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ACT III. SCENE IV. 


The forest

Enter ROSALIND and CELIA

 ROSALIND.

Never talk to me; I will weep.

 CELIA.

Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider that tears
do not become a man.

 ROSALIND.

But have I not cause to weep?

 CELIA.

As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep.

 ROSALIND.

His very hair is of the dissembling colour.

 CELIA.

Something browner than Judas's.
Marry, his kisses are Judas's own children.

 ROSALIND.

I' faith, his hair is of a good colour.

 CELIA.

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

 ROSALIND.

And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of
holy bread.

 CELIA.

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.

 ROSALIND.

But why did he swear he would come this morning, and
comes not?

 CELIA.

Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.

 ROSALIND.

Do you think so?

 CELIA.

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 covered
goblet or a worm-eaten nut.

 ROSALIND.

Not true in love?

 CELIA.

Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in.

 ROSALIND.

You have heard him swear downright he was.

 CELIA.

'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.

 ROSALIND.

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?

 CELIA.

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?

Enter CORIN

 CORIN.

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.

 CELIA.

Well, and what of him?

 CORIN.

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.

 ROSALIND.

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

Exeunt

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