ACT 3
Scene 5
...in their play.
Enter Silvius and Phoebe.
...Aliena, and Corin.
I would not be thy executioner.
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
Thou tell’st me there is murder in mine eye.
’Tis pretty, sure, and very probable
That eyes, that are the frail’st and softest things,
Who shut their coward gates on atomies,
Should be called tyrants, butchers, murderers.
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart,
And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee.
Now counterfeit to swoon; why, now fall down;
Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame,
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers.
Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee.
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
Some scar of it. Lean upon a rush,
The cicatrice and capable impressure
Thy palm some moment keeps. But now mine eyes,
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not;
Nor I am sure there is no force in eyes
That can do hurt.
...keen arrows make.
But till that time
Come not thou near me. And when that time comes,
Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not,
As till that time I shall not pity thee.
...Fare you well.
Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together.
I had rather hear you chide than this man woo.
...so upon me?
For no ill will I bear you.
...to our flock.
aside
Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might:
“Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?”
... Sweet Phoebe—
Ha, what sayst thou, Silvius?
...Phoebe, pity me.
Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.
...Were both extermined.
Thou hast my love. Is not that neighborly?
...would have you.
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 employed.
...I’ll live upon.
Know’st thou the youth that spoke to me erewhile?
...was master of.
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 offense, 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 mixed in his cheek: ’twas just the difference
Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask.
There be some women, Silvius, had they marked 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 remembered, scorned at me.
I marvel why I answered 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?
...all my heart.
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.
They exit.
ACT 5
Scene 2
...if you will.
Enter Silvius and Phoebe.
...lover of hers.
to Rosalind
Youth, you have done me much ungentleness
To show the letter that I writ to you.
...he worships you.
to Silvius
Good shepherd, tell this youth what ’tis to love.
...I for Phoebe.
And I for Ganymede.
...I for Phoebe.
And I for Ganymede.
...I for Phoebe.
And so am I for Ganymede.
...for no woman.
If this be so, why blame you me to love you?
...if I live.
Nor I.
... Nor I.
They exit.
Scene 4
...know they fear.
Enter Rosalind as Ganymede, Silvius, and Phoebe.
...I be willing?
That will I, should I die the hour after.
...most faithful shepherd?
So is the bargain.
...are my Rosalind.
If sight and shape be true,
Why then, my love adieu.
...no less degree.
to Silvius
I will not eat my word. Now thou art mine,
Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine.
...in true delights.
All but Rosalind exit.