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 Carlos 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,
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 'tis well.

There was a pretty redness in his lip;

A little riper and more lusty red

Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas 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

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.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV

SCENE I. 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, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.
Ros. Why, then, 'tis good to be a post.

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; which, by often rumination, wraps me in a most humorous sadness.

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 gain'd my experience.

Enter ORLANDO.

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.

Orl. Good-day, and happiness, dear Rosalind!

Jaq. Nay, then, God buy you, and you talk in blank

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

PLATE 17

"GIVE ME YOUR HAND, ORLANDO

As You Like It, act iv.. scene i.