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Or, if thou can'st not, oh, for shame, for shame,
Sil. O dear Phebe,
Phe. But, 'till that time,
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.
c in the ordinary of nature's fale-work : ]-common course of nature's productions, 'r Od's,]God save.
I think, she means to tangle mine eyes too:-
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,
& 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 you go, lister? -Shepherd, ply her hard :-
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!
Sil, Wherever forrow is, relief would be :
Pbe. Thou hast my love ; Is not that neighbourly.
Phe. Why, that were covetousness.
Sil. So holy, and so perfect is my love,
i could fee,]-hould see you.
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 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. I'll write it straight;
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.
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.