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.^{6 note}

Cel.

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

Ros.

And his kissing is as full of sanctity, as the touch of holy Beard.^{7 note}

Cel.

He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana; a nun of Winter's sisterhood^{8 note}

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 goblet,^{9 note} 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 asked 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^{1 note}

lover; as a puisny tilter, that spurs his horse but one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose; but all's brave that youth mounts, and folly guides: who comes here?

Cor.
Mistress and master, you have oft enquired
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 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.

Ros.
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.

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