Celia.
Ros.
Never talk to me, I will weep.
Cel.
Do, I pr'ythee; but yet have the
grace to consider, that tears do not become a man.
Ros.
But have I not cause to weep?
Cel.
As good cause as one would desire, therefore
weep.
Ros.
His very hair is of the dissembling colour.
Cel.
Something browner than Judas's: marry, his
kisses are Judas's own children.
Ros.
I'faith, his hair is of a good colour.
Cel.
An excellent colour: your chesnut was ever
the only colour.
Ros.
(19) noteAnd his kissing is as full of sanctity, as the
touch of holy Beard.
-- 238 --
Cel.
(20) note
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.
Ros.
But why did he swear he would come this
morning, and comes not?
Cel.
Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.
Ros.
Do you think so?
Cel.
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 cover'd gobler, or a worm-eaten
nut.
Ros.
Not true in love?
Cel.
Yes, when he is in; but, I think, he is not in.
Ros.
You have heard him swear downright, he was.
Cel.
Was, is not is; besides, the oath of a lover is
no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both
the confirmers of false reckonings; he attends here in
the Forest on the Duke your Father.
Ros.
I met the Duke yesterday, and had much question
with him: he askt me, of what parentage I was;
I told him, of as good as he; so he laugh'd, and let
me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is
such a man as Orlando?
Cel.
O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses,
speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks
them bravely, quite travers athwart the heart of his
lover; as a puisny tilter, that spurs his horse but one
-- 239 --
side, breaks his staff 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 oft 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.
Ros.
O come, let us remove;
The sight of lovers feedeth those in love:
Bring us but to this sight, and you shall say
I'll prove a busy Actor in their Play.
[Exeunt.
Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
