| ACT III  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, behind] | 
| 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: | 10 | 
 | '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 call'd 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: | 20 | 
 | 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. | 
| SILVIUS | O dear Phebe, | 
 | If ever,--as that ever may be near,-- | 
 | You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, | 
 | Then shall you know the wounds invisible | 30 | 
 | That love's keen arrows make. | 
| PHEBE | 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. | 
| ROSALIND | And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother, | 
 | That you insult, exult, and all at once, | 
 | Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty,-- | 
 | 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? | 40 | 
 | Why, what means this? Why do you look on me? | 
 | I see no more in you than in the ordinary | 
 | Of nature's sale-work. 'Od's my little life, | 
 | I think she means to tangle my eyes too! | 
 | No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it: | 
 | 'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair, | 
 | Your bugle eyeballs, 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? | 50 | 
 | You are a thousand times a properer man | 
 | Than she a woman: 'tis such fools as you | 
 | That makes the world full of ill-favour'd children: | 
 | 'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her; | 
 | And out of you she sees herself more proper | 
 | Than any of her lineaments can show her. | 
 | But, mistress, know yourself: down on your knees, | 
 | And thank heaven, 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: | 60 | 
 | 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. | 
| PHEBE | Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together:
  
  | 
 | I had rather hear you chide than this man woo. | 
| ROSALIND | 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? | 
| PHEBE | For no ill will I bear you. | 70 | 
| 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, | 80 | 
 | '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 extermined. | 
| 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: | 95 | 
 | 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: loose now and then | 
 | A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon. | 
| PHEBE | Know'st now 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 | 110 | 
 | 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 | 120 | 
 | Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference | 
 | Between 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: | 130 | 
 | 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] |