AS YOU LIKE IT. Sidney Lee

for he is not like to marry me well; and not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife.

       JAQUES

       Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.

       TOUCHSTONE

       Come, sweet Audrey; We must be married or we must live in bawdry.

       Farewell, good Master Oliver!—Not—

       “O sweet Oliver,

       O brave Oliver,

       Leave me not behind thee.”

       But,—

       “Wind away,—

       Begone, I say,

       I will not to wedding with thee.”

       [Exeunt JAQUES, TOUCHSTONE, and AUDREY.]

       MARTEXT

       ‘Tis no matter; ne’er a fantastical knave of them all shall flout me out of my calling.

       [Exit.]

      SCENE IV. Another part of the Forest. Before a Cottage

       [Enter ROSALIND and CELIA.]

       ROSALIND

       Never talk to me; I will weep.

       CELIA

       Do, I pr’ythee; but yet have the grace to consider that tears do not become a man.

       ROSALIND

       But have I not cause to weep?

       CELIA

       As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep.

       ROSALIND

       His very hair is of the dissembling colour.

       CELIA

       Something browner than Judas’s: marry, his kisses are Judas’s own children.

       ROSALIND

       I’ faith, his hair is of a good colour.

       CELIA

       An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the only colour.

       ROSALIND

       And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy bread.

       CELIA

       He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a nun of winter’s sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them.

       ROSALIND

       But why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes not?

       CELIA

       Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.

       ROSALIND

       Do you think so?

       CELIA

       Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a horse-stealer; but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a covered goblet or a worm-eaten nut.

       ROSALIND

       Not true in love?

       CELIA

       Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in.

       ROSALIND

       You have heard him swear downright he was.

       CELIA

       “Was” is not “is”: besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the confirmer of false reckonings. He attends here in the forest on the duke, your father.

       ROSALIND

       I met the duke yesterday, and had much question with him. He asked me of what parentage I was; I told him, of as good as he; so he laughed and let me go. But what talk we of fathers when there is such a man as Orlando?

       CELIA

       O, that’s a brave man! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover; as a puny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose: but all’s brave that youth mounts and folly guides. —Who comes here?

       [Enter CORIN.]

       CORIN

       Mistress and master, you have oft enquired

       After the shepherd that complain’d of love,

       Who you saw sitting by me on the turf,

       Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess

       That was his mistress.

       CELIA

       Well, and what of him?

       CORIN

       If you will see a pageant truly play’d

       Between the pale complexion of true love

       And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain,

       Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you,

       If you will mark it.

       ROSALIND

       O, come, let us remove:

       The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.

       Bring us to this sight, and you shall say

       I’ll prove a busy actor in their play.

       [Exeunt.]

      SCENE V. Another part of the Forest

       [Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE.]

       SILVIUS

       Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe:

       Say that you love me not; but say not so

       In bitterness. The common executioner,

       Whose heart the accustom’d sight of death makes hard,

       Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck

       But first begs pardon. Will you sterner be

       Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?

       [Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, at a distance.]

       PHEBE

       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 not force in eyes

       That can do hurt.

       SILVIUS

       O dear Phebe,

       If ever,—as that ever may be near,—

       You meet in some fresh cheek the