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Will you go, lifter?-Shepherd, ply her hard :-
Phe. Dead shepherd, now I find 'thy saw of might; « Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?"
Sil. Sweet Phebe!
Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be :
Pbe. Thou hast my love ; Is not that neighbourly?
Pbe. Why, that were covetousness.
Sil. So holy, and so perfect is my love,
I could see, ]-should see you.
I thy jaw of might ; ]-thy saying true-The line following is quoted from England's Parnasus, and attributed to Ch. Marlowe.
A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon.
Pbe. Know'st thou' the youth that spoke to me erewhile ?
Sil. Not very well, but I have mer him oft ; And he hath bought the cottage, and the bounds, That the old " carlot once was master of.
Pbe. 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 very tall; yer 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 Than that mix'd in his cheek ; 'twas just the difference 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 remembred, 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. * carlor]-churl.
Pbe. I'll write it straight;
ACT IV. SCENE I.
: The Forest.
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.
Ref. 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 fad and say nothing.
fag. 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 froin many objects, and, indeed, the fundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humourous sadness.
Rof. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad : I fear, you have sold your own lands, to see other
o modern)-common, ordinary. .
men's; then, to have seen much, and to have nothing, is: to have rich eyes and poor hands. Jaq. Yes, I have gain’d my experience.
Enter Orlando. Rof. 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. Orla. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind!
Jaq. Nay then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse.
[Exit. Rof. Farewel, 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! where have you been all this while ? You a lover? -An you serve me such another trick, never come in my sight more.
Orla. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise.
Ref. 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' the shoulder, but I warrant him heart-whole.
Orla. Pardon me, dear Rosalind.
Rof. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight; I had as lief be woo'd of a snail.
Orla. Of a snail ?
Ref. Ay, of a snail; for though he comes Nowly, he carries his house on his head; a better jointure, I think,
9 nativity, ]-birth-place.
than you can make a woman : Besides, he brings his destiny with him.
Orla. What's that?
Rof. 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 Nander of his wife.
Orla. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous.
Rof. And I am your Rosalind.
Cel. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a better • leer than you.
Rof. 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 ?
Orla. I would kiss, before I spoke.
Rof. Nay, you were better speak first ; and when you were gravellid for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers, lacking (God warn us !) matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.
Orla. How if the kiss be denied ?
Rof. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.
Orla. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress ?
Rof. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress ; or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit.
Orla. What, of my suit ?
Rof. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your fuit. Am not I your Rosalind ?
Orla. I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of her.
s leer]- look, feature, complexion.
Titus ANDRONICUS, A& IV, S. 2. Aar.