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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 eye-balls, 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: 'Tis such fools as you,
That make the world full of ill-favour'd children:
'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her;
And out of she sees herself more proper,
Than any of her lineaments can show her ;-
But, mistress, know yourself; down on your
knees,

you

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. Ros. He's fallen in love with her 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,
And be not proud; though all the world could see,
None could be so abus'd 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 lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?

SIL.

PHE.

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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 extermin'd.

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:
But do not look for further recompence,
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
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 ere while ?

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, 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 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'dhim
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.

Рне.

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.

AS YOU LIKE IT, A. 3, 8. 5.

MAN IS MORE OFTEN TO BE FEARED
THAN GOD.

HAST thou that holy feeling in thy soul,
To counsel me to make my peace with God,
And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind,
Thou thou wilt war with God, by murdering
me ?

Ah, sirs, consider, he, that set you on

To do this deed, will hate you for the deed:
Not to relent, is beastly, savage, devilish.-
Which of you, if you were a prince's son,
Being pent from liberty, as I am now,

If such two murderers as yourselves came to

you,

Would not entreat for life ?

My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks;
O, if thine eye be not a flatterer,

Come thou on my side, and entreat for me,
As you would beg, were you in my distress.
A begging prince what beggar pities not?

K. RICHARD III., A. 1, s. 4.

MANNERS MAKE OR UNMAKE.

HEAR thee, Gratiano;

Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice ;-
Parts, that become thee happily enough,
And in such eyes as ours appear not faults;

But where thou art not known, why, there they show

Something too liberal :-pray thee take pain
To allay with some cold drops of modesty
Thy skipping spirit; lest, through thy wild
behaviour,

I be misconstrued in the place I go to,
And lose my hopes.

MERCHANT OF VENICE, A. 2, s. 2.

MARRIAGE CONSTANCY.

How ill agrees it with your gravity,
To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave,
Abetting him to thwart me in my mood?
Be it my wrong, you are from me exempt,
But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt.
Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine :
Thou art an elm, my husband, I, a vine ;
Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state,
Makes me with thy strength to communicate:
If ought possess thee from me, it is dross,
Usurping ivy, briar, or idle moss;

Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion
Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion.

COMEDY OF ERRORS, A. 2, s. 2.

MATERIALS OF WAR IN THE
MIDDLE AGES.

TURN your forces from this paltry siege,
And stir them up against a mightier task.
England, impatient of your just demands,
Hath put himself in arms; the adverse winds,
Whose leisure I have staid, have given him time

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