As You Like It by William Shakespeare
Act 3 - Scene 5
Another part of the forest
(stage directions) : Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE
Silvius : Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe.
[p]Say that you love me
not; but say not so
[p]In bitterness. The common executioner,
[p]Whose
heart th' accustom'd sight of death makes hard,
[p]Falls not the axe
upon the humbled neck
[p]But first begs pardon. Will you sterner
be
[p]Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?
(stage directions) : Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, at a distance
Phebe : I would not be thy executioner;
[p]I fly thee, for I would not injure
thee.
[p]Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye.
[p]'Tis pretty,
sure, and very probable,
[p]That eyes, that are the frail'st and
softest things,
[p]Who shut their coward gates on atomies,
[p]Should
be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers!
[p]Now I do frown on thee with
all my heart;
[p]And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill
thee.
[p]Now counterfeit to swoon; why, now fall down;
[p]Or, if thou
canst not, O, for shame, for shame,
[p]Lie not, to say mine eyes are
murderers.
[p]Now show the wound mine eye hath made in
thee.
[p]Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
[p]Some scar
of it; lean upon a rush,
[p]The cicatrice and capable
impressure
[p]Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes,
[p]Which
I have darted at thee, hurt thee not;
[p]Nor, I am sure, there is not
force in eyes
[p]That can do hurt.
Silvius : O dear Phebe,
[p]If ever- as that ever may be near-
[p]You meet in
some fresh cheek the power of fancy,
[p]Then shall you know the wounds
invisible
[p]That love's keen arrows make.
Phebe : But till that time
[p]Come not thou near me; and when that time
comes,
[p]Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not;
[p]As till that time
I shall not pity thee.
Rosalind : [Advancing] And why, I pray you? Who might be your
[p]
mother,
[p]That you insult, exult, and all at once,
[p]Over the
wretched? What though you have no beauty-
[p]As, by my faith, I see no
more in you
[p]Than without candle may go dark to bed-
[p]Must you be
therefore proud and pitiless?
[p]Why, what means this? Why do you look
on me?
[p]I see no more in you than in the ordinary
[p]Of nature's
sale-work. 'Od's my little life,
[p]I think she means to tangle my
eyes too!
[p]No faith, proud mistress, hope not after it;
[p]'Tis not
your inky brows, your black silk hair,
[p]Your bugle eyeballs, nor
your cheek of cream,
[p]That can entame my spirits to your
worship.
[p]You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her,
[p]Like
foggy south, puffing with wind and rain?
[p]You are a thousand times a
properer man
[p]Than she a woman. 'Tis such fools as you
[p]That makes
the world full of ill-favour'd children.
[p]'Tis not her glass, but
you, that flatters her;
[p]And out of you she sees herself more
proper
[p]Than any of her lineaments can show her.
[p]But, mistress,
know yourself. Down on your knees,
[p]And thank heaven, fasting, for a
good man's love;
[p]For I must tell you friendly in your ear:
[p]Sell
when you can; you are not for all markets.
[p]Cry the man mercy, love
him, take his offer;
[p]Foul is most foul, being foul to be a
scoffer.
[p]So take her to thee, shepherd. Fare you well.
Phebe : Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together;
[p]I had rather hear
you chide than this man woo.
Rosalind : He's fall'n in love with your foulness, and she'll fall
[p]in love
with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers thee
[p]with
frowning looks, I'll sauce her with bitter words. Why look
[p]you so
upon me?
Phebe : For no ill will I bear you.
Rosalind : I pray you do not fall in love with me,
[p]For I am falser than vows
made in wine;
[p]Besides, I like you not. If you will know my
house,
[p]'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by.
[p]Will you go,
sister? Shepherd, ply her hard.
[p]Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on
him better,
[p]And be not proud; though all the world could
see,
[p]None could be so abus'd in sight as he.
[p]Come, to our flock.
Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN
Phebe : Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might:
[p]'Who ever lov'd that
lov'd not at first sight?'
Silvius : Sweet Phebe.
Phebe : Ha! what say'st thou, Silvius?
Silvius : Sweet Phebe, pity me.
Phebe : Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.
Silvius : Wherever sorrow is, relief would be.
[p]If you do sorrow at my grief
in love,
[p]By giving love, your sorrow and my grief
[p]Were both
extermin'd.
Phebe : Thou hast my love; is not that neighbourly?
Silvius : I would have you.
Phebe : Why, that were covetousness.
[p]Silvius, the time was that I hated
thee;
[p]And yet it is not that I bear thee love;
[p]But since that
thou canst talk of love so well,
[p]Thy company, which erst was
irksome to me,
[p]I will endure; and I'll employ thee too.
[p]But do
not look for further recompense
[p]Than thine own gladness that thou
art employ'd.
Silvius : So holy and so perfect is my love,
[p]And I in such a poverty of
grace,
[p]That I shall think it a most plenteous crop
[p]To glean the
broken ears after the man
[p]That the main harvest reaps; loose now
and then
[p]A scatt'red smile, and that I'll live upon.
Phebe : Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me erewhile?
Silvius : Not very well; but I have met him oft;
[p]And he hath bought the
cottage and the bounds
[p]That the old carlot once was master of.
Phebe : Think not I love him, though I ask for him;
[p]'Tis but a peevish boy;
yet he talks well.
[p]But what care I for words? Yet words do
well
[p]When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.
[p]It is a
pretty youth- not very pretty;
[p]But, sure, he's proud; and yet his
pride becomes him.
[p]He'll make a proper man. The best thing in
him
[p]Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue
[p]Did make
offence, his eye did heal it up.
[p]He is not very tall; yet for his
years he's tall;
[p]His leg is but so-so; and yet 'tis well.
[p]There
was a pretty redness in his lip,
[p]A little riper and more lusty
red
[p]Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the
difference
[p]Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask.
[p]There be
some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him
[p]In parcels as I did, would
have gone near
[p]To fall in love with him; but, for my part,
[p]I
love him not, nor hate him not; and yet
[p]I have more cause to hate
him than to love him;
[p]For what had he to do to chide at me?
[p]He
said mine eyes were black, and my hair black,
[p]And, now I am
rememb'red, scorn'd at me.
[p]I marvel why I answer'd not
again;
[p]But that's all one: omittance is no quittance.
[p]I'll write
to him a very taunting letter,
[p]And thou shalt bear it; wilt thou,
Silvius?
Silvius : Phebe, with all my heart.
Phebe : I'll write it straight;
[p]The matter's in my head and in my
heart;
[p]I will be bitter with him and passing short.
[p]Go with me,
Silvius. Exeunt
Previous: Act 3 - Scene 4
Next: Act 4 - Scene 1
