Phe. For no ill will I bear you. Ros. 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:- [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, Phe. Ha! what say'st thou, Silvius? Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me. Phe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be; If you do sorrow at my grief in love, By giving love, your sorrow and my grief Phe. Thou hast my love; Is not that neigh bourly? Sil. I would have you. Phe. Why, that were covetousness. Silvius, the time was, that I hated thee; Sil. So holy, and so perfect is my love, That I shall think it a most plenteous crop 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 peevish boy :-yet he talks well; 9 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 He is not tall; yet for his years he's tall: Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the differ ence Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask. 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; And thou shalt bear it; Wilt thou, Silvius? I'll write it straight; [Exeunt. 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. 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 sol dier'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. 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, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse. [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, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are; 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?-An you serve me such another trick, never come in my sight more. 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 affairs of love, it may be said of him, that Cupid hath clap'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. Orl. 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; which such as you are fain to be beholden to your wives for: but he comes armed in his fortune, and prevents the slander of his wife. 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 leer3 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. Very good orators, when they 3 Complexion. |