« AnteriorContinuar »
like to marry me well; and not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave
O brave Oliver,
[Exeunt JAQ. Touch. and AUDREY. Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter ; ne'er fantastical knave of them all shall flout me out of my calling. [Exit.
Before a Cottage.
Enter ROSALIND and CELIA. Ros. Never talk to me, I will weep.
Cel. Do, I pr’ythee; 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; there
Ros. Why did he swear he would come this morn. ing, and comes not? Cel. Nay certainly, there is no truth in him. Ros. Do
think so ? - Cel. Yes: I think he is not a pick-purse, nor a horse-stealer ; but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a cover'd goblet, or a wormeaten nut.
Ros. Not true in love ?
Ros. You have heard him swear downright, he
and let me go.
Cel. Was is not is : besides, the oath of lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the confirmers of false reckonings: He attends here in the forest on the duke
father. 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 laugh’d,
But what talk we of fathers, when there is isuch 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
Enter CORIN. Cor. Mistress, and master, you have oft enquired After the shepherd that complain'd of love; Who
saw sitting by me on the turf,
Well, and what of him?
will mark it. Ros.
0, come, let us remove; The sight of lovers feedeth those in love: Bring us unto this sight, and you shall say I'll prove a busy actor in their play, [Exeunt.
Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE.
Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, at a
eye: 'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,
- that are the frail'st and softest things,
Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes
O dear Phebe,
know the wounds invisible That love's keen arrows make. Phe.
But, till that time, Come not thou near me ; and, wher: 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 more
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
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, -
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
В. I I B T
Phe. For no ill will I bear you.
Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me,
[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?
Sil. Sweet Phebe,
Ha! what say'st thou, Silvius?
Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be ;
Why, that were covetousness. Silvius, the time was, that I hated thee;