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Who shut their coward gates on atomies,
Sil. O dear Phebe,
Phebe. But 'till that time, Come not thou near me ; and when that time comes, Aflict me with thy mocks, pity me not; As, 'till that time, I shall not pity thee. Rof. And why, I pray you ? who might be your
mother, That you insult, exult, and rail, at once Over the wretched ? (11) what though you have beauty, (As, by my faith, I see no more in you Than without candle may go dark to bed,) Muft 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 fale-work: odds, my little life!
(11) Wbar sbough you bave no Beauty, ] Tho' all the printed Copies agree in this Reading, it is very accurately obe ferv'd to me by an ingenious unknown Correspondent, who Signs himself L. H. (and to whom I can only here make my Acknowledgments) that the Negative ought to be left out.
I think, the means to tangle mine eyes too :
'Tis fuch fools as you,
Pbe. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together ; I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo.
Rof. He's fallen in love with your foulness, and Me'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
Rof. I pray you, do not fall in love with me; For I am faller than vows made in wine; Besides, I like you not.
If 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 ; 'tho' all the world could see,
None could be so abus'd in fight as he. 3 Come, to our flock. [Exeunt Rof. Cel. and Corin.
Phe. Déad fhepherd, now I find thy Saw of might; Whoever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?
Sil. Sweet Phebe!
Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me.
Sil. Where-ever forrow is, relief would be ;
Phe. Thou hast my love; is not that neighbourly?
Sil. So holy and so perfect is my love,
Phe. Think not, I love him, tho' I ask for him;
Than that mix'd in his cheek ; 'twas just the difference
A C' SCEN E continues in the FOREST.
Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Jaques.
Roj. Those, that are in extremity of either, are abo. minable fellows ; and betray themselves to every modern censure, worse than drunkards.
Jag. Why, 'tis good to be sad, and fay 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 soldier's, which is ambitious ; nor the lawyer's, which is politick; por 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 fimples, extracted from many objects, and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me in 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 mens ; then, to have seen much, and to have no. thing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands. Jaq. Yes, I have gain'd me experience.
Enter Orlando. Ros. And your experience makes you fad : I had rather have a fool to make me merry, than experience to make me fad, and to travel for it too.
Orla. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind !
Faq. Nay, then God b’w'y you, an you talk in blank verse.
[Exit. Ref. Farewel, monsieur traveller ; look, you lisp, and wear (range fuits ; 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 fight more.
Orla. My fair Rosalind, 1 come within an hour of my promise.
Rel. 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 clapt him o'th' Toulder, but I'll warrant him heart-whole.
Orla. Pardon me, dear Rosalind.