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Touch. [Aside] I am not in the mind but I were better to be married of him than of another: for he is not like to marry me well; and not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife.

Jag. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.
Touch. Come, sweet Audrey:

We must be married.

Farewell, good Master Oliver: not,

but,

O sweet Oliver,

O brave Oliver,

Leave me not behind thee:

Wind away,

Begone, I say,

I will not to wedding with thee.

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[Exeunt Jaques, Touchstone and Audrey.

'Tis no matter: ne'er a fantastical knave of

Sir Oli.

them all shall flout me out of my calling.

[Exit.

Scene IV. The forest.

Enter Rosalind and Celia.

Ros. . Never talk to me; I will weep.

Cel. Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider that tears do not become a man.

Ros. But have I not cause to weep?

Cel. As good cause as one would desire; therefore

weep.

Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling color.

Cel. Something browner than Judas's: marry, his kisses are Judas's own children.

Ros. I' faith, his hair is of a good color.

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Cel. An excellent color: your chestnut was ever the only color.

Ros. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy bread.

Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them.

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Ros. But why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes not?

Cel. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.
Ros. Do you think so?

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Cel. Yes; I think he is not a pick-up purse nor a horse-stealer, but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a covered goblet or a worm-eaten nut.

Ros. Not true in love?

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Cel. Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in. Ros. You have heard him swear downright he was. Cel. "Was" is not "is": besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the confirmer of false reckonings. He attends here in the forest on the duke your father.

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Ros. I met the duke yesterday and had much question 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?

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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 puisny 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?

Enter Corin.

Cor. Mistress and master, you have oft inquired
After the shepherd that complained of love,

Who you saw sitting by me on the turf,
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
That was his mistress.

Cel.

Well, and what of him?

Cor. If you will see a pageant truly played,
Between the pale complexion of true love
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain,
Go hence a little and I shall conduct you,
If you will mark it.

Ros.

O, come, let us remove: The sight of lovers feedeth those in love. Bring us to see this sight, and you shall say I'll prove a busy actor in their play.

SCENE V. Another part of the forest.

Enter Silvius and PHEBE.

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[Exeunt.

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 the accustomed sight of death makes hard,
Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck
But first begs pardon: will you sterner be
Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?

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