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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 1

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

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If ever (as that ever may be near)

You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy,2
Then shall you know the wounds invisible

That love's keen arrows make.


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.

Ros. And why, I pray you? [Advancing] Who might be your mother,

That you insult, exult, and all at once,

Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty (As, by my faith, I see no more in you

Than without candle may go dark to bed 3),

Must you be therefore proud and pitiless?

Why, what means this? Why do you look on me?

1 Capable impressure] Sensible impression. So in Hamlet, iv. 7,

Ophelia is said to be 'incapable of her own distress.'


Fancy] Love. The word was often used in this sense.

3 Than without candle, &c.] Than what needs not be afraid to go to bed in the dark,

I see no more in you, than in the ordinary
Of nature's sale work.-Ods 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 eyeballs, 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 ?1
You are a thousand times a properer 2 man,
Than she a woman. 'Tis such fools as you

That make the world full of ill-favoured 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.3
So, take her to thee, shepherd;-fare you well.
Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together;
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 so upon me?

Phe. For no ill will I bear you.

Wind and rain] Words alluding to sighs and tears.

2 Properer] More goodly or handsome.

3 Foul is most foul, &c.] When one that is foul is a scoffer of love's proposals, then is foul most foul.-The word foul means not fair, wanting beauty.

Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me, For I am falser than vows made in wine:

Besides, I like thee 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 abused in sight as he.1

Come, to our flock. [Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN. Phe. Dead shepherd! now I find thy saw of might-2

Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?

Sil. Sweet Phebe,—


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 extermined.

Phe. Thou hast my love; is not that neighbourly?

Sil. I would have you.


Why, that were covetousness.

Silvius, the time was that I hated thee;

And yet it is not 3 that I bear thee love:
But since that thou canst talk of love so well,
Thy company, which erst was irksome to me,

1 None could be, &c.] That none could have eyes so deluded as his are.

2 Dead shepherd, &c.] The shepherd here referred to was the dramatist Christopher Marlowe, who was killed in a quarrel in 1593. Phebe's quotation is from his translation of the Hero and Leander of Musæus, first published in 1598.-I find thy saw of might means, I find thy saying to be forcibly true.

3 Yet it is not] The time is not yet.

I will endure; and I'll employ thee too :
But do not look for further recompense

Than thine own gladness that thou art employed.
Sil. So holy and so perfect is my love,

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 scattered smile, and that I'll live


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 carlot1 once was master of.

Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him ;
'Tis but a peevish boy :—yet he talks well;—
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
Did make offence, his eye did heal it up.
He is not tall, yet for his years he's tall:
His leg is but so so, and yet 'tis well :
There was a pretty redness in his lip—
A little riper and more lusty red

Than that mixed in his cheek; 'twas just the difference
Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask.2
There be some women, Silvius, had they marked him
In parcels as I did, would have gone near
To fall in love with him: but, for my part,

1 Carlot] Carl or churl.

2 Damask] The colour of the damask rose.

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 said, mine eyes were black and my hair black;
And, now I am remembered,1 scorned at me :
I marvel why I answered 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.

I'll write it straight;

The matter's in my head and in my heart:

I will be bitter with him, and passing short.
Go with me, Silvius.


1 Now I am remembered] As I now remember.-The verb remember was often thus used.

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