'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, That eyes-that are the frail'st and softest things, And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee; Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee. The cicatrice and capable 1 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 If ever (as that ever may be near) You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, That love's keen arrows make. Phe. But, till that time, Come not thou near me; and, when that time comes, Afflict 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 no beauty, (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 me? 1 Capable is probably here used in the sense of susceptible. Some commentators proposed to substitute the word palpable. I think she means to tangle my eyes too. Ros. He's fallen in love with her foulness, and 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, to our flock. [Exeunt Ros., CEL., and COR. 1 That is, says Johnson, "The ugly seem most ugly, when, though ugly, they are scoffers." 2 If all men could see you, none could be so deceived as to think you beautiful but he. Phe. Dead shepherd! now I find thy saw of might; Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?1 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. you do sorrow at my grief in love, By giving love, your sorrow and my grief Were both extermined. Phe. Thou hast my love; is not that neighborly? 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, That I shall think it a most plenteous crop That the main harvest reaps. Loose now and then A scattered smile, and that I'll live upon. 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, That the old carlot 2 once was master of. Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him. 'Tis but a peevish 3 boy;-yet he talks well;But what care I for words? Yet words do well, 1 This line is from Marlowe's beautiful poem of Hero and Leander, left unfinished at his death in 1592, and first published in 1598, when it became very popular. 2 Carlot. This is printed in Italics as a proper name in the old edition. It is, however, apparently formed from carle, a peasant. 3 i. e. weak, silly. When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. But, sure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes him. He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall: A little riper and more lusty red Than that mixed in his cheek; 'twas just the difference Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask. There be some women, Silvius, had they marked 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. He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair black I marvel why I answered not again; But that's all one; omittance is no quittance. And thou shalt bear it. Wilt thou, Silvius? my heart. I'll write it straight; The matter's in my head, and in my heart; [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. 1 Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. 2 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 politic; 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; which, by often rumination, wraps me in a most humorous sadness.3 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 1 i. e. common, trifling. 2 Nice here means tender, delicate, and not silly, trifling, as Steevens supposed. 3 The old copy reads and points thus:-" and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, in which by often rumination, wraps me in a most humorous sadness." The emendation is Malone's. |