Page 1965 - Shakespeare - Vol. 2

Enter Rosalind, Celia and Corin (behind).

PHEBE
I would not be thy executioner;
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
Thou tell’st me there is murder in mine eye: [10]
’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.

Now I do frown on thee with all my heart, [15]
And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee.
Now counterfeit to swoon: why now fall down,
Or if thou canst not, O for shame, for shame,
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers.

Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee. [20]
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
Some scar of it; lean upon a rush,

The cicatrice and capable impressure
Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes,
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not, [25]
Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes
That can do hurt.

SILVIUS
O dear Phebe,
If ever, as that ever may be near,
You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy,
Then shall you know the wounds invisible [30]

That love’s keen arrows make.

PHEBE
But till that time
Come not thou near me; and when that time comes,
Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not,
As till that time I shall not pity thee.

ROSALIND