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 : 681 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. 690 Come, to our flock. [Exeunt Ros. CEL. and CORIN. Phe. Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might; Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight? Sil. Sweet Phebe ! Phe. Hah! 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. 700 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, Bu 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 That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then 710 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, 720 That the old carlot once was master of. Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him; He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall: 730 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 740 I have mo e cause to hate him than to love him: He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair black, But that's all one; omittance is no quittance. The matter's in my head, and in my heart : 750 [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE 1. The Forest. Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES. Jaques. I PRYTHEE, pretty youth, let me be better ac quainted 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. Jag. Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. 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 politick; 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 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. 26 Orla. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind! Jaq. Nay then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse. [Exit. Ros. Farewel, 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. Orla. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise. 39 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 clapt him o' the shoulder, but I warrant him heartwhole. Orla. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight; I had as lief be woo'd of a snail. Orla. Of a snail? 49 Ros. Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries his house on his head; a better jointure, I think, than you can make a woman: Besides, he brings his destiny with him. Orla. What's that? Ros. Why, horns; which such as you are fain to be beholden to your wives for: but he comes armed in his fortune, and prevents the slander of his wife. Orla. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous. Ros. And I am your Rosalind. 60 Cel. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leer than you. Ros. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humour, and like enough to consent : |