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Or, if thou can'st not, oh, for shame, for shame,
Lye not, to say mine eyes are murderers.
Now shew 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 a capable 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
That can do hurt.

Sil. O dear Phebe,
If ever (as that ever may be near)
You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy,
Then shall you know the wounds invisible
That love's keen arrows make..

Phe. But, 'till that time,
Come not thou near me: and, when that time comes,
Amict me with thy mocks, pity me not;
As, 'till that time, I shall not pity thee.
Rof. And why, I pray you?-'Who might be your

mother, That you insult, exult, d 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? I see no more in you, than in the ordinary Of nature's sale-work :-Od's, my little life!

a capable impressure]-hollow mark, dint.
6 of fancy,]-of pleasing.
. Who might be your mother, ]-What tigress nursed thee?
d and all at once, ]—at the same instant, all in a breath.

c in the ordinary of nature's fale-work : ]-common course of nature's productions, 'r Od's,]God save.

I think,

I think, she means to tangle mine 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 together ; I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo.

Rof. 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?

Pbe. For no ill will I bear you.

Rof. I pray you, do not fall in love with me,
For I am faller 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 :-

& Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. ]-For an ill-favoured person to ridicule the defects of others adds deformity to native homelinelo. foulnels, rewishness.

• Will

U

Will you go, lister? -Shepherd, ply her hard :-
Come, fifter :-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 Rol. Cel. and Corin. Pbe. Dead shepherd, now I find 'thy saw of might; Who ever loved, that lov'd not at first fight?"

Sil. Sweet Phebe!
Phe. Hah! what say'st thou, Silvius ?
Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me.
Pbe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.

Sil, Wherever forrow is, relief would be :
If you do forrow at my grief in love,
By giving love, your sorrow and my grief
Were both extermin'd.

Pbe. Thou hast my love ; Is not that neighbourly.
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 fo well,
Thy company, which erst 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 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

i could fee,]-hould see you.
& abusd in fight]—as to esteem you handsome.

o thy faw of might ;)-thy faying true-The line following is quoted from England's Parneljus, and attributed to Ch. Marlowe.

A scatter'd

ne ei

A scatter'd 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 " carlor 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 then 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 very 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 Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference Betwixt the " constant red, and mingled damalk. There be some 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 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 remembred, 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. *carlot)-churl.

o contant)-deep, full.

Pbe.

Pbe. I'll write it straight;
The matter's in my head, and in my heart :
I will be bitter with him, and pafing short:
Go with me, Silvius.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV. SCENE I.

· The Forest. Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Jaques. Jaq. I pr’ythee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted

with thee. Rof. They say, you are a melancholy fellow. Jaq. I am so; I do love it better than laughing.

Ref. 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.
Ref. Why then, 'tis good, to be a post..

Jag. 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 in a moit humourous sadness. •

Rof. A traveller ! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad : I fear, you have sold your own lands, to see other

o modern)--common, ordinary.

men's;

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