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fide, breaks his ftaff like a noble goofe; but all's brave that youth mounts, and folly guides: who comes here?

Enter Corin.

Cor. Mistress and mafter, you have oft enquir'd
After the shepherd that complain'd of love,
Whom you faw fitting by me on the turf,
Praifing the proud difdainful fhepherdess
That was his mistress.

Cel. Well; and what of him?

Cor. If you will fee a pageant truly plaid
Between the pale complexion of true love,
And the red glow of fcorn and proud difdain;
Go hence a little, and I fhall conduct you,
If you will mark it.

Rof. O come, let us remove;

The fight of lovers feedeth those in love:
Bring us but to this fight, and you fhall fay
I'll prove a busy Actor in their Play.

[Exeunt

SCENE changes to another part of the Foreft.

Sil.

Sw

Enter Silvius and Phebe.

Weet 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 th' accuftom'd fight of death makes hard,
Falls not the ax upon the humbled neck,

But firft begs pardon: (21) will you fterner be
Than he that deals, and lives by bloody drops?

Enter Rofalind, Celia and Corin.

Phe. I would not be thy executioner; I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.

(21)

will you fterner be,

Than He that dies and lives by bloody Drops ?]

This is spoken of the Executioner. He lives, indeed, by bloody Drops, if you will: but how does he dye by bloody Drops? The Poet muft certainly have wrote that deals and lives &c. i. e. that gets his Bread, and makes a Trade of cutting off Heads.

Mr. Warburton.

Thou

Thou tell'ft me, there is murther in mine eyes;
"Tis pretty, fure, and very probable,

That eyes, that are the frail'ft and fofteft things,
Who fhut their coward gates on atomies,

Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murtherers!
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart,

And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee:
Now counterfeit to fwoon; why, now fall down;
Or if thou can'st not, oh, for fhame, for fhame,
Lie not, to fay mine eyes are murtherers.

Now fhew the wound mine eyes have made in thee;
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
Some fear of it; lean but upon a rush,
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,
Then fhall you know the wounds invifible

That love's keen arrows make.

Phe. 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,

(22) That you infult, exult, and rail, at once

Over the wretched? (23) what though you have beau

ty,

(22) That you infult, exult, and all at once

(As,

Over the wretched?] If the Speaker only intended to accuse the Person spoken to, for infulting and exulting, instead of — it ought to have been, both at once. But on examining, Fact, the Crime of the Perfon accus'd, we shall find, We the Line thus ;

That you infult, exult, and rail, at once &c.
For thefe three things Phebe was guilty of.
(23) What though you have no Beauty,]
Copies agree in this Reading, it is very accurately

all at once, according to ought to read

Mr. Warburton. Tho' all the printed observ'd to me by an

(As, by my faith, I fee 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 fee no more in you than in the ordinary
Of nature's fale-work: odds, my little life!
I think, the means to tangle mine eyes too:
No, faith, proud miftrefs, hope not after it;
'Tis not your inky brows, your black filk hair,
Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my fpirits to your worship.
You foolish fhepherd, wherefore do you follow her
Like foggy South puffing with wind and rain?
You are a thousand times a propérer man,
Than fhe a woman. "Tis fuch fools as you,
That make the world full of ill-favour'd children;
'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatter her;
And out of you the fees her felf more proper,
Than any of her lineaments can fhow her.

But, mistress, know your felf; down on your knees,
And thank heav'n, fafting, for a good man's love;
For I must tell you friendly in your ear,

Sell when you can, you are not for all markets.
Cry the man mercy, love him, take his offer,
Foul is moft foul, being foul to be a scoffer:
So take her to thee, fhepherd; fare you well.
Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year toge-.
ther;

I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo.

Rof. He's fallen in love with your foulness, and she'll fall in love with my anger. If it be fo, as faft as fhe answers 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 will know my houfe,

you

Ingenious unknown Correfpondent, who figns himfelf L. H. (and to Whom I can only here make my Acknowledgments) that the Negative ought to be left out.

VOL. II.

R

'Tis

'Tis at the tuft of olives, here hard by:
Will you go, fifter? fhepherd, ply her hard:
Come, fifter; fhepherdefs, look on him better,
And be not proud; tho' all the world could fee,
None could be so abus'd in fight as he.
Come, to our flock.

[Exit.

Phe. Dead fhepherd, now I find thy Saw of might;

Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first fight?

Sil. Sweet Phebe!

Phe. Hah what fay'ft thou, Silvius ?

Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me.

Phe. Why, I am forry for thee, gentle Silvius.
Sil. Where-ever forrow is, relief would be;
If you do forrow at my grief in love,

By giving love, your forrow and my grief
Were both extermin'd.

Phe. Thou haft my love; is not that neighbourly?
Sil. I would have you.

Phe. Why, that were Covetousness.

Silvius, the time was, that I hated thee;
And yet it is not, that I bear thee love;
But fince that thou canft talk of love fo well,
Thy company, which erft was irkfome to me,
I will endure; and I'll employ thee too:
But do not look for further recompence,
Than thine own gladnefs that thou art employ'd.
Sil. So holy and fo perfect is my love,
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 fcatter'd fmile, 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; 'Tis but a peevish boy, yet he talks well. But what care I for words? yet words do well,

When

When he, that speaks them, pleases those that hear:
It is a pretty youth, not very pretty;

But, fure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes him
He'll make a proper man; the best thing in him
Is his complexion; and fafter than his tongue
Did make offence, his eye did heal it up:
He is not very tall, yet for his years he's tall;
His leg is but fo fo, and yet 'tis well;
There was a pretty redness in his lip,

A little riper, and more lufty red

Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas juft the difference
Betwixt the conftant red and mingled damask.
There be fome 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,
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 faid, mine eyes were black, and my hair black:
And, now I am remembred, fcorn'd at me ;
I marvel, why I anfwer'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 paffing fhort:
Go with me, Silvius.

[Exeunt.

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