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fide, breaks his faff like a noble goose; but all's brave that youth mounts, and folly guides : who comes here

Enter Corin.
Cor. Mistress and master, you have ofc enquir'd
After the shepherd that complain'd of love,
Whom you saw sitting by me on the turf,
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
That was his mistress.

Cel. Well; and what of him?

Cor. If you will see a pageant truly plaid
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.

Rof: O come, let us remove;
The light of loyers feedeth those in love:
Bring us but to this fight, and

you I'll prove a busy Actor in their Play. [Exeunt. SCENE changes to another part of the Forest.

Enter Silvius and Phebe. Sil. Weet 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 th' accustom'd fight of death makes hard,
Falls not the ax upon the humbled neck,
But first begs pardon : (21) will you sterner be
Than he that deals, and lives by bloody drops ?

Enter Rosalind, Celia and Corin.
Phe. I would not be thy executioner ;
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.

will yox fterner be, Than He that dies and lives by bloody Drops >] This is spoken of the Executioner. He lives, indeed, by bloody Drops, if

you will : but how does he dye by bloody Drops ? The Poet must certainly have wrote that deals and lives &c. i. e. that gets his Bread, and makes a Trade of cutting off Heads.

Mr. Warburton.


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Thou tell'st me, there is murther in mine eyes;
'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 callid tyrants, butchers, murtherers!
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 can'st not, oh, for shame, for shame,
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murtherers.
Now shew the wound mine eyes have made in thee;
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
Some scar of it; lean but 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.

Sil. O dear Phebe,
If ever (as that ever may be near)
You meer in some fresh cheek the power of fancy,
Then shall you know the wounds invisible
That love's keen arrows make.

Phe. But, 'till that time,
Come not thou near me, and when that time comes,
Aflict me with thy mocks, pity me not;
As, 'till that time, I shall not pity thee.
Rof. And why, I pray you? who might be your mo-

ther, (22) That you infult, exult, and rail, at once Over the wretched ? (23) what though you have beauty,

(As, (22) That you insult, exult, and all at once

Over the wretched?] If the Speaker only intended to accuse the Person spoken to, for insulting and exulting, instead of — all at once, it ought to have been, both at once. But on examining, according to Fact, the Crime of the Person accus'd, we shall find, We ought to read the Line thus ;

That you insult, exult, and rail, at once &c. For these three things Phebe was guilty of.

Mr. Warburton. (23) What though you kave no Beauty,] Tho' all the printed Copies agree in this Reading, it is very accurately observ'd to me by an

(As, by my faith, I see no more in you
Than without candle may go dark to bed,)
Must you be therefore proud and pitiless ?
Why, what means this? why do you look on me?
I see no more in you than in the ordinary
Of nature's fale-work: odds, my little life!
I think, the means to tangle mine eyes too:
No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it;
'Tis not your inky brows, your black Gilk hair,
Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my spirits to your worship.
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her
Like foggy South puffing with wind and rain?
You are a thousand times a properer man,
Than she a woman.

'Tis such fools as you,
That make the world full of ill-favour's children,
'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatter her;
And out of you she sees her self more proper,
Than any of her lineaments can show her.
But, mistress, know your self; down on your knees,
And thank heav'n, fafting, 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, shepherd ; fare you well.

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

Ros. He's fallen in love with your foulness, and she'll fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce 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 faller than vows made in wine; Begides, I like you not. If you will know my house, , ingenious unknown Correspondent, who signs himself L. H. (and to Whom I can only here make my Acknowledgments) that the Negative ought to be left out. Vol. II.



ther ;

'Tis at the tuft of olives, here hard by:
Will you go, sister? Thepherd, ply her hard :
Come, sister ; shepherdess, look on him better,
And be not proud; tho' all the world could see,
None could be so abus'd in sight as he.
Come, to our flock.

[Exit. Phe. Dead shepherd, now I find thy Saw of might ; Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?

Sil. Sweet Phebe!
Phe. Hah : what say'st thou, Silvius ?
Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me.
Phe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.

Sil. Where-ever sorrow is, relief would be;

you do sorrow at my grief in love, By giving love, your sorrow and my grief Were both extermin’d.

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

Phe. Why, that were Covetousness.
Silvius, the time was, that I hated thee;

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 recompence,
Than thine own gladness that thou art employ’d.

Sil. So holy and so perfect is my love,
And I in such a poverty


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
A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon.
Phe. Know'st thou the youth, that spoke to me ere-

while ?
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.

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, 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 lo, 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 remembred, 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 ?

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 passing short:
Go with me, Silvius.


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