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(As, by my faith, I see no more in you Than without candle may go dark to bed,) Must
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 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 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,– 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 coem most ugly, when, though ugly, they are scoffers.
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 sąw of
Sil. Sweet Phebe,-
Ha! what say'st thou, Silvius ?
Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be ;
you do sorrow at my grief in love,
Why, that were coyetousness, Silvius, the time was, that I hated thee;
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 deceired as to think you "beautiful but he. JOHNSON. * Deud shepherd ! now I find thy saw of might ;
Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?] The second og these lines is from Marlowe's Hero und Leander, 1637.
And yet it is not, that I bear thee love:
Sil. So holy, and so perfect is my love,
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
'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
It is a pretty youth:--not very pretty:-
3 That the old carlot --] i. e. peasant, from carl or churl; probably a word of Shakspeare's coinage.
a peevish boy.] Pecvish, in ancient language, signifies ucuk, 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
Sil. Phebe, with all my heart.
I'll write it straight;
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 aboininable 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; 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
often rumination wraps me, is a most humorous sad
Ros. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad: I fear, you have sold 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,
[Exit. Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller: Look, you lisp, and wear strange suits; disables 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!
which is nice;] i. e. silly, trifling,
swam in a gondola.] That is, been at Venice, the seat at that time of all licentiousness, where the young English gentlemen