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Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye:

'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,

That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things, 12
Who shut their coward gates on atomies,

Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers!
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart;

And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee;

Now counterfeit to swound; 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

16

20

Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes, 24 Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not,

Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes

That can do hurt.

Sil.

If ever,

O dear Phebe,

‚—as that ever may be near,—

You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy,

Then shall you know the wounds invisible

That love's keen arrows make.

Phe.

But, till that time

28

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.

32

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

That you insult, exult, and all at once,

11 sure: surely

36

17 swound: swoon

23 cicatrice: scar, here 'mark' capable impressure: sensible (i.e., receivable) impression

29 fancy: love

Over the wretched? beauty,

What though you have no

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 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?
You are a thousand times a properer man
Than she a woman: 'tis such fools as you

40

44

48

52

56

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.
So take her to thee, shepherd. Fare you well.
Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year to-
gether:

39 dark: without light; cf. n.

60

64

43 sale-work: ready-made work, (hence) work not of the best quality

Od's: God save

45 after it: i.e., to accomplish this

48 entame: subdue

51 properer: better looking

62 Foul

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scoffer; cf. n.

44 tangle: entangle 47 bugle: black; cf. n. 50 south: south wind

61 Cry ... mercy: beg for mercy 64 together: on end

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.

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

70

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,

74

And be not proud: though all the world could

see,

None could be so abus'd in sight as he.

Come, to our flock.

78

[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?'

Sil. Sweet Phebe,—

Phe.

82

Ha! what sayst 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 extermin'd.

Phe. Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly? Sil. I would have you.

Phe.

86

Why, that were covetousness.

Silvius, the time was that I hated thee;

75 tuft: clump

81 Dead shepherd; cf. n.

92

79 abus'd in sight: deceived by eyesight 89 extermin'd: exterminated

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,

96

100

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.

104

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 carlot once was master of.

108

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. 112
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 very 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

116

120

Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the differ

ence

93 yet..

not: i.e., the time is not yet 100 grace: good esteem, favor 110 peevish: captious

108 carlot: peasant

121 lusty: vigorous

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
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.

124

128

132

I'll write it straight; 136

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 FOURTH

Scene One

[The Forest of Arden]

Enter Rosalind, and Celia, and Jaques.

Jaq. I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee.

Ros. They say you are a melancholy fellow.

123 constant: uniform

mingled damask: mixed red and white; cf. n. 131 am remember'd: recall 133 omittance is no quittance: omission is no discharge (proverbial)

125 In parcels: in detail

138 passing short: extremely curt

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