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(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

me?

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

her,

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,
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.2
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

1 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.

2 Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.] The sense is, The ugly seem 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,3
Come, to our flock.

[Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN. Phe. Dead shepherd! now I find thy saw of might;

Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight? +

If

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;

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

3 That the old carlot] i. e. peasant, from carl or bably a word of Shakspeare's coinage.

6

churl; pro

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

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'ḍ himn

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; 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. [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!

7

8

9

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 gentlemen

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