Sweet Phoebe, do not scorn me, do not, Phoebe!

3.5.21772Say that you love me not, but say not so

3.5.31773In bitterness. The common executioner,

3.5.41774Whose heart th'accustomed sight of death makes hard,

3.5.51775Falls not the ax upon the humbled neck

3.5.61776But first begs pardon. Will you sterner be

3.5.71777Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?

I would not be thy executioner;

3.5.91780I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.

3.5.101781Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye.

3.5.111782'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,

3.5.121783That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things,

3.5.131784Who shut their coward gates on atomies,

3.5.141785Should be called tyrants, butchers, murderers!

3.5.151786Now I do frown on thee with all my heart,

3.5.161787And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee.

3.5.171788Now counterfeit to swoon; why, now fall down,

3.5.181789Or, if thou canst not, oh, for shame, for shame,

3.5.191790Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers!

3.5.201791Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee.

3.5.211792Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains

3.5.221793Some scar of it; lean upon a rush,

3.5.231794The cicatrice and capable impressure

3.5.241795Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes,

3.5.251796Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not.

3.5.261797Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes

3.5.271798That can do hurt.

3.5.28O dear Phoebe,

3.5.291800If ever -- as that "ever" may be near --

3.5.301801You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy,

3.5.311802Then shall you know the wounds invisible

3.5.321803That love's keen arrows make.

That love's keen arrows make. But till that time

3.5.331805Come not thou near me; and when that time comes,

3.5.341806Afflict me with thy mocks; pity me not,

3.5.351807As till that time I shall not pity thee.

And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother,

3.5.371809That you insult, exult, and all at once,

3.5.381810Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty --

3.5.391811As, by my faith, I see no more in you

3.5.401812Than without candle may go dark to bed --

3.5.411813Must you be therefore proud and pitiless?

3.5.421814Why, what means this? Why do you look on me?

3.5.431815I see no more in you than in the ordinary

3.5.441816Of nature's sale-work. -- 'Od's my little life,

3.5.451817I think she means to tangle my eyes too! --

3.5.461818No faith, proud mistress, hope not after it.

3.5.471819'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair,

3.5.481820Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream

3.5.491821That can entame my spirits to your worship.

3.5.501822You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her,

3.5.511823Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain?

3.5.521824You are a thousand times a properer man

3.5.531825Than she a woman. 'Tis such fools as you

3.5.541826That makes the world full of ill-favored children.

3.5.551827'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her,

3.5.561828And out of you she sees herself more proper

3.5.571829Than any of her lineaments can show her.

3.5.581830But, mistress, know yourself. Down on your knees,

3.5.591831And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love!

3.5.601832For I must tell you friendly in your ear:

3.5.611833Sell when you can; you are not for all markets.

3.5.621834Cry the man mercy, love him, take his offer;

3.5.631835Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.

3.5.641836So take her to thee, shepherd. Fare you well.

Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together.

3.5.661838I had rather hear you chide than this man woo.

He's fallen in love with your foulness, [To Silvius]and she'll 1840fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast 1841as she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce 1842her with bitter words. [To Phoebe]Why look you so upon me?

For no ill will I bear you.

I pray you, do not fall in love with me,

3.5.701845For I am falser than vows made in wine.

3.5.711846Besides, I like you not. [To Silvius] If you will know my house,

3.5.721847'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by. --

3.5.731848Will you go, sister? -- Shepherd, ply her hard. --

3.5.741849Come, sister. -- Shepherdess, look on him better,

3.5.751850And be not proud. Though all the world could see,

3.5.761851None could be so abused in sight as he. --

3.5.771852Come, to our flock.

Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might:

3.5.791854"Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?"

Sweet Phoebe --

Sweet Phoebe -- Ha! What say'st thou, Silvius?

Sweet Phoebe, pity me.

Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.

Wherever sorrow is, relief would be.

3.5.841860If you do sorrow at my grief in love,

3.5.851861By giving love, your sorrow and my grief

3.5.861862Were both extermined.

Thou hast my love. Is not that neighborly?

I would have you.

I would have you. Why, that were covetousness.

3.5.891866Silvius, the time was that I hated thee,

3.5.901867And yet it is not that I bear thee love;

3.5.911868But since that thou canst talk of love so well,

3.5.921869Thy company, which erst was irksome to me,

3.5.931870I will endure; and I'll employ thee too.

3.5.941871But do not look for further recompense

3.5.951872Than thine own gladness that thou art employed.

So holy and so perfect is my love,

3.5.971874And I in such a poverty of grace,

3.5.981875That I shall think it a most plenteous crop

3.5.991876To glean the broken ears after the man

3.5.1001877That the main harvest reaps. Loose now and then

3.5.1011878A scattered smile, and that I'll live upon.

Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me erewhile?

Not very well, but I have met him oft,

3.5.1041881And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds

3.5.1051882That the old carlot once was master of.

Think not I love him, though I ask for him.

3.5.1071884'Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well.

3.5.1081885But what care I for words? Yet words do well

3.5.1091886When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.

3.5.1101887It is a pretty youth -- not very pretty;

3.5.1111888But, sure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes him.

3.5.1121889He'll make a proper man. The best thing in him

3.5.1131890Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue

3.5.1141891Did make offense, his eye did heal it up.

3.5.1151892He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall;

3.5.1161893His leg is but so-so; and yet 'tis well.

3.5.1171894There was a pretty redness in his lip,

3.5.1181895A little riper and more lusty red

3.5.1191896Than that mixed in his cheek; 'twas just the difference

3.5.1201897Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask.

3.5.1211898There be some women, Silvius, had they marked him

3.5.1221899In parcels as I did, would have gone near

3.5.1231900To fall in love with him; but, for my part,

3.5.1241901I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet

3.5.1251902I have more cause to hate him than to love him.

3.5.1261903For what had he to do to chide at me?

3.5.1271904He said mine eyes were black, and my hair black,

3.5.1281905And, now I am remembered, scorned at me.

3.5.1291906I marvel why I answered not again.

3.5.1301907But that's all one; omittance is no quittance.

3.5.1311908I'll write to him a very taunting letter,

3.5.1321909And thou shalt bear it. Wilt thou, Silvius?

Phoebe, with all my heart.

Phoebe, with all my heart. I'll write it straight;

3.5.1341912The matter's in my head and in my heart.

3.5.1351913I will be bitter with him and passing short.

3.5.1361914Go with me, Silvius.