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
-- 59 --
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 beard. note
Cel.
He hath bought14Q0320 a pair of cast lips note 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 note is no
stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the
confirmers note of false reck'nings: He attends here in the
forest on the duke your father.
Ros.
I met the duke yesterday, and had much question
with him: He ask'd 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 traverse, athwart the heart of his lover;
as a puny tilter, that spurs his note horse but on one side,
-- 60 --
breaks his staff like a noble goose: but all's brave, that
youth mounts, and folly guides: note—Who comes here?
Enter Corin.
Cor.
Mistress, and master, you have oft enquired
After the shepherd that complain'd of love;
Whom you note 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.
O, let us remove;
The sight of lovers feedeth those in love:—
Come, bring us to this sight; and you shall say
I'll prove a busy actor in their play.
[Exeunt.
Edward Capell [1767], Mr William Shakespeare his comedies, histories, and tragedies, set out by himself in quarto, or by the Players his Fellows in folio, and now faithfully republish'd from those Editions in ten Volumes octavo; with an introduction: Whereunto will be added, in some other Volumes, notes, critical and explanatory, and a Body of Various Readings entire (Printed by Dryden Leach, for J. and R. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S10601].
