SCENE IV.

A Cottage in the Forest. Enter ROSALIND, and CELIA.

Ros. Never talk to me, I will weep.

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have the grace to con

sider, that tears do not become a man.

Ros. But have I not cause to weep?

Cel. As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep.

Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling colour. Cel. Something browner than Judas's: marry, his kisses are Judas's own children.

Ros. I'faith, his hair is of a good colour.

Cel. An excellent colour: your chesnut was ever the only colour.

561 Ros. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy beard.

Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana : a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them.

Ros. But why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes not ?

Cel. Nay certainly, there is no truth in him.

Ros. Do you think so?

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Cel. Yes: I think he is not a pick-purse, nor a horse-stealer; but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a cover'd goblet, or a worm eaten

nut.

Giij

Ros.

Ros. Not true in love?

Cel. Yes, when he is in; but, I think, he is not in. Ros. You have heard him swear downright, he

was.

Cel. Was, is not is. besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the confirmers of false reckonings: He attends here in the forest on the duke your father.

582 Ros. I met the duke yesterday, and had much question with him: He asked me, of what parentage I was; I told him, of as good as he so he laugh'd, and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando ?

:

Cel. O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover; as a puny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose: but all's brave, that youth mounts, and folly guides :-Who comes here?

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Enter CORIN,

Cor. Mistress, and master, you have oft inquired After the shepherd that complain'd of love;

Whom you saw sitting by me on the turf,
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
That was his mistress.

Cet. Well, and what of him?

Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd,

Between the pale complexion of true love

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And

And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain,
Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you,
If you will mark it.

Ros. O, come, let us remove;

The sight of lovers feedeth those in love :-
Bring us but to this sight, and you shail say
I'll prove a busy actor in their play.

[Exeunt.

Say, that you love me not; but say not so

In bitterness: The common executioner,

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Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard,

Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck,

But first begs pardon: Will you sterner be

Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops ?

Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN.

Phe. I would not be thy executioner; I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.

Thou tell'st me, there is murder in mine eyes 'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, That eyes,—that are the frail'st and softest things,

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Who shut their coward gates on atomies,

Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers!
Now do I 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 can'st not, oh, for shame, for shame,
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers!

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Now shew the wound mine eyes have made in thee:
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
Some scar of it; lean but 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. O dear Phebe,

If ever (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.

Phe. But, 'till that time,

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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?-Who might be your

mother,

That you insult, exult, and all at once,

Over the wretched? What though you have beauty (As, by my faith, I see no more in you Than without candle may go dark to bed),

650 Must

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Must you be therefore proud and pitiless?
Why, what means this? Why do you look on me?
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 mine 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 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,- 675
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 toge

ther;

I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo.

Ros. [Aside.] 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'l

sauce