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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 loo'd, that lov'd not at first sight ?*

Sil. Sweet Phebe,

Phe.

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 neigh

bourly?

Sil. I would have you.

Phe.

Why, that were covetousness.

Silvius, the time was, that I hated thee;

3 though all the world could see,

None could be so abus'd in sight as he.] Though all mankind could look on you, none could be so deceived as to think you beautiful but he. JOHNSON.

4 Dead shepherd! now I find thy saw of might;

Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?] The second of these lines is from Marlowe's Hero and Leander, 1637.

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 recompense,
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

That the old carlot -] i. e. peasant, from carl or churl; probably a word of Shakspeare's coinage.

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a peevish boy.] Peevish, in ancient language, signifies wrak, silly.

Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the dif

ference

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
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.

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. The same.

Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and Jaques.

Jaq. I pr'ythee, 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 politick; nor the lady's which is nice; 7 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, is a most humorous sad

ness.

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 gained 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 be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse.

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[Exit. 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 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!

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8

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which is nice;] i. e. silly, trifling.
disable-] i. e. undervalue.

swam in a gondola.] That is, been at Venice, the seat at that time of all licentiousness, where the young English gentle

where have you been all this while? You a lover?— An you serve me such another trick, never come in my sight more.

Orl. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my_promise.

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 clap'd him o'the shoulder, but I warrant him heart-whole.

Orl. 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.

Orl. Of a snail?

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.

Orl. 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.

Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous.

Ros. And I am your Rosalind.

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:— What would you say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind?

men wasted their fortunes, debased their morals, and sometimes lost their religion.

'—a Rosalind of a better leer than you.] i. e. of a better feature, complexion, or colour, than you.

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