William Shakespeare: As You Like It

ACT III. 5. SCENE V. Another part of the forest. (continued)

ROSALIND.
[Advancing] And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother,
That you insult, exult, and all at once,
Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty,--
As, by my faith, I see no more in you
Than without candle may go dark to bed,--
Must you be therefore proud and pitiless?
Why, what means this? Why do you look on me?
I see no more in you than in the ordinary
Of nature's sale-work:--Od's my little life,
I think she means to tangle my eyes too!--
No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it;
'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair,
Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my spirits to your worship.--
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her,
Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain?
You are a thousand times a properer man
Than she a woman. 'Tis such fools as you
That makes the world full of ill-favour'd children:
'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her;
And out of you she sees herself more proper
Than any of her lineaments can show her;--
But, mistress, know yourself; down on your knees,
And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love:
For I must tell you friendly in your ear,--
Sell when you can; you are not for all markets:
Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer;
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.
So take her to thee, shepherd;--fare you well.

PHEBE.
Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together:
I had rather hear you chide than this man woo.

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?

PHEBE.
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.