ACT III. SCENE IV. Another part of the Forest. Before a Cottage.
[Enter ROSALIND and CELIA.]
Never talk to me; I will weep.
Do, I pr'ythee; but yet have the grace to consider that
tears do not become a man.
But have I not cause to weep?
As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep.
His very hair is of the dissembling colour.
Something browner than Judas's: marry, his kisses are Judas's own
I' faith, his hair is of a good colour.
An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the only colour.
And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy
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.
But why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes not?
Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.
Do you think so?
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 covered
goblet or a worm-eaten nut.
Not true in love?
Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in.
You have heard him swear downright he was.
'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.
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 laughed and let me go. But what talk we of fathers
when there is such a man as Orlando?
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 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?
Mistress and master, you have oft enquired
After the shepherd that complain'd of love,
Who you saw sitting by me on the turf,
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
That was his mistress.
Well, and what of him?
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.
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 busy actor in their play.