Sir Oli. ’Tis no matter: ne’er a fantastical knave of them all shall flout me out of my calling. [Exit.
[000] Scene IV. The forest.
AYLI III. 4 Enter Rosalind and Celia.
Ros. Never talk to me; I will weep.
Cel. Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider that tears do not become a man.
Ros. But have I not cause to weep?
005 Cel. As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep.
Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling colour.
Cel. Something browner than Judas’s: marry, his kisses are Judas’s own children.
Ros. I’ faith, his hair is of a good colour.