« PreviousContinue »
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. 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 :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.
[Exeunt Rosalind, CELIA, and CORIN. Phe. Dead shepherd ! now I find thy saw of
Sil. Sweet Phebe,-
Ha! what say'st thou, 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 neigh
bourly? Sil. I would have you. Phe.
Why, that were covetousness. Silvius, the time was, that I hated thee;
though all the world could see, None could be so abus'd in sight as he.] Though all mankind could look on you, none could be so deceived as to think you beautiful but he. Johnson. * Dead shepherd ! now I find thy saw of might ;
Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?] The second of these lines is from Marlowe's Hero and Leander, 1637.
yet it is not, that I bear thee love:
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
'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 year's 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
5 That ihe old carlot - ) i.e. peasant, from carl or churl; probably a word of Shakspeare's coinage.
a peevish bny.] Pcerish, in ancient language, signifies trak, silly.
Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the dif
ference Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask. There be some 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 said, mine eyes were black, and my hair black; And, now I am remember'd, scorn’d at me? I marvel, why I answer'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
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.
SCENE I. The same.
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.
Rós. 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.
Ros. Why then, 'tis good to be a post.
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 soldier'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
often rumination wraps me, is a most humorous sad
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.
[Erit. 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 !
which is nice ;] i. e. silly, trifling,
swam in a gondola.] That is, been at Venice, the seat at that time of all licentiousness, where the young English gentle
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 wood of a snail.
Ori. 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 leer 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
men wasted their fortunes, debased their morals, and sometimes lost their religion.
a Rosalind of a better leer than you.] i. e. of a better feature, complexion, or colour, than you.