And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain, If will mark it. you Rosalind. O, come, let us remove; The sight of lovers feedeth those in love. — SCENE V. Another Part of the Forest. Enter SILVIUS and PHEbe. [Exeunt Silvius. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe; Say that you love me not, but say not so Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard, But first begs pardon. Will you sterner be Than he that dies and lives 2 by bloody drops ? Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, behind. Phebe. I would not be thy executioner; I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. 'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things, Who shut their coward gates on atomies, Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers! my heart; And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee! Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame! Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee. 1 "Falls not the ax," i.e., lets not the ax fall. 2 ' Dies and lives," i.e., lives and dies; earns a livelihood. Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains The cicatrice1 and capable impressure 2 Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes, Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes That can do hurt. Silvius. If ever O dear Phebe, as that ever may be near You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, Then shall you know the wounds invisible That love's keen arrows make. Phebe. 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. Rosalind. [Advancing] And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother, That you insult, exult, and all at once, Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty,- 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? 1 Scar; mark. 244 Capable impressure," i.e., sensible impression. 3 Jet black, like the beads called "bugles." You are a thousand times a properer 1 man Phebe. Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together; I had rather hear you chide than this man woo. Rosalind. He's fallen in love with your foulness,2-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. you so upon me? Phebe. For no ill will I bear you. Rosalind. 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, to our flock. Why look [Exeunt Rosalind, Celia, and Corin. Phebe. Dead shepherd,4 now I find thy saw of might: "Who ever loved that loved not at first sight ?” 1 Handsomer. 2 See Note 4, p. 67. 3 Deceived. 4 The reference is to Christopher Marlowe, who died in 1593; and the line quoted is from his Hero and Leander. Shepherd' is used for ' poet in the language of pastoral poetry.” 666 Silvius. Sweet Phebe,— Phebe. Ha, what say'st thou, Silvius ? Silvius. Sweet Phebe, pity me. Phebe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. By giving love your sorrow and my grief Were both extermin'd.1 Phebe. Thou hast my love; is not that neighborly? Silvius. I would have you. Phebe. Why, that were covetousness. Silvius, the time was that I hated thee, 2 I will endure; and I'll employ thee too; 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. Phebe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me erewhile? Silvius. Not very well, but I have met him oft; And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds That the old carlot 3 once was master of. Phebe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him; 'Tis but a peevish boy; —yet he talks well. 4 But what care I for words? yet words do well When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. not very pretty ; But, sure, he's proud, and yet his pride becomes him; 1 Exterminated. 2 Lately. 3 Rustic. 4 Wayward. He'll make a proper man. The best thing in him Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue He is not very tall, yet for his years he's tall; Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference 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; He said mine eyes were black and my hair black; But that's all one-omittance is no quittance. I'll write it straight; The matter's in my head and in my heart; [Exeunt ACT IV. SCENE I. The Forest. Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES. Jaques. I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee. Rosalind. They say you are a melancholy fellow. |