065 Cel. Alas, poor shepherd!
Ros. Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity. Wilt thou love such a woman? What, to make thee an instrument [068] and play false strains upon thee! not to be endured! Well, go your way to her, for I see love hath made thee a [070] tame snake, and say this to her: that if she love me, I charge her to love thee; if she will not, I will never have her unless thou entreat for her. If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more company. [Exit Silvius.
Enter Oliver.
Oli. Good morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you know,
075 Where in the purlieus of this forest stands
A sheep-cote fenced about with olive-trees?
Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom:
The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream
[079] Left on your right hand brings you to the place.
080 But at this hour the house doth keep itself;