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tion with him. He asked me, of what parentage I was? I told him, of as good as he; so he laughed, and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando ?
Cel. O, that's a brave man ! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover ; as a puny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose. But all's brave, that youth mounts, and folly guides.Who comes here?
Well; and what of him ?
0! come, let us remove :
Enter Silvius and PHEBE. Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe : Say that you love me not; but say not so In bitterness. The common executioner, Whose heart th’accustom'd sight of death makes hard, Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck, But first begs pardon: will you sterner be Than he that kills' and lives by bloody drops ? Enter ROSALIND, Celia, and CORIN,
behind. Phe. I would not be thy executioner: I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. Thou tellst me, there is murder in mine eye: 'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things,
1 dies : in f. e.
Who shut their coward gates on atomies,
0! dear Phebe,
But till that time
might be your mother, That you insult, exult, 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 ! I think she means to tangle my eyes too. No, 'faith, proud mistress, hope not after it: 'T is 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: 't is such fools as you,
1 capable : in f. e.
That make the world full of ill-favour'd children.
Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together: I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo.
Ros. He's fallen in love with your 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?
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 saw of might; “Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight ?»i
Sil. Sweet Phebe !
Ha ! what say'st thou, Silvius ?
Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be:
Phe. Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly?
Why, that were covetousness. Silvius, the time was that I hated thee,
Hero and Leander, where the quotation is to be found.
1 An allusion to Marlowe and
And yet it is not that I bear thee love;
Sil. So holy, and so perfect is my love,
Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him.
Sil. Phebe, with all my heart.
I'll write it straight;
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.
Ros. Those that are in extremity of either are abominable fellows, and betray themselves to every modern censure worse than drunkards.
Jaq. Why, 't is good to be sad and say nothing.
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 politic; 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; which byl often rumination wraps me in a most humorous sadness.
Ros. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad. 1 fear, you have sold your own 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 mo sad. And to travel for it too!
Orl. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind. als in which my” is the reading of the 20 folio; adopted by Knight.