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Thou tell'ft me, there is murder in mine eye:
'Tis pretty, fure, and very probable,

That eyes, that are the frail'ft and fofteft things,
Who fhut their coward gates on atomies,

Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers !—
Now do I frown on thee with all my heart;

And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee: Now counterfeit to fwoon; why, now fall down; Or, if thou can'st not, oh, for shame, for fhame, Lye not, to fay mine eyes are murderers.

Now fhew the wound mine eyes have 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 impreffure

Thy palm fome moments keeps: but now mine eyes,
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not;
Nor, I am fure, there is no force in eyes

That can do hurt.

Sil. O dear Phebe,

Ifever (as that ever may be near)

You meet in fome fresh cheek the power of fancy,
Then fhall you know the wounds invifible

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 fhall not pity thee.

"He is but coarf to run a course,

"Whose shanks are bigger than his thigh;
"Yet is his luck a little worse

"That often dyes before he die.

"Where ye

66

fee the words course and dye ufed in divers fenfes, one

giving the rebound to the other."

The cicatrice and capable impreffure]

STEEVENS.

Cicatrice is here not very properly used; it is the fear of a wound. Capable impressure ar

rows mark. JOHNSON.

3 power of fancy,] Fancy is here ufed for love, as before in Midfummer Night's Dream. JoHNSON.

Rof.

Rof. And why, I pray you?-Who might be your mother,

That you infult, exult, and all at once,

5

Over the wretched? What though you have beauty
(As, by my faith, I fee no more in you
Than without candle may go dark to bed,)
Muft you be therefore proud and pitiless?
Why, what means this? Why do you look on me?
I fee no more in you than in the ordinary
Of nature's fale-work:7 Od's, my little life!
I think, fhe means to tangle mine eyes too:
No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it;
'Tis not your inky brows, your black filk hair,
Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream,

4 -Who might be your mother,] It is common for the poets to exprefs cruelty by saying, of thofe who commit it, that they were born of rocks, or fuckled by tigreffes. JOHNSON.

5 That you infult, exult, and ALL at once] If the speaker intended to accufe the perfon fpoken to only for infulting and exulting; then, instead of- all at once, it ought to have been, But by examining the crime of the perfon accufed, we fhall difcover that the line is to be read thus,

both at once.

That you infult, exult, and RAIL, at once.

For these three things Phebe was guilty of. But the Oxford editor improves it, and, for rail at once, reads domineer.

WARB.

I fee no need of emendation. The fpeaker may mean thus: Who might be your mother, that you infult, exult, and that too all in a breath. Such I take to be the meaning of all at once.

STEEVENS.

6 what though you have no beauty,] Though all the printed copies agree in this reading, it is very accurately obferved to me by an ingenious unknown correfpondent, who figns himself L. H. (and to whom I can only here make my acknowledgements) that the negative ought to be left out. THEOBALD.

7 Of nature's fale-work:] i. e. thofe works that nature makes up carelessly and without exactnefs. The allufion is to the practice of mechanicks, whofe work bespoke is more elaborate, than that which is made up for chance customers, or to fell in quantities to retailers, which is called fale-work. WARBURTON.

That

That can entame my fpirits to your worship.
You foolifh fhepherd, wherefore do you follow her
Like foggy fouth, puffing with wind and rain?
You are a thousand times a properer man,
Than the a woman. 'Tis fuch 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 fhe fees herself more proper,
Than any of her lineaments can fhow her.-
But, mistress, know yourfelf; down on your knees,
And thank heaven, fafting, 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: 9
So, take her to thee, fhepherd;-fare you well.
Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together;
I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo.

Rof. [afide] He's fallen in love with her foulness," and fhe'll fall in love with my anger. If it be fo, as fast as she answers thee, with frowning looks, I'll fauce her with bitter words.-Why look you fo upon me?

That can ENTAME my spirits to your worship.] I should ra ther think that Shakespeare wrote ENTRAINE, draw, allure. WARBURTON,

The common reading feems unexceptionable. JoHNSON. 9 Foulis moft foul, being FOUL to be a feoffer:] The only fenfe of this is, An ill-favoured perfon is most ill-favoured, when if be be ill-favoured, he is a feoffer. Which is a deal too absurd to come from Shakespeare; who, without question, wrote,

Foul is moft foul, being FOUND to be a scoffer:

i. e. where an ill-favoured perfon ridicules the defects of others, it makes his own appear exceffive. WARBURTON.

The fenfe of the received reading is not fairly reprefented; it is, The ugly jeem most ugly, when, though ugly, they are fcoffers.

1

JOHNSON.

with her foulness,] So fin T. Hanmer, the other editions, your foulness. JOHNSON.

VOL. III.

X

Phe.

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Phe. For no ill will I bear you.

Rof. I pray you, do not fall in love with me, For I am falfer than vows made in wine: Befides, I like you not. If you will know my house, 'Tis at the tuft of olives, here hard by.

Will you go, fifter?-Shepherd, ply her hard :Come, fifter:-fhepherdefs, look on him better, And be not proud. Though all the world could see,2 None could be fo abus'd in fight, as he.

Come, to our flock.

[Excunt Rof. Cel. and Corin. Phe. Dead fhepherd, now I find thy faw of might; Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at firft fight?

Sil. Sweet Phebe !

Phe. Hah! what fay'ft thou, Silvius?
Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me.

Phe. Why, I am forry for thee, gentle Silvius.
Sil. Where-ever forrow is, relief would be:

If you do forrow at my grief in love,

By giving love, your forrow and my grief
Were both extermin'd.

Phe. Thou haft my love; is not that neighbourly
Sil. I would have you.

Phe. Why, that were covetoufness.

Silvius, the time was, that I hated thee.
And yet it is not, that I bear thee love:
But fince that thou canft talk of love fo well,
Thy company, which erft was irksome to me,
I will endure; and I'll employ thee too :
But do not look for further recompence,
Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd.
Sil. So holy, and fo perfect is my love,

And I in fuch a poverty of grace,

That I fhall think it a moft plenteous crop

2

Though all the world could fee,

None could be jo abuş'd in fight, as be]

Though all mankind could look on you, none could be fo de

ceived as to think you beautiful but he. JOHNSON.

Το

To glean the broken ears after the man
That the main harvest reaps: loofe now and then
A fcatter'd fmile, 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 mafter of.

Phe. Think not, I love him, tho' 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 fpeaks them, pleafes those that hear.
It is a pretty youth;-not very pretty :-

But, fure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes him :
He'll make a proper man: the best thing in him
Is his complexion; and fafter than his tongue
Did make offence, his eye did heal it up.
He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall;
His leg is but fo fo; and yet 'tis well:
There was a pretty redness in his lip,

A little riper, and more lufty red

Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask.

There be fome 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 caufe 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 remembred, fcorn'd at me :

I marvel, why I anfwer'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;

X 2

The

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