(As, by my faith, I see 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 see no more in you, than in the ordinary
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.2
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

1 Of nature's sale-work:] The allusion is to the practice of mechanicks, whose work bespoke is more elaborate than that which is made up for chance customers.

Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.] The sense is, The ugly seem most ugly, when, though ugly, they are scoffers.

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.3
Come, to our flock.

:

[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?

If

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;

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

Phe.

you.

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.

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,

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 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;— 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

5 That the old carlot] i. e. peasant, from carl or churl; probably a word of Shakspeare's coinage.

6

a peevish boy:] Peevish, in ancient language, signifies weak, 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 hiin

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 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 passing short:
Go with me, Silvius.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

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. 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.

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 my often rumination wraps me, is a most humorous sad

ness.

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 hands.

eyes and poor 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!

7

8

9

which is nice;] i. e. silly, trifling.
disable-] i. e. undervalue.

swam in a gondola.] That is, been at Venice, the seat at that time of all licentiousness, where the young English gentlemen