Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Corin, behind.
Phe. I would not be thy executioner:
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
010 Thou tell’st me there is murder in mine eye:
[011] ’Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,
That eyes, that are the frail’st and softest things,
Who shut their coward gates on atomies,
Should be call’d tyrants, butchers, murderers!
015 Now I do frown on thee with all my heart;
And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee: