Over the wretched? what though you have beauty",
(As, by my faith, I fee no more in you
Than without candle may go dark to bed), '
Muft you be therefore proud and pitiless?
Why, what means this? why do you look on me?
I fee no more in you than in the ordinary
Of nature's fale-work : odds, my little life!'
I think, the means to angle mine eyes too:
No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it;
'Tis not your inky brows, your black filk hair,
Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my fpirits to your worship".
You foolish fhepherd, wherefore do you follow her
Like foggy South, puffing with wind and rain?
You are a thoufand times a properer man,
Than the a woman. 'Tis fuch fools as you,
That make the world full of ill favour'd children;
'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatter her;
And out of you the fees herfelf more proper,
Than any of her lineaments can fhow her.
But, mistress, know yourself; down on your knees,
And thank heav'n, 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, fhepherd-fare you well.

Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together; I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo.

Rof. [afide] He's fallen in love with her foulness 2, and the'll fall in love with my anger. If it be fo, as faft as fhe answers thee, with frowning looks, I'll fauce her with bitter words. Why look you fo 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;

Befides, I like you not. If you will know my houfe,
'Tis at the tuft of Olives, here hard by.

Will you go, Sifter?-Shepherd, ply her hard-
Come, fifter-fhepherdefs, look on him better,

And be not proud. Though all the world could fee3,
None could be fo abus'd in fight as he.

Come, to our flock. [Exeunt Rof. Cel. and Corin. Phe. Dead fhepherd, now I find thy Saw of might;

Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first fight?

Sil. Sweet Phebe!

Phe. Hah: what fay'ft thou, Silvius !

Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me.

Phe. Why, I am forry for thee, gentle Silvius.
Sil. Where-ever forrow is, relief would be;

Foul is moft foul, being FOUL to be a fcoffer:] The only fenfe of this is, An ill-favoured perfon is moft ill-favoured, when, if he be ill-favoured, he is a feoffer. Which is a deal too abfurd to come from Shakespeare; who, without queflion, wrote,

Foul is moft foul, being FOUND to be a fcoffer:

i. e. where an ill-favour'd perfon ridicules the defects of others, it makes his own appear exceffive. WARBURTON.

as he.] Though all mankind could look on you, none could be fo deceived as to think you beautiful but he.

If you do forrow at my grief in love,

By giving love, your Sorrow and my grief
Were both extermin'd.

Phe. Thou haft my love; is not that neighbourly?
Sil. I would have you.

Phe. Why, that were Covetousness.
Silvius, the time was, that I hated thee;
And yet it is not, that I bear thee love;
But fince that thou canst talk of love fo well,
Thy company, which erft was irksome to me,
I will endure; and I'll employ thee too:
But do not look for further recompence,
Than thine own gladnefs that thou art employ'd.
Sil. So holy and fo perfect is my love,
And I in fuch a poverty of grace,

That I fhall think it a moft plenteous crop
To glean the broken ears after the man

That the main harvest reaps: loofe now and then
A scatter'd fmile, and that I'll live upon.

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 mafter of.

Phe. Think not, I love him, tho' I afk 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 thofe that hear:
It is a pretty youth-not very pretty-

But, fure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes him;
He'll make a proper man; the best thing in him
Is his Complexion; and fafter 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 fo, and yet 'tis well;
There was a pretty rednefs in his lip,
A little riper, and more lufty red

;

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

Betwixt

Betwixt the conftant red and mingled damask,
There be fome 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 caufe to hate him than to love him;
For what had he to do to chide at me?

He faid, mine eyes were black, and my hair black
And, now I am remembred, fcorn'd at me;
I marvel, why I anfwer'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. I'll write it straight;

The matter's in my head, and in my heart,
I will be bitter with him, and paffing fhort:
Go with me, Silvius.

[Exeur

ACT IV. SCENE I.

Continues in the FOREST.

Enter Rofalind, Celia, and Jaques.

JAQUES.

Pry'thee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainte

Rof. They fay you are a melancholy fellow.

Jaq. I am fo; I do love it better than laughing. Rof. Thofe, that are in extremity of either, a abominable fellows; and betray themselves to ever modern cenfure, worse than drunkards.

Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be fad, and fay nothing.

R

Ref. Why, then, 'tis good to be a poft.

Jaq. I have neither the fcholar'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 politick; nor the lady's, which is nice; nor the lover's, which is all thefe; but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many fimples, extracted from many objects, and, indeed, the fundry contemplation of my travels, on which my often rumination wraps me in a moft humorous fadnefs.

Rof. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reafon to be fad: I fear, you have fold your own lands, to fee other mens; then, to have feen 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 happinefs, dear Rofalind! Jaq. Nay then-God b'w'y you, an you talk in blank verfe. [Exit.

Rof. Farewel, monfieur traveller; look, you lifp. and wear ftrange fuits; difable all the benefits of your own Country; be out of love with your nativity, and almoft chide God for making you that countenance you are; or I will fcarce think, you have fwam in a Gondola +-Why, how now, Orlando, where have you

fwam in a Gondola.] That is, been at Venice, the feat at that time of all licentiousness, where the young English gentlemen wafted their fortunes, debafed their morals, and fometimes loft their religion.

The fashion of travelling, which prevailed very much in our author's time, was confidered by the wifer men as one of the principal caufes of corrupt manners. It was therefore gravely centured by Afcham in his School

mafter,