Or, if thou can'ft not, oh, for fhame, 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 fear of it; lean but upon a rush,
The cicatrice and capable impreffure

a

Thy palm fome moment keeps: but now mine
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,

If ever (as that ever may be near)

b

eyes,

You meet in fome fresh cheek the power of fancy,

Then fhall 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,
Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not;

As, 'till that time, I fhall not pity thee.

с

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

mother,

That you infult, exult, and all at once,

Over the wretched? What though you have no 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 :-Od's, my little life!

a

capable impreffure]-hollow mark, dint.

b of fancy,]-of pleasing.

Who might be your mother,]-What tigrefs nurfed thee?
and all at once,]. -at the fame inftant, all in a breath.

in the ordinary of nature's fale-work :]-common course of nature's productions. f Od's,]-God fave.

I think,

I think, the means to tangle mine eyes too:-
No, 'faith proud miftrefs, hope not after it;
'Tis not your inky brows, your black-filk hair,
Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my spirits to your worship.-
You foolish fhepherd, wherefore do you follow her
Like foggy fouth, puffing with wind and rain?
You are a thousand times a properer man,
Than fhe 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 she fees herself more proper,
Than any
of her lineaments can fhow 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, 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. 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 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 :—

Foul is most foul, being foul to be a fcoffer.]-For an ill-favoured perfon to ridicule the defects of others adds deformity to native homelinefs.

h

foulness,-threwishness.

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

Come, to our flock.

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

If

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. Wherever forrow is, relief would be:

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 covetousness.

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 gladnefs 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

To glean the broken ears after the man

That the main harveft reaps: loofe now and then

i could fee,]-fhould see you.

abus'd in fight]-as to efteem you handsome.

thy faw of might ;]-thy faying true-The line following is quoted

from England's Parnafus, and attributed to Ch. Marlowe.

A fcatter'd

A fcatter'd fmile, 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 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 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 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 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 conftant red, and mingled damafk.

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 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 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.

carlot]-churl.

conftant]-deep, full.

Phe.

Phe. I'll write it straight;

The matter's in my head, and in my heart:

I will be bitter with him, and paffing short:
Go with me, Silvius.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV. SCENE I.
The Foreft.

Enter Rofalind, Celia, and Jaques.

Faq. I pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee.

Rof. They fay, you are a melancholy fellow.

Jaq. I am fo; I do love it better than laughing.

Rof. Thofe, that are in extremity of either, are abominable fellows and betray themselves to every modern cenfure, worse than drunkards.

Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be fad and fay nothing.
Rof. Why then, 'tis good, to be a post.

Jaq. I have neither the fcholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; nor the foldier'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 fimples, extracted from many objects, and, indeed, the fundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me in a moit humourous fadnefs. .

Rof. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be fad I fear, you have fold your own lands, to fee other

• modern]-common, ordinary.

men's ;