Come Sister: Shepheardesse, looke on him better
And be not proud, though all the world could see,
None could be so abus'd in sight as hee.
Come, to our flocke, Exit.
Phe.
Dead Shepheard, now I find thy saw of might,
Who euer lov'd, that lou'd not at first sight?
Sil.
Sweet Phebe.
Phe.
Hah: what saist thou Siluius?
Sil.
Sweet Phebe pitty me.
Phe.
Why I am sorry for thee gentle Siluius.
Sil.
Where euer sorrow is, reliefe would be:
If you doe sorrow at my griefe in loue,
By giuing loue your sorrow, and my griefe
Were both extermin'd
Phe.
Thou hast my loue, is not that neighbourly?
Sil.
I would haue you.
Phe.
Why that were couetousnesse:
Siluius; the time was, that I hated thee;
And yet it is not, that I beare thee loue,
But since that thou canst talke of loue so well,
Thy company, which erst was irkesome to me
I will endure; and Ile employ thee too:
But doe not looke for further recompence
Then thine owne gladnesse, that thou art employd.
Sil.
So holy, and so perfect is my loue,
And I in such a pouerty of grace,
That I shall thinke it a most plenteous crop
To gleane the broken eares after the man
That the maine haruest reapes: loose now and then
A scattred smile, and that Ile liue vpon
Phe.
Knowst thou the youth that spoke to mee yerewhile?
Sil.
Not very well, but I haue met him oft,
And he hath bought the Cottage and the bounds
That the old Carlot once was Master of
Phe.
Thinke not I loue him, though I ask for him,
'Tis but a peeuish boy, yet he talkes well,
But what care I for words? yet words do well
When he that speakes them pleases those that heare:
It is a pretty youth, not very prettie,
But sure hee's proud, and yet his pride becomes him;
Hee'll make a proper man: the best thing in him
Is his complexion: and faster then his tongue
Did make offence, his eye did heale it vp:
He is not very tall, yet for his yeeres hee's tall:
His leg is but so so, and yet 'tis well:
There was a pretty rednesse in his lip,
A little riper, and more lustie red
Then that mixt in his cheeke: 'twas iust the difference
Betwixt the constant red, and mingled Damaske.
There be some women Siluius, had they markt him
In parcells as I did, would haue gone neere
To fall in loue with him: but for my part
I loue him not, nor hate him not: and yet
Haue more cause to hate him then to loue him,
For what had he to doe to chide at me?
He said mine eyes were black, and my haire blacke,
And now I am remembred, scorn'd at me:
I maruell why I answer'd not againe,
But that's all one: omittance is no quittance:
Ile write to him a very tanting Letter,
And thou shalt beare it, wilt thou Siluius?
Sil.
Phebe, with all my heart.
Phe.
Ile write it strait:
The matter's in my head, and in my heart,
I will be bitter with him, and passing short;
Goe with me Siluius. Exeunt.
Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.
Enter Rosalind, and Celia, and Iaques.
Iaq.
I prethee, pretty youth, let me better acquainted with thee.
Ros.
They say you are a melancholly fellow.
Iaq.
I am so: I doe loue it better then laughing.
Ros.
Those that are in extremity of either, are abhominable fellowes, and betray themselues to euery moderne censure, worse then drunkards.
Iaq.
Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.
Ros.
Why then 'tis good to be a poste.
Iaq.
I haue neither the Schollers melancholy, which is emulation: nor the Musitians, which is fantasticall; nor the Courtiers, which is proud: nor the Souldiers, which is ambitious: nor the Lawiers, which is politick: nor the Ladies, which is nice: nor the Louers, which is all these: but it is a melancholy of mine owne, compounded of many simples, extracted from many obiects, and indeed the sundrie contemplation of my trauells, in which by often rumination, wraps me in a most humorous sadnesse.
Ros.
A Traueller: by my faith you haue great reason to be sad: I feare you haue sold your owne Lands, to see other mens; then to haue seene much, and to haue nothing, is to haue rich eyes and poore hands.
Iaq.
Yes, I haue gain'd my experience.
Enter Orlando.
And your experience makes you sad: I had rather haue a foole to make me merrie, then experience to make me sad, and to trauaile for it too.
Orl.
Good day, and happinesse, deere Rosalind.
Iaq.
Nay then God buy you, and you talke in blanke verse.
Ros.
Farewell Mounsieur Trauellor: looke you lispe, and weare strange suites; disable all the benefits of your owne Countrie: be out of loue with your natiuitie, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are; or I will scarce thinke you haue swam in a Gundello. Why how now Orlando, where haue you bin all this while? you a louer? and you serue me such another tricke, neuer come in my sight more.
Orl.
My faire Rosalind, I come within an houre of my promise.
Ros.
Breake an houres promise in loue? hee that will diuide a minute into a thousand parts, and breake but a part of the thousand part of a minute in the affairs of loue, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapt him oth'shoulder, but Ile warrant him heart hole.
Orl.
Pardon me deere Rosalind.
Ros.
Nay, and you be so tardie, come no more in my sight, I had as liefe be woo'd of a Snaile.
Orl.
Of a Snaile?
Ros.
I, of a Snaile: for though he comes slowly, hee carries his house on his head; a better ioyncture I thinke then you make a woman: besides, he brings his destinie with him.
Orl.
What's that?
Ros.
Why hornes: which such as you are faine to be beholding to your wiues for: but he comes armed in his fortune, and preuents the slander of his wife.
