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Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down;
Or, if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame,
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers.
Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee:
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush,
The cicatrice and capable impressure, -
Thy palm some moment keeps : but now mine

Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not;
Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes6
That can do hurt.

O dear Phebe,
If ever, (as that ever may be near,)
You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy,
Then shall


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 shall not pity thee. Ros. And why, I pray you ? [Advancing.] Who

might be your mother, That you insult, exult, and all at once, Over the wretched? What though you have no

beauty, (45)

(As, by my faith, I see no more in you
Than without candle may go dark to bed,)

be therefore proud and pitiless ? Why, what means this ? Why do you look on me?

capable impressure] Capable is “ able to receive." Johns. Dict. '“ Capable impressure," therefore, is a stamp or hollow of such description.

Nor-there is no, &c.] See the opening of A. II. Tw. N. Anton.

Who might be your mother] It is common for the poets to express cruelty by saying, of those who commit it, that they were born of rocks, or suckled by tigresses. Johnson.

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 bair,
Your bugle eye-balls, (46) nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my spirits to your worship: 147
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow

Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain ? (48)
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,


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 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?

sale-work] Made up carelessly and without exactness. Work bespoke is more elaborate than that which is made up for chance-customers, or to sell in quantities to retailers, which is called sale-work. WARBURTON.

. more proper] See Two G. of V. 3 Outl. IV. 1. * Foul is most foul, &c.] Homely. See supra, sc. 3. Audr.

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.a Come, to our flock.

[Exeunt ROSALIND, Celia, and Corin. PhE. Dead shepherd ! now I find thy saw of

Who ever lov'd, that loo'd not at first sight? (49)

Sil. Sweet Phebe,-

Ha! what say'st thou, Silvius?
SIL. Sweet Phebe, pity me.
Phe. Why, I am 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 covetousness.
Silvius, the time was, that I hated thee;

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:

* None could be so abus'd in sight as he] No one could be to such a degree fascinated or blinded.

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



Carlot] This word, printed as a proper name, is by the modern editors written carlot; and is interpreted by Mr, Douce carl, churl, peasant.

Think not I love him, though I ask for him Trinculo does not more naturally betray himself, when he says: “ By this good light a very shallow monster: I a feard of him? a very shallow monster.'

Temp. 11. 2. ' a peevish boy] Weak, simple. See Two G. of V. Thurio, V. 2.

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Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask.(50)
There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd

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


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


* now I am remember'd] Have my memory recalled, recollect myself.

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