ROSALIND.
He’s fall’n in love with your foulness, and she’ll fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I’ll sauce her with bitter words. Why look you so upon me?
PHOEBE.
For no ill will I bear you.
ROSALIND.
I pray you do not fall in love with me,
For I am falser than vows made in wine.
Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house,
’Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by.
Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard.
Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better,
And be not proud. Though all the world could see,
None could be so abused in sight as he.
Come, to our flock.
[Exeunt Rosalind, Celia and Corin.]
PHOEBE.
Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might:
“Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?”
SILVIUS.
Sweet Phoebe—
PHOEBE.
Ha, what sayst thou, Silvius?
SILVIUS.
Sweet Phoebe, pity me.
PHOEBE.
Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.
SILVIUS.
Wherever sorrow is, relief would be.
If you do sorrow at my grief in love,
By giving love your sorrow and my grief
Were both extermined.