile, Orlando, having been warned by the faithful servant Adam that his jealous older brother Oliver plans to kill him, also flees to the forest. In Arden, Orlando encounters “Ganymede” and, not recognizing his beloved Rosalind, agrees to cure his lovesickness by wooing the disguised young man as if he were Rosalind herself.

The forest becomes a place of romantic confusion and resolution, populated by various couples including the melancholy Jaques, the fool Touchstone (who pursues the country wench Audrey), and the shepherdess Phebe (who falls for “Ganymede” while spurning her devoted Silvius). The play’s complications multiply when Oliver arrives in the forest, transformed by Orlando’s heroic rescue of him from a lioness, and immediately falls in love with Celia. In the final act, Rosalind orchestrates the resolution of all romantic entanglements by revealing her true identity, leading to multiple marriages. Duke Frederick experiences a religious conversion and restores his brother to power, allowing the court characters to choose between returning to civilization or remaining in the pastoral world of Arden.