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(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 ! I think, she means to tangle my 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 to

gether; I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo.

Ros. He's fallen in love with her foulness, and

Of nature's sale-work:] The allusion is to the practice of mechanicks, whose work bespoke is more elaborate than that which is made up for chance customers.

? Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.] The sense is, The ugly coem most ugly, when, though ugly, they are scoffers.

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!

Phe. For no ill will I bear you.

Ros, I pray you, do not fall in love with me, For I am falser 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:Will you go, sister ?-Shepherd, ply her hard :Come, sister :-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 ROSALIND, Celia, and CORIN. Phe. Dead shepherd ! now I find thy sąw of

might;
Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight? +

Sil. Sweet Phebe,-
Phe,

Ha! what say'st thou, Silvius ?
Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me:
Phe. Why, I ain sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.

Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be ;
If

you do sorrow at my grief in love,
By giving love, your sorrow and my grief
Were both extermin'd.
Phe. Thou hast my love; Is not that neigh

bourly?
Sil. I would have you.
Phe.

Why, that were coyetousness, Silvius, the time was, that I hated thee;

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though all the world could see, None could be so abus'd in sight as he.] Though all mankind could look on you, none could be so deceired as to think you "beautiful but he. JOHNSON. * Deud shepherd ! now I find thy saw of might ;

Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?] The second og these lines is from Marlowe's Hero und Leander, 1637.

And yet it is not, that I bear thee love:
But since that thou canst talk of love so well,
Thy company, which erst was irksome to me,
I will endure; and I'll employ thee too:
But do not look for further recompense,
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
A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon.
Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me

ere while? 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, 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 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

3 That the old carlot --] i. e. peasant, from carl or churl; probably a word of Shakspeare's coinage.

a peevish boy.] Pecvish, in ancient language, signifies ucuk, silly.

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Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the dif

ference Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask. There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd

hiin
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 remember'd, 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.
Phe.

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

(Exeunt.

my heart:

ACT IV.

SCENE I. The same.

Enter ROSALIND, Celia, and JAQUES. Jaq. I pr’ythee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee.

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

Ros. Those, that are in extremity of either, are aboininable fellows; and betray themselves to every modern censure, worse than drunkards.

Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.

Ros. Why then, 'tis good to be a post. Jaq, 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, is a most humorous sad

ness.

your own

Ros. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad: I fear, you have sold lands, to see other men's; then, to have seen much, and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands.

Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience.

Enter ORLANDO. Ros. And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have a fool to make me merry, than experience to make me sad; and to travel for it too.

Orl. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind!

Jaq. Nay then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse,

[Exit. Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller: Look, you lisp, and wear strange suits; disables all the benefits of your own country; be out of love with your nativity, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are; or I will scarce think you have swam in a gondola.'—Why, how now, Orlando!

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which is nice;] i. e. silly, trifling,
disable ---] i e. undervalue.

swam in a gondola.] That is, been at Venice, the seat at that time of all licentiousness, where the young English gentlemen

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