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 a covered goblet or a worm-eaten nut.
ROSALIND.
Not true in love?