Читать книгу The Complete Works of Shakespeare онлайн

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’Tis not her glass, but you that flatters her,

And out of you she sees herself more proper

Than any of her lineaments can show her.

But, mistress, know yourself, down on your knees,

And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man’s love;

For I must tell you friendly in your ear,

Sell when you can, you are not for all markets.

Cry the man mercy, love him, take his offer;

Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.

So take her to thee, shepherd. Fare you well.

Phe.

Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together,

I had rather hear you chide than this man woo.

Ros. He’s fall’n in love with your foulness—and she’ll fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I’ll sauce her with bitter words.—Why look you so upon me?

Phe. For no ill will I bear you.

Ros.

I pray you do not fall in love with me,

For I am falser than vows made in wine.

Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house,

’Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by.

Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard.