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Enter Corin.

Cor.

Mistress and master, you have oft inquired

After the shepherd that complain’d of love,

Who you saw sitting by me on the turf,

Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess

That was his mistress.

Cel.

Well; and what of him?

Cor.

If you will see a pageant truly play’d

Between the pale complexion of true love

And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain,

Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you,

If you will mark it.

Ros.

O, come, let us remove,

The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.

Bring us to this sight, and you shall say

I’ll prove a busy actor in their play.

Exeunt.

¶

Enter Silvius and Phebe.

Sil.

Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me, do not, Phebe;

Say that you love me not, but say not so

In bitterness. The common executioner,

Whose heart th’ accustom’d sight of death makes hard,

Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck

But first begs pardon. Will you sterner be

Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?

Enter, [behind,] Rosalind, Celia, and Corin.