Ros.

Never talk to me, I will weep.

Cel.

Do I prethee, 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.
And his Kissing is as full of Sanctity,
As the touch of holy Bread.

Cel.

He hath bought a Pair of chaste 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 Goblet, 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 Confirmer 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 on 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 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 Complection 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 to this Sight, and you shall say
I'll prove a busie Actor in their Play. [Exeunt.

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