Who fhut their coward gates on atomies, And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee: Now fhew the wound mine eyes have made in thee; The cicatrice and capable impreffure Thy Palm fome moment keeps: but now mine eyes, Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not; Nor, I am fure, there is no force in eyes That can do hurt. Sil. O dear Phebe, If ever (as that ever may be near) You meet in fome fresh cheek the power of fancy, 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 fhall not pity thee. Rof. And why, I pray you? who might be your mother, That you infult, exult, and rail, at once Over the wretched? (11) what though you have beauty, (As, by my faith, I fee no more in you Than without candle may go dark to bed,) (11) What though you have no Beauty,] Tho' all the printed Copies agree in this Reading, it is very accurately obferv'd to me by an ingenious unknown Correfpondent, who figns himself L. H. (and to Whom I can only here make my Acknowledgements) that the Negative ought to be left out. I think I think, fhe means to tangle mine eyes too: But, mistress, know your felf; down on your knees, Sell when you can, you are not for all markets. Rof. He's fallen in love with your foulness, and fhe'll fall in love with my anger. If it be fo, as fast as she anfwers thee, with frowning looks, I'll fauce her with bitter words. Why look you fo upon me? Phe. For no ill will I bear you. Rof. I pray you, do not fall in love, with me; For I am falfer than vows made in wine; Befides, I like you not. If you will know my houfe, 'Tis at the tuft of Olives, here hard by : Will you go, Sifter? fhepherd, ply her hard: Come, fifter; fhepherdefs, look on him better, And be not proud; tho' all the world could fee, None could be fo abus'd in fight as he. Come, to our flock. [Exeunt Rof. Cel, and Corin. Phe. Dead fhepherd, now I find thy Saw of might; Whoever lov'd, that lov'd not at first fight? Sil. Sweet Phebe ! Phe. Hah: what fay'ft thou, Silvius ? 0 3 Sil. Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me. Phe. Why, I am forry for thee, gentle Silvius. By giving love, your Sorrow and my grief Phe. Thou haft my love; is not that neighbourly? Phe. Why, that were Covetousness. And I in fuch a poverty of grace, That I fhall think it a moft 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 erewhile? 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 mafter of. Phe. Think not, I love him, tho' I ask for him But, fure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes him; Than As You LIKE IT.. 319 Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas juft the difference He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair black: But that's all one; omittance is no quittance. The matter's in my head, and in my heart, I will be bitter with him, and paffing fhort: Go with me, Silvius. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE continues in the FOREST. I Pry'thee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee. Rof. They fay, you are a melancholy fellow. Jaq. I am fo; I do love it better than laughing. Rof. Thofe, that are in extremity of either, are abominable fellows; and betray themfelves to every modern cenfure, worfe than drunkards. Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be fad, and fay nothing. Jaq. I have neither the fcholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantaftical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; nor the foldier'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 thefe; but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many fimples, extracted from many objects, and, indeed, the fundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me in a moft humorous fadness. : Rof. A traveller! by my faith, you have great reason to be fad I fear, you have fold your own lands, to fee other mens; then, to have feen much, and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands. Jaq. Yes, I have gain'd me experience. Enter Orlando. Rof. And your experience makes you fad : I had rather have a fool to make me merry, than experience to make me fad, and to travel for it too. Orla. Good day, and happiness, dear Rofalind! Jaq. Nay, then God b'w'y you, an you talk in blank verfe. [Exit. Rof. Farewel, monfieur traveller; look, you lifp, and wear strange fuits; difable all the benefits of your own Country; be out of love with your nativity, and almost chide God for making you that counmance you are; or I will scarce think, you have fwam in a Gondola. Why, how now, Orlando, where have you been all this while? You a lover? an you ferve me fuch another trick, never come in my fight more. Orla. My fair Rofalind, I come within an hour of my promife. Rof. Break an hour's promife 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 affairs of love, it may be faid of him, that Cupid hath clapt him o'th' fhoulder, but I'll warrant him heart-whole. Orla. Pardon me, dear Rofalind. Rof. |