'Tis not your inky brows, your black filk hair, But, Miftrefs, know yourself; down on your knees, ; Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together; I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo. Rof. He's fallen in love with your foulnefs, and fhe'll fall in love with my anger.- -If it be fo, as fast as fhe answers thee, with frowning looks, I'll fauce her with bitter words. Why look you fo upon me? 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? fhepherd, ply her hard; Come, to our flock. [Exeunt Rof. Cel, and Corin. Phe. Deed thepherd, now I find thy faw of might; Who ever lov'd that lov'd not at firft fight? Syl. Sweet Phebe ! Phe. Hah: what fay'ft thou, Sylvius? Syl. Sweet Phebe, pity me. Phe. Why I am forry for thee, gentle Sylvius. Syl. Where-ever forrow is, relief would be; By the word foul here is meant ill-favoured. If you do forrow at my grief in love, By giving love, your forrow and my grief Phe. Thou haft my love; is not that neighbourly? Phe. Why, that were covetousness. Sylvius, the time was that I hated thee; And I in fuch a poverty of grace, That I fhall think it a moft plenteous crop To glean the broken ears after the man Phe. Know't thou the youth that spoke to me ere 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 speaks them, pleases 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 rednefs in his lip, "A little riper, and more lufty red, "Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas juft the dif ❝ference "Betwixt the conftant red and mingled damask. "There be fome women, Sylvius, had they mark'd [him "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 faid mine eyes were black, and my hair black; "But that's all one, omittance is no quittance. The matter's in my head, and in my heart, Jaq. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I. I Continues in the foreft. Enter Rofalind, Celia, and Jaques. Pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee. Rof. They fay you are a melancholy fellow. Faq. I am fo; I do love it better than laughing. Roj. Thofe that are in extremity of either are abominable fellows; and betray themselves to every modern cenfure, worfe than drunkards. Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be fad, and fay nothing. Rof. Why then, 'tis good to be a poft. Faq. I have neither the fcholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the mufician's, which is fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; nor the foldier'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, comFounded of many fimples, extracted from many objects, and, indeed, the fundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me in a mít ...umorous fadness. : Rof. A traveller! by my faith, you have great reason to be fad I fear you have fold your own lands to fee other mens; then, to have feen much, and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes, and poor hands. Jaq. Yes, I have gain'd me experience. Enter Orlando. Rof. And your experience makes you fad: I had rather have a fool to make me merry, than experience to make me fad, and to travel for it too. Orla. Good day and happiness, dear Rofalind! Jaq. Nay, then God b' w'y you, an you talk in Blank verfe. [Exit. Rof. "Farewel, Monfieur Traveller; look you lifp, " and wear ftrange fuits; difable all the benefits of your own country; be out of love with your nativity, and almoft chide God for making you that countenance you are; or I will fcarce think you have fwam "in a gondola. Why, how now, Orlando, where "have you been all this while? You a lover, an you "ferve me fuch another trick, never come in my fight 66 more. Orla. My fair Rofalind, I come within an hour of my promife. Rof. "Break an hour's promife in love! he that will "divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break but 66 a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the affairs "of love, it may be faid of him, that Cupid hath clapt him o' th' fhoulder, but I'll warrant him heart"whole. Orla. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. Rof. Nay, an you be fo tardy, come no more in my fight I had as lief be woo'd of a fnail. : Orla. Of a fnail? Rof." Ay, of a fnail; for though he comes flowly, "he carries his houfe on his head: a better jointure, I "think, than you make a woman. Befides, he brings "his destiny with him. Orla. What's that? Rof. "Why, horns; which fuch as you are fain to "be beholden to your wives for: but he comes armed "in his fortune, and prevents the flander of his wife. Orla. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rofalind is virtuous. Rof. And I am your Rofalind. Cel. It pleafes him to call you fo; but he hath a Rofalind of a better leer than you. Rof. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humour, and like enough to confent. What would you fay to me now an I were your very, very Rofalind? Orla. I would kifs before I fpoke. Rof. Nay, you were better fpeak firft; and when you were gravell'd for lack of matter, you might take occafion to kifs. Very good orators, when they are out, they will fpit; and for lovers lacking, God warn us, matter, the cleanlieft fhift is to kifs. Orla. How if the kifs be denied? Rof. Then she puts you to intreaty, and there begins new matter. Orla. Who could be out, being before his beloved miftrefs? Rof. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress; or I should think my honefty ranker than my wit. Orla. What, of my fuit? Ref. Not cut of your apparel, and yet out of your fuit. Am not I your Rofalind? Orla. I take fome joy to fay you are; because I would be talking of her. Rof. Well, in her perfon, I fay, I will not have you. Orla. Then in mine own perfon I die. Rof. No, faith, die by attorney; the poor world is almost fix thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own perfon, videlicet, in a love-caufe. Troilus had his brains dafh'd out with a Grecian club, yet he did what he could to die before; and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have liv'd many a fair year, though Hero had turn'd nun, if it had not been for a hot midfummernight; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash in the Hellefpont, and, being taken with the cramp, was drown'd; and the foolish chroniclers of that age found it was,-Hero of Seftos. But thefe are all lyes; men |