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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 peevisho 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 differ-
Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask.
There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him
In parcels as I did, would have

gone near To fall in love with him : but, for my part,

ence

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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 my heart : I will be bitter with him, and passing short : Go with me, Silvius.

[Ereunt.

ACT THE FOURTH.

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 abominable fellows; and betray themselves to every modern censure, worse than drunkards.

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

Ros. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad: I 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.

verse.

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, farewell, an you talk in blank

[Exit. Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller: Look, you lisp, and wear strange suits ; disable’ all the benefits of

your own country; be out of love with your nativity, or I will scarce think you have swam in a gondola. — Why, how now, Orlando! where have you been all this while? You a lover ? serve me such another trick, never come in my sight

Orl. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise.

Ros. Break an hour's promise in love? He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the

An you

more.

1 Trifling.

2 Undervalue.

affairs of love, it may be said of him, that Cupid hath clapp'd him o'the shoulder, but I warrant him heart-whole.

Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind.

Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight; I had as lief be woo'd of a snail.

Ori. Of a snail ?

Ros. Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries his house on his head; a better jointure, I think, than you can make a woman: Besides, he brings his destiny with him.

Orl. What's that?
Ros. Why, horns.

Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker ; and my Rosalind is virtuous. Ros. And I am

your

Rosalind. Cel. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leer 3 than you.

Ros. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humour, and like enough to consent: What would you say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind ?

Orl. I would kiss, before I spoke.

Ros. Nay, you were better speak first; and when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss.

Orl. How, if the kiss be denied ?

Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.

Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress ? Ros. Marry, that should

you,

if I were your mistress.

Orl. What, of my suit ?
Ros. Out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind ?

Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of her.

3 Complexion.

Ros. Well, in her person, I say - I will not have you.

Orl. Then, in mine own person, I die.

Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed out with a Grecian club; yet he did what he could to die before; and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have lived many a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night: for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont, and, being taken with the cramp, was drowned; and the foolish chroniclers of that age found it was Hero of Sestos. But these are all lies; men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.

Orl. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind; for, I protest, her frown might kill me.

Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a fly: But come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition; and ask me what you will, I will grant: it.

Orl. Then love me, Rosalind.

Ros. Yes, faith will I, Fridays, and Saturdays, and all.

Ori. And wilt thou have me?
Ros. Ay, and twenty such.
Orl. What say'st thou ?
Ros. Are you not good ?
Orl. I hope so.

Ros. Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing? - Come, sister, you shall be the priest, and marry us. Give me your hand, Orlando : What do you say, sister?

Orl. Pray thee, marry us.
Cel. I cannot say the words.
Ros. You must begin, Will you, Orlando, -

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