Page 1969 - Shakespeare - Vol. 2

’Tis but a peevish boy − yet he talks well − [110]
But what care I for words? Yet words do well
When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.
It is a pretty youth − not very pretty −

But sure he’s proud, and yet his pride becomes him.
He’ll make a proper man. The best thing in him [115]
Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue
Did make offence, his eye did heal it up.

He is not very tall, yet for his years he’s tall.
His leg is but so so; and yet ’tis well.
There was a pretty redness in his lip, [120]
A little riper and more lusty red

Than that mix’d in his cheek; ’twas just the difference
Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask.
There be some women Silvius, had they mark’d him
In parcels as I did, would have gone near [125]

To fall in love with him: but for my part
I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet
I have more cause to hate him than to love him.
For what had he to do to chide at me?

He said mine eyes were black, and my hair black, [130]
And now I am remember’d, scorn’d at me.
I marvel why I answer’d not again.
But that’s all one. Omittance is no quittance.

I’ll write to him a very taunting letter,
And thou shalt bear it, wilt thou Silvius? [135]

SILVIUS
Phebe, with all my heart.

PHEBE
I’ll write it straight.
The matter’s in my head, and in my heart.

I will be bitter with him and passing short.
Go with me Silvius.
Exeunt.