« ÎnapoiContinuați »
Enter 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?
Sir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful.
Jaq. [Discovering himself.] Proceed, proceed; I'll
Touch. Good even, good master What
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. Will you be married, motley?
Touch. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb, and the faulcon her bells, so man hath his desires ; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling.
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 wainscoat ; 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
[ Aside, Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.
Touch. Come, sweet Audrey ;
Not_0 sweet Oliver,
O brave Oliver,
Begone, I say,
I will not to wedding wi’ thee. [Exeunt Jagues, Touchstone, and AUDREY. Sir Oli. "Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave of them all shall flout me out of my calling. [Exit.
SCENE IV.-The same. Before a Cottage.
Enter ROSALIND and CELIA, 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. l'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.
Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; 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.
Cel. Yes: I think he is not a pick-purse, nor a horsestealer ; but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a cover'd goblet, or a worm-eaten 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 both the confirmers of false reckonings: He attends here in the forest on the duke your father.
Ros. I met the duke yesterday, and had much question with him: He asked me, of what parentage I was; I told him, of as good as he; so he laugh’d, and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando?
Cel. O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover; as a puny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose: but all's brave, that youth mounts, and folly guides :- -Who comes here?
Enter Corin. Cor. Mistress, and master, you have oft enquired
After the shepherd, that complain'd of love;
Cel. Well, and what of him?
Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd,
Ros. O come, let us remove;
say I'll prove a busy actor in their play. [Ereunt.
SCENE V.- Another Part of the Forest.
Enter SILVIUS and PAEBE. Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe: 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 humbled 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 ;
That eyes,—that are the frail'st and softest things,
Sil. O dear Phebe,
Phe. But, till that time,
be your mother, That you insult, exult, and all at once, Over the wretched ? What though you have more
beauty, (As, by my faith, I see no more in you Than without candle may go dark to bed,)