Ros. But haue I not cause to weepe? Cel. As good cause as one would desire, Therefore weepe Ros. His very haire Is of the dissembling colour Cel. Something browner then Iudasses: Marrie his kisses are Iudasses owne children Ros. I'faith his haire is of a good colour Cel. An excellent colour: Your Chessenut was euer the onely colour: Ros. And his kissing is as ful of sanctitie, As the touch of holy bread Cel. Hee hath bought a paire of cast lips of Diana: a Nun of winters sisterhood kisses not more religiouslie, the very yce of chastity is in them Rosa. But why did hee sweare hee would come this morning, and comes not? Cel. Nay certainly there is no truth in him Ros. Doe you thinke so? Cel. Yes, I thinke he is not a picke purse, nor a horse-stealer, but for his verity in loue, I doe thinke him as concaue as a couered goblet, or a Worme-eaten nut Ros. Not true in loue? Cel. Yes, when he is in, but I thinke he is not in Ros. You haue heard him sweare downright he was Cel. Was, is not is: besides, the oath of Louer is no stronger then the word of a Tapster, they are both the confirmer of false reckonings, he attends here in the forrest on the Duke your father Ros. I met the Duke yesterday, and had much question with him: he askt me of what parentage I was; I told him of as good as he, so he laugh'd and let mee goe. But what talke wee of Fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando? Cel. O that's a braue man, hee writes braue verses, speakes braue words, sweares braue oathes, and breakes them brauely, quite trauers athwart the heart of his louer, as a puisny Tilter, y spurs his horse but on one side, breakes his staffe like a noble goose; but all's braue that youth mounts, and folly guides: who comes heere? Enter Corin. Corin. Mistresse and Master, you haue oft enquired After the Shepheard that complain'd of loue, Who you saw sitting by me on the Turph, Praising the proud disdainfull Shepherdesse That was his Mistresse Cel. Well: and what of him? Cor. If you will see a pageant truely plaid Betweene the pale complexion of true Loue, And the red glowe of scorne and prowd disdaine, Goe hence a little, and I shall conduct you If you will marke it Ros. O come, let vs remoue, The sight of Louers feedeth those in loue: Bring vs to this sight, and you shall say Ile proue a busie actor in their play. Exeunt. Scena Quinta. Enter Siluius and Phebe. Sil. Sweet Phebe doe not scorne me, do not Phebe Say that you loue me not, but say not so In bitternesse; the common executioner Whose heart th' accustom'd sight of death makes hard Falls not the axe vpon the humbled neck, But first begs pardon: will you sterner be Then he that dies and liues by bloody drops? Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Corin.