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nature nor art, may complain of good breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred.

Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher.Wast ever in court, shepherd?

Cor. No, truly.

Touch. Then thou art damn'd.

Cor. Nay, I hope,

Touch. Truly, thou art damn'd; like an illroasted egg, all on one side.

Cor. For not being at court? Your reason.

Touch. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never saw'st good manners; if thou never saw'st good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation: Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd.

dinners, and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted:
it is the right butter-woman's rank to market.
Ros. Out, fool!

Touch. For a taste:-

If a hart do lack a hind,
Let him seek out Rosalind.
If the cat will after kind,
So, be sure, will Rosalind.
Winter-garments must be lin❜d,
So must slender Rosalind.

They that reap, must sheaf and bind ;
Then to cart with Rosalind.
Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,
Such a nut is Rosalind.

He that sweetest rose will find,
Must find love's prick, and Rosalind.
is the very false gallop of verses; Why do
Ros. Peace, you dull fool; I found them on a tree.
Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.

Cor. Not a whit, Touchstone: those, that are
good manners, at the court, are as ridiculous in the
country, as the behaviour of the country is most This
mockable at the court. You told me, you salute you infect yourself with them?
not at the court, but you kiss your hands; that
courtesy would be uncleanly, if courtiers were
shepherds.

Touch. Instance, briefly; come, instance. Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes; and their fells, you know, are greasy.

Ros. I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit in the country: for you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medlar. Touch. You have said; but whether wisely or

Touch. Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? and is not the grease of a mutton as whole-no, let the forest judge. some as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow: A better instance, I say; come.

Cor. Besides, our hands are hard.

Touch. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow, again: A more sounder instance, come.

Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the surgery of our sheep; And would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are perfumed with civet.

Touch. Most shallow man! Thou worms-meat, in respect of a good piece of flesh: Indeed!Learn of the wise, and perpend: Civet is of a baser birth than tar; the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd.

Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me; I'll rest. Touch. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God help thee, shallow man! God make incision in thee! thou art raw.

Cor. Sir, I am a true labourer; I earn that I eat, get that I wear; owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness; glad of other men's good, content with my harm: and the greatest of my pride is, to see my ewes graze, and my lambs suck.

Touch. That is another simple sin in you; to bring the ewes and the rams together, and to offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle: to be bawd to a bell-wether; and to betray a shelamb of a twelvemonth, to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou be'st not damn'd for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else how thou should'st 'scape.

Cor. Here comes young master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother.

Enter Rosalind, reading a paper.

Ros. From the east to western Ind,
No jewel is like Rosalind.

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Her worth, being mounted on the wind,
Through all the world bears Rosalind.
All the pictures, fairest lin'd,

Are but black to Rosalind.

Let no face be kept in mind,

But the fairs of Rosalind.

Touch. I'll rhyme you so, eight years together;
(2) Delineated.
31 Complexion, beauty. (4) Grave, solemn.

(1) Unexperienced.

Enter Celia, reading a paper.

Ros. Peace!

Here comes my sister, reading; stand aside.
Cel. Why should this desert silent be?
For it is unpeopled? No;
Tongues I'll hang on every tree,
That shall civil sayings show.
Some, how brief the life of man
Runs his erring pilgrimage;
That the stretching of a span
Buckles in his sum of age.
Some, of violated vows

'Twixt the souls of friend and friend;
But upon the fairest boughs,
"Or at every sentence' end,
Will I Rosalinda write;

Teaching all that read, to know
The quintessence of every sprite
Heaven would in little show.
Therefore heaven nature charg'd
That one body should be fill'd
With all graces wide enlarg'd:
Nature presently distill'd
Helen's cheek, but not her heart;
Cleopatra's majesty;
Atalanta's better part;

Sad Lucretia's modesty.
Thus Rosalind of many parts

By heavenly synod was devis'd;
Of many faces, eyes, and hearts,

To have the touches dearest priz'd.
Heaven would that she these gifts should have,
And I to live and die her slave.

Ros. O most gentle Jupiter!-what tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cry'd, Have patience, good people!

Cel. How now! back, friends;-Shepherd, go off a little:-Go with him, sirrah.

Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage. [Exe. Cor. and Touch. Cel. Didst thou hear these verses?

Ros. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; (5) Features.

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Ros. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it

Cel. Cry, holla! to thy tongue, I pr'ythee; it curvets very unseasonably. He was furnish'd like a hunter.

Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the well becomes the ground. wonder, before you came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree: I was never so be-rhymed since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember.

Cel. Trow you, who hath done this?
Ros. Is it a man?

Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck: Change you colur?

Ros. I pr'ythee, who?

Cel. O lord, lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes, and so encounter.

Ros. Nay, but who is it?

Cel. Is it possible?

Ros. Nay, I pray thee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is.

Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all whooping!1

Ros. Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am caparison'd like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more is a South-sea-off discovery. I pr'ythee, tell me, who is it? quickly, and speak apace: I would thou could'st stammer, that thou might'st pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-mouth'd bottle; either too much at once, or none at all. I pr'ythee, take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may drink thy tidings. Cel. So you may put a man in your belly. Ros. Is he of God's making? What manner of man? Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard?

Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard.

Ros. O ominous! he comes to kill my heart. Cel. I would sing my song without a burden: thou bring'st me out of tune.

Ros. Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on.

Enter Orlando and Jaques.

Cel. You bring me out:-Soft! comes he not here? Ros. 'Tis he; slink by, and note him. (Celia and Rosalind retire. Jaq. I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone.

I

Orl. And so had 1: but yet, for fashion's sake, thank you too for your society. Jaq. God be with you; let's meet as little as we can.

Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers. Jaq. I pray you, mar no more trees with writing love-songs in their barks.

Orl. I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading them ill-favouredly.

Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name?
Orl. Yea, just.

Jaq. I do not like her name.

Or. There was no thought of pleasing you, when she was christen'd.

Jaq. What stature is she of? Orl. Just as high as my heart. Jaq. You are full of pretty answers: Have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conn'd them out of rings?

Ros. Why, God will send more, if the man will be thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, Orl. Not so; but I answer you right painted if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin. cloth, from whence you have studied your quesCel. It is young Orlando; that tripp'd up the tions. wrestler's heels, and your heart, both in an instant. Jaq. You have a nimble wit; I think it was Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking; speak sad brow, and true maid.2

Cel. I'faith, coz, 'tis he.
Ros. Orlando ?
Cel. Orlando.

made of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two will rail against our mistress the world, and all our misery.

Orl. I will chide no breather in the world, but myself; against whom I know most faults. Jaq. The worst fault you have, is to be in love. Orl. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am weary of you.

Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool,

Ros. Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose?-What did he, when thou saw'st him? What said he? How look'd he? Wherein went he? What makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How parted he with when I found you. thee? and when shalt thou see him again? Answer me in one word.

Cel. You must borrow me Garagantua's mouth first: 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's size: To say, ay, and no, to these particulars, is more than to answer in a catechism.

Ros. But doth he know that I am in the forest, and in man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled?

Cel. It is as easy to count atomies," as to resolve

(1) Out of all measure.

(2) Speak seriously and honestly.
(3) How was he dressed?

Orl. He is drown'd in the brook; look but in, and you shall see him.

Jaq. There shall I see mine own figure. Orl. Which I take to be either a fool, or cypher.

Jaq. I'll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good signior love.

Orl. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good monsieur melancholy.

[Exit Jaques.-Celia and Rosalind come forward. (4) The giant of Rabelais. (5) Motes. (6) An allusion to the moral sentences on old tapestry hangings.

Ros. I will speak to him like a saucy lacquey, and under that habit play the knave with him. Do you hear, forester ?

Orl. Very well; What would you?
Ros. I pray you, what is't a'clock?

Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you: he taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes, I am sure, you are not prisoner. Orl. What were his marks?

Ros. A lean cheek; which you have not: a blue

Orl. You should ask me, what time o' day; there's eye, and sunken; which you have not: an unno clock in the forest. questionable spirit; which you have not: a beard

Ros. Then, there is no true lover in the forest; neglected; which you have not:-but I pardon else sighing every minute, and groaning every hour, you for that; for, simply, your having4 in beard is would detect the lazy foot of time, as well as a clock. a younger brother's revenue:-Then your hose Orl. And why not the swift foot of time? had should be ungarter'd, your bonnet unbanded, your not that been as proper? sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and every Ros. By no means, sir; Time travels in divers thing about you demonstrating a careless desolation. paces with divers persons: I'll tell you who time But you are no such man; you are rather pointambles withal, who time trots withal, who time devices in your accoutrements; as loving yourself, gallops withal, and who he stands still withal. than seeming the lover of any other.

Orl. I pr'ythee, who doth he trot withal. Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, between the contract of her marriage, and the day it is solemnized: if the interim be but a se'nnight, time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven years.

Orl. Who ambles time withal?

Ros. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich man that hath not the gout: for the one sleeps easily, because he cannot study; and the other lives merrily, because he feels no pain: the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning; the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury: These time ambles withal.

Orl. Who doth he gallop withal? Ros. With a thief to the gallows: for though he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there.

Orl. Who stays it still withal?

Ros. With lawyers in the vacation: for they sleep between term and term, and then they perceive not how time moves.

Orl. Where dwell you, pretty youth?
Ros. With this shepherdess, my sister; here in
the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.
Orl. Are you a native of this place?

Ros. As the coney, that you see dwell where she is kindled.

Orl. Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so remov'd' a dwelling.

Orl. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.

Ros. Me believe it? you may as soon make her that you love believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do, than to confess she does: that is one of the points in the which women still give the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired?

Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he. Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak?

Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.

Ros. Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip, as madmen do: and the reason why they are not so punished and cured, is, that the lunacy is so ordinary, that the whippers are in love too: Yet I profess curing it by counsel.

Orl. Did you ever cure any so?

Ros. Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress; and I set him every day to woo me: At which time would 1, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and liking; proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles; for every passion something, and for no passion truly any thing, as boys and women are for Ros. I have been told so of many: but, indeed, the most part cattle of this colour: would now like an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, him, now loath him; then entertain him, then forwho was in his youth an in-land man; one that swear him; now weep for him, then spit at him; knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. that I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love, I have heard him read many lectures against it; to a living humour of madness; which was, to forand I thank God, I am not a woman, to be touch'd swear the full stream of the world, and to live in a with so many giddy offences as he hath generally nook merely monastic: And thus I cured him; tax'd their whole sex withal.

Orl. Can you remember any of the principal evils, that he laid to the charge of women?

Ros. There were none principal; they were all like one another, as half-pence are: every one fault seeming monstrous, till his fellow fault came to match it.

Orl. I pr'ythee, recount some of them.

Ros. No; I will not cast away my physic, but on those that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest, that abuses our young plants with carving Rosalind on their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns, and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind: if I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him.

Orl. I am he that is so love-shaked; I pray you, tell me your remedy.

(1) Sequestered.

(2) Civilized.

(3) A spirit averse to conversation. (4) Estate.

and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't.

Orl. I would not be cured, youth.

Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, and come every day to my cote, and

Woo me.

Orl. Now, by the faith of my love, I will; tell me where it is.

Ros. Go with me to it, and I'll show it you: and, by the way, you shall tell me where in the forest you live: Will you go?

Orl. With all my heart, good youth.
Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind :-Come,
sister, will you go?
[Exeunt.

SCENE III.-Enter Touchstone, and Audrey;
Jaques at a distance, observing them.
Touch. Come apace, good Audrey; I will fetch
(6) Variable.

(5) Over-exact.

up your goats, Audrey: And how, Audrey? am I the man yet? Doth my simple feature content you? Aud. Your features! Lord warrant us! what features?

Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most capricious' poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.

Jaq. [Discovering himself.] Proceed, proceed; I'll give her.

Touch. Good even, good master What ye call't: How do you, sir? You are very well met God'ild you for your last company: I am very glad to see you :-Even a toy in hand here, sir:-Nay; pray, be cover'd.

Jaq. O knowledge ill-inhabited !2 worse than Jaq. Will you be married, motley? Jove in a thatch'd house! [Aside. Touch. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse Touch. When a man's verses cannot be under- his curb, and the falcon her bells, so man hath his stood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the for-desires; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be ward child, understanding, it strikes a man more nibbling. dead than a great reckoning in a little room :Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical. Aud. I do not know what poetical is: Is it honest in deed, and word? Is it a true thing?

Touch. No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry; and what they swear in poetry, may be said, as lovers, they do feign.

Aud. Do you wish then, that the gods had made me poetical?

Touch. I do, truly: for thou swear'st to me, thou art honest; now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst feign.

Aud. Would you not have me honest? Touch. No truly, unless thou wert hard-favour'd: for honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey sauce to sugar.

Jaq. A material fool!3

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[Aside.

Aud. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods make me honest!

Touch. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut, were to put good meat into an unclean dish.

Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul.4

[Aside.

Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness! sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will marry thee: and to that end I have been with sir Oliver Mar-text, the vicar of the next village; who hath promised to meet me in this place of the forest, and to couple us. Jaq. I would fain see this meeting. Aud. Well, the gods give us joy! Touch. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But what though? Courage! As horns are odious, they are necessary. It is said,-| Many a man knows no end of his goods: right: many a man has good horns, and knows no end of them. Well, that is the dowry of his wife; 'tis none of his own getting.-Horns! Even so: Poor men alone;--No, no; the noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man therefore blessed? No: as a wall'd town is more worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a married man more honourable than the bare brow of a bachelor: and by how much defences is better than no skill, by so much is a horn more precious than to want.

Enler Sir Oliver Mar-text. Here comes sir Oliver:-sir Oliver Mar-text, you are well met: Will you despatch us here under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel ?

Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the woman? Touch. I will not take her on gift of any man. Sir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful.

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Jaq. And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married under a bush, like a beggar? Get you to church, and have a good priest that can tell you what marriage is: this fellow will but join you together as they join wainscot; then one of you will prove a shrunk pannel, and, like green timber, warp, warp.

Touch. I am not in the mind but I were better
to be married of him than of another: for he is not
like to marry me well; and not being well married,
it will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave
my wife.
[Aside.

Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.
Touch. Come, sweet Audrey;

We must be married, or we must live in bawdry.
Farewell, good master Oliver;
Not-O sweet Oliver,

O brave Oliver,

Leave me not behi' thee;
But-Wind away,

Begone, I say,

I will not to wedding wi' thee.

[Exe. Jaq. Touch. and Audrey. Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave

of them all shall flout me out of my calling. [Ex.
Before a Cottage.
IV.-The same.
Enter Rosalind and Celia.

SCENE

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; therefore weep.

Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling colour. Cel. Something browner than Judas's: marry, his kisses are Judas's own children.

Ros. I'faith, his hair is of a good colour.

Cel. An excellent colour: your chesnut was ever the only colour.

Ros. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy bread.

a

Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana:
nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more reli-
giously; the very ice of chastity is in them.
Ros. But why did he swear he would come this
morning, and comes not?

Cel. Nay certainly, there is no truth in him,
Ros. Do you 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?

Cel. Yes, when he is in; but, I think he is not in. Ros. You have heard him swear downright, he was.

Cel. Was is not is: besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are

(6) The art of fencing. (7) God reward you. (8) Yoke.

both the confirmers of false reckonings: He at- Come not thou near me: and, when that time comes, tends here in the forest on the duke your father. Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not; Ros. I met the duke yesterday, and had much As, till that time, I shall not pity thee. question' with him. He asked me, of what parent- Ros. And why, I pray you? [Advancing.] Who age I was; I told him, of as good as he: so he might be your mother, laugh'd, and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando?

That you insult, exult, and all at once, Over the wretched? What though you have more beauty,

Cel. O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, (As, by my faith, I see no more in you and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart Than without candle may go dark to bed,) the heart of his lover:2 as a puny tilter, that spurs Must you be therefore proud and pitiless?" his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble Why, what means this? Why do you look on me? goose: but all's brave, that youth mounts, and folly I see no more in you, than in the ordinary guides:-Who comes here!

Enter Corin.

Cor. Mistress, and master, you have oft inquired After the shepherd that complain'd of love; Who you saw sitting by me on the turf, Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess That was his mistress.

Cel.

Well, and what of him?

Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd,
Between the pale complexion of true love
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain,
Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you,
If you will mark it.
Ros.
O, 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.
SCENE V.-Another part of the Forest.
Silvius and Phebe.

[Exeunt. Enter

Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do Phebe:

not,|

Say, that you love me not; but say not so
In bitterness: The common executioner,
Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes
hard,

Falls not the axe upon the humble neck,
But first begs pardon; Will you sterner be
Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?
Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Corin, at a distance.
Phe. I would not be thy executioner;
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
Thou tell'st me, there is murder in mine eye:
"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!
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart;
And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill
thee;

Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down;
Or, if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame,
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers.
Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee:
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush,
The cicatrice and capable impressure

Thy palm some moment keeps: but now mine eyes,
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not;
Nor, I am sure, 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 some fresh cheek the power of fancy,
Then shall you know the wounds invisible
That love's keen arrows make.
Phe.
(1) Conversation. (2) Mistress. (3) Love.

But, till that time,

Of nature's sale-work:-Od's my 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,-

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

I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo. 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 se upon me?

Phe. For no ill will I bear you.

For I am falser than vows made in wine:
Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me,
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, sister: Shepherdess, look on him better,
And be not proud: though all the world could see,
None could be so abus'd in sight as he.

Come, to our flock. (Exe. Ros. Cel. and Cor.
Phe. Dear shepherd! now I find thy saw of might;
Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not as 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
Were both extermin'd.

Phe. Thou hast 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 since that thou canst talk of love so well, Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, I will endure; and I'll employ thee too: But do not look for further recompense, Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd. Sil. So holy, and so perfect is my love, And I in such a poverty of grace,

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