Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE.
1Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe;
2Say that you love me not, but say not so
3In bitterness. The common executioner,
4Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard,
5Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck
6But first begs pardon: will you sterner be
7Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?
Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, behind.
8I would not be thy executioner:
9I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
10Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye:
11'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,
12That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things,
13Who shut their coward gates on atomies,
14Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers!
15Now I do frown on thee with all my heart;
16And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee:
17Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down;
18Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame,
19Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers!
20Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee:
21Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
22Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush,
23The cicatrice and capable impressure
24Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes,
25Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not,
26Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes
27That can do hurt.
27O dear Phebe,
28If ever,as that ever may be near,
29You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy,
30Then shall you know the wounds invisible
31That love's keen arrows make.
31But till that time
32Come not thou near me: and when that time comes,
33Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not;
34As till that time I shall not pity thee.
ROSALIND [Coming forward.]
35And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother,
36That you insult, exult, and all at once,
37Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty,
38As, by my faith, I see no more in you
39Than without candle may go dark to bed
40Must you be therefore proud and pitiless?
41Why, what means this? Why do you look on me?
42I see no more in you than in the ordinary
43Of nature's sale-work. 'Od's my little life,
44I think she means to tangle my eyes too!
45No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it:
46'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair,
47Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream,
48That can entame my spirits to your worship.
49You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her,
50Like foggy south puffing with wind and rain?
51You are a thousand times a properer man
52Than she a woman: 'tis such fools as you
53That makes the world full of ill-favour'd children:
54'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her;
55And out of you she sees herself more proper
56Than any of her lineaments can show her.
57But, mistress, know yourself: down on your knees,
58And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love:
59For I must tell you friendly in your ear,
60Sell when you can: you are not for all markets:
61Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer:
62Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.
63So take her to thee, shepherd: fare you well.
64Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together:
65I had rather hear you chide than this man woo.
66[To Phebe.] He's fallen in love with your foulness,
67[To Silvius.] and she'll fall in love with my anger.
68If it be so, as fast as she answers thee with frowning
69looks, I'll sauce her with bitter words. [To Phebe.] Why
70look you so upon me?
71For no ill will I bear you.
72I pray you, do not fall in love with me,
73For I am falser than vows made in wine:
74Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house,
75'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by.
76Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard.
77Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better,
78And be not proud: though all the world could see,
79None could be so abused in sight as he.
80Come, to our flock.
Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA and CORIN.
81Dead Shepherd, now I find thy saw of might,
82'Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?'
83Ha, what say'st thou, Silvius?
84Sweet Phebe, pity me.
85Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.
86Wherever sorrow is, relief would be:
87If you do sorrow at my grief in love,
88By giving love your sorrow and my grief
89Were both extermined.
90Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly?
91I would have you.
91Why, that were covetousness.
92Silvius, the time was that I hated thee,
93And yet it is not that I bear thee love;
94But since that thou canst talk of love so well,
95Thy company, which erst was irksome to me,
96I will endure, and I'll employ thee too:
97But do not look for further recompense
98Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd.
99So holy and so perfect is my love,
100And I in such a poverty of grace,
101That I shall think it a most plenteous crop
102To glean the broken ears after the man
103That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then
104A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon.
105Know'st now the youth that spoke to me erewhile?
106Not very well, but I have met him oft;
107And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds
108That the old carlot once was master of.
109Think not I love him, though I ask for him:
110'Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well;
111But what care I for words? yet words do well
112When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.
113It is a pretty youth: not very pretty:
114But, sure, he's proud, and yet his pride becomes him:
115He'll make a proper man: the best thing in him
116Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue
117Did make offence his eye did heal it up.
118He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall:
119His leg is but so so; and yet 'tis well:
120There was a pretty redness in his lip,
121A little riper and more lusty red
122Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference
123Between the constant red and mingled damask.
124There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him
125In parcels as I did, would have gone near
126To fall in love with him; but, for my part,
127I love him not nor hate him not; and yet
128I have more cause to hate him than to love him:
129For what had he to do to chide at me?
130He said mine eyes were black and my hair black:
131And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me:
132I marvel why I answer'd not again:
133But that's all one; omittance is no quittance.
134I'll write to him a very taunting letter,
135And thou shalt bear it: wilt thou, Silvius?
136Phebe, with all my heart.
136I'll write it straight;
137The matter's in my head and in my heart:
138I will be bitter with him and passing short.
139Go with me, Silvius.