Читать книгу The Complete Works of Shakespeare онлайн

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Phe.

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.

Ros. [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-favor’d children.