And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee: Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers. The cicatrice and capable impressure Thy Palm fome moment keeps: but now mine eyes, Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not; Nor, I am fure, there is no force in eyes That can do hurt. Sil. O dear Phebe, If ever (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. Phebe. But 'till that time, Come not thou near me; and when that time comes.. Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not; Rof. And why, I pray you? who might be your mother, That you insult, exult, and rail, at once 5. Must you be therefore proud and pitiless ? A * the power of fancy,] i. e. the Arms of Love: As Poets talk of the Darts of Cupid in the Eyes of their Mistresses. D 3 You You foolish Shepherd, wherefore do you follow her Phe. 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 sne'll fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers thee, with frowning looks, I'll fauce her with bitter words. Why look you so upon me? Phe. For no ill will I bear you. Rof. I pray you, do not fall in love with me; For I am falfer than vows made in wine; Come, to our flock. [Exeunt Rof. Cel. and Corin. Phe. Hah: what say'st thou, Silvius? Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me. Phe. Why I am forry for thee, gentle Silvius. If you do forrow at my grief in love, 1 By giving love, your Sorrow and my grief Were both extermin'd. Phe. Thou hast my love; is not that neighbourly? Phe. Why, that were Covetousness. Sil. So holy and so perfect is my love, And I in such a poverty of grace, 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 25 A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon. fau Phe. Know'st thou the youth, that spoke to me cre while? mt 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. ου or Phe. Think not, I love him, tho' 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, fure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes him; ghi He'll make a proper man; the best thing in him D 4 Than Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the dif ference" Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask. He faid, mine eyes were black, and my hair black: And thou shalt bear it; wilt thou Silvius? 1 Sil. Phebe, with all my heart. Phe. I'll write it straight; The matter's in my head, and in my heart, Go with me, Silvius. I [Exeunt. Rof. They say, you are a melancholy fellow. Jaq. I am fo; I do love it better than laughing. Rof. Those, that are in extremity of either, are abo minable fellows; and betray themselves to every mo dern cenfure, worse than drunkards. Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad, and say nothing. Rof. di Rof. Why then, 'tis good to be a poft. 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 foldier's, which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politic; 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 fimples, extracted from many objects, and, indeed, the fundry contemad plation 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 fad: I fear, you have fold your own lands to fee other 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 me experience. Enter Orlando. Rof. 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 Rofalind! Jaq. Nay, then God b'w'y you, an you talk in blank verse. Rof. SCENE II. [Exit. FAREWEL, monfieur traveller; look, you lisp, and wear strange suits; disable all the benefits of your own Country; be out of love with int 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 ab lover? an you serve me fuch another trick, never come g. mo in my fight more. Orla. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of g. my promife. Ro |