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The same. Before a Cottage.

Enter ROSALIND and CELIA. Ros. Never talk to me, I will weep.

Cel. Do, I pr’ythee ; but yet have the grace to consider, that tears do not become a man.

Ros. But have I not cause to weep?
Cel. As good cause as one would desire ; there-

fore weep:

Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling colour.
Cel. Something browner than Judas's : 8


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.

Ros. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy bread.'

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 ?

& Something browner than Judas's :] Judas was constantly represented in ancient painting or tapestry, with red hair and beard. 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.

9 l'faith, his hair is of a good colour.) There is much of nature in this petty perverseness of Rosalind : she finds fault in her lover, in hope to be contradicted, and when Celia in sportive malice too readily seconds her accusations, she contradicts herself rather than suffer her favourite to want a vindication,

as the touch of holy bread.] We should read beard, that is, as the kiss of an holy saint or hermit, called the kiss of charity. This makes the comparison just and decent; the other impious and absurd. WARBURTON.

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 con rmers of false reckonings : He attends here in the forest on the duke


father. Ros. I met the duke yesterday, and had much question with him: He asked me, of what parentage I 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:

Enter Corin. Cor. Mistress, and master, you have oft enquired After the shepherd that complain’d of love;


as concave as a cover'd goblet,] i. e. hollow.
much question -] i. e. conversation.

quite traverse, athwart, &c.] An unexperienced lover is here compared to a puny tilter, to whom it was a disgrace to have his lance broken across, as it was a mark either of want of courage or address. This happened when the horse flew on one side, in the career: and hence arose the jocular proverbial phrase of spurring the horse only on one side. s of his lover ;] i. e. of his mistress. VOL. III.


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

Well, and what of him?
Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd,
Between the pale complexion of true love,
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain,
Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you,
If you will mark it.

O, come, let us remove;
The sight of lovers feedeth those in love :-
Bring us unto this sight, and you shall

say I'll

prove a busy actor in their play. [Exeunt.


Another Part of the Forest.

Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not,

Phebe :
Say, that you love me not; but say not so
In bitterness : The common executioner,
Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes

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, at a distance.

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 eye:
"Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,

6 'Tis pretly, sure, and very probable,] Sure for surely.

That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things,
Who shut their coward gates on atomies,
Should be calld tyrants, butchers, murderers!
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart ;
And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee į
Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down ;
Or, if thou canst not, 0, 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 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.

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.

But, till that time, Come not thou near me: and, when that time comes, Affict me with thy mocks, pity me not ; As, till that time, I shall not pity thee. Ros. And why, I pray you? (Advancing:] Who

might be your mother, That you insult, exult, and all at once, Over the wretched ? What though you have more


7 The cicatrice and capable impressure ---] Cicatrice is here not very properly used; it is the scar of a wound. Capable may mcan here-perceptible.

power of fancy,] Fancy is here used for love.

Who might be your mother,] It is common for the poets to express cruelty by saying, of those who commit it, that they were born of rocks, or sụckled by tigresses. Johnson.

(As, by my faith, I see no more in you
Than without candle may go dark to bed,)
Must you be therefore proud and pitiless?
Why, what means this? Why do you look on



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 eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my spirits to your worship.
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow

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,


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 to

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

Ros. He's fallen in love with her foulness, and

* Of nature's sale-work :] The allusion is to the practice of mechanicks, whose work bespoke is more elaborate than that which is made up for chance customers.

* Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.] The sense is The ugly seem most ugly, when, though ugly, they are scoffers.

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