'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,

That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things,
Who shut their coward gates on atomies,

Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers!
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart;

And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee:
Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down;

Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame,
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers!

Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee:
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
Some scar of it; lean upon a rush,

The cicatrice and capable impressure

Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes,
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not,

Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes

That can do hurt.

Sil.

If ever,

O dear Phebe,

—as that ever may be near,

You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy,
Then shall you know the wounds invisible

That love's keen arrows make.

But till that time

Phe.
Come not thou near me: and when that time comes,
Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not;

As till that time I shall not pity thee.
Ros. And why, I pray you?

mother,

Who might be your

That you insult, exult, and all at once,

Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty,—

As, by my faith, I see no more in you

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30

Than without candle may go dark to bed

Must you be therefore proud and pitiless?

Why, what means this? Why do you look on me?

40

I see no more in you than in the ordinary

Of nature's sale-work. 'Od's my little life,
I think she means to tangle my eyes too!
No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it:
'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair,
Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my spirits to your worship.

You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her,

Like foggy south puffing with wind and rain?
You are a thousand times a properer man
Than she a woman: 't is such fools as you

50

That makes the world full of ill-favoured children:
'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her;
And out of you she sees herself more proper
Than any of her lineaments can show her.
But mistress, know yourself: down on your knees,
And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love:
For I must tell you friendly in your ear,

Sell when you can: you are not for all markets:
Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer:
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.
So take her to thee, shepherd: fare you well.

Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together: I had rather hear you chide than this man woo.

8་

Ros. He's fallen in love with your foulness, and she 'll fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce her with bitter words. Why look you so upon me?

Phe. For no ill will I bear you.

Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me, For I am falser than vows made in wine:

Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house,
'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by.

Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard.
Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better,

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And be not proud: though all the world could see
None could be so abused in sight as he.

Come, to our flock. [Exeunt Rosalind, Celia, and Corin. Phe. Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might.

'Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?'

Sil. Sweet Phebe,

Phe.

Ha, what say'st thou, Silvius?

Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me.

Phe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.
Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be:

If you do sorrow at my grief in love,

By giving love your sorrow and my grief

Were both extermined.

Phe. Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly?

Sil. I would have you.

Phe.

Why, that were covetousness.
Silvius, the time was that I hated thee,
And yet it is not that I bear thee love;
But since that thou canst talk of love so well,
Thy company, which erst was irksome to me,
I will endure, and I'll employ thee too:

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90

But do not look for further recompense

Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd.
Sil. So holy and so perfect is my love,

And I in such a poverty of grace,

That I shall think it a most plenteous crop

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To glean the broken ears after the man

That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then

A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon.

Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me erewhile?
Sil. Not very well, but I have met him oft;

And he hath bought the. cottage and the bounds
That the old carlot once was master of.

Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him; 'Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well;

But what care I for words? yet words do well

ΠΙΟ

When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.
It is a pretty youth: not very pretty:

But, sure, he's proud, and yet his pride becomes him:
He'll make a proper man: the best thing in him

Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue

Did make offence his eye did heal it up.

He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall:
His leg is but so so; and yet 't is well:

There was a pretty redness in his lip,

A little riper and more lusty red

Than that mix'd in his cheek; 't was just the difference
Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask.

There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him
In parcels as I did, would have gone near

To fall in love with him; but, for my part,

I love him not nor hate him not; and yet

I have more cause to hate him than to love him:

For what had he to do to chide at me?

He said mine eyes were black and my hair black:
And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me:

I marvel why I answer'd not again:

But that's all one: omittance is no quittance,
I'll write to him a very taunting letter,
And thou shalt bear it: wilt thou, Silvius?
Sil. Phebe, with all my heart.
Phe.

I'll write it straight;

The matter's in my head and in my heart:
I will be bitter with him and passing short.
Go with me. Silvius.

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[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. The forest.

Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES.

Jaq. I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee.

Ros. They say you are a melancholy fellow.

Jaq. I am so; I do love it better than laughing.

Ros. Those that are in extremity of either are abominable fellows and betray themselves to every modern censure worse than drunkards.

Jaq. Why, 't is good to be sad and say nothing.
Ros. Why then, 't is good to be a post.

9

Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation, nor the musician's, which is fantastical, nor the courtier's, which is proud, nor the soldier's, which is ambitious, nor the lawyer's, which is politic, nor the lady's, which is nice, nor the lover's, which is all these: but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous sadness. 18

Ros. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad: I fear you have sold your own lands to see other men's; then, to have seen much and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands.

Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience.

Ros. And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad; and to travel for it too!

Enter ORLANDO.

Orl. Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind!

Jaq. Nay, then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank [Exit. 29

verse.

Ros. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: look you lisp and wear strange suits, disable all the benefits of your own country, be out of love with your nativity and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are, or I will scarce think you have swam in a gondola. Why, how now, Orlando! where have you been all this while? You a lover! An you serve me such another trick, never come in my sight more.

Orl. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise.

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Ros. Break an hour's promise in love! He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts and break but a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapped him o' the shoulder, but I'll warrant him heart-whole.

Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind.

Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight: I had as lief be wooed of a snail.

Orl. Of a snail?

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Ros. Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries his house on his head; a better jointure, I think, than you make a woman: besides, he brings his destiny with him. Orl. What's that?

Ros. Why, horns, which such as you are fain to be behold ing to your wives for: but he comes armed in his fortune and prevents the slander of his wife.

Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker: and my Rosalind is virtuous. Ros. And I am your Rosalind.

Cel. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leer than you.

58 Ros. Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humour and like enough to consent. What would you say

to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind? Orl. I would kiss before I spoke.

Ros. Nay, you were better speak first, and when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking-God warn us!-matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.

Orl. How if the kiss be denied?

Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new

matter.

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Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress? Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit.

Orl. What, of my suit?

Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind?

Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of her.

Ros. Well in her person I say I will not have you.
Orl. Then in mine own person I die.

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Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause.