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you so upon me?

       PHEBE

       For no ill-will I bear you.

       ROSALIND

       I pray you do not fall in love with me,

       For I am falser than vows made in wine:

       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,

       And be not proud; though all the world could see,

       None could be so abused in sight as he.

       Come to our flock.

       [Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN.]

       PHEBE

       Dead shepherd! now I find thy saw of might;

       “Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?”

       SILVIUS

       Sweet Phebe,—

       PHEBE

       Ha! what say’st thou, Silvius?

       SILVIUS

       Sweet Phebe, pity me.

       PHEBE

       Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.

       SILVIUS

       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.

       PHEBE

       Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly?

       SILVIUS

       I would have you.

       PHEBE

       Why, that were covetousness.

       Silvius, the time was that I hated thee;

       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.

       SILVIUS

       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: lose now and then

       A scatter’d smile, and that I’ll live upon.

       PHEBE

       Know’st thou the youth that spoke to me erewhile?

       SILVIUS

       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.

       PHEBE

       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; 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

       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 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?

       SILVIUS

       Phebe, with all my heart.

       PHEBE

       I’ll write it straight,

       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 IV

      SCENE I. The Forest of Arden

       [Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES.]

       JAQUES

       I pr’ythee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee.

       ROSALIND

       They say you are a melancholy fellow.

       JAQUES

       I am so; I do love it better than laughing.

       ROSALIND

       Those that are in extremity of either are abominable fellows, and betray themselves to every modern censure worse than drunkards.

       JAQUES

       Why, ‘tis good to be sad and say nothing.

       ROSALIND

       Why then, ‘tis good to be a post.

       JAQUES

       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 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 simples, extracted from many objects: and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my travels; in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous sadness.

       ROSALIND

       A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad: I fear you have sold your own lands to see other men’s; then to have seen much and to have nothing is to have rich eyes and poor hands.

       JAQUES

       Yes, I have gained my experience.

       ROSALIND

       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.

       [Enter ORLANDO.]

       ORLANDO

       Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind!

       JAQUES

      

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