Act 4 - Scene 3
Enter ROSALIND and CELIA
How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? and
here much Orlando!
I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he
hath ta'en his bow and arrows and is gone forth to
Look, who comes here.
My errand is to you, fair youth;
My gentle Phebe bid me give you this:
I know not the contents; but, as I
By the stern brow and waspish action
Which she did use as she was writing of it,
It bears an angry
tenor: pardon me:
I am but as a guiltless messenger.
Patience herself would startle at this letter
And play the swaggerer; bear this, bear all:
She says I am not
fair, that I lack manners;
She calls me proud, and that she could not love me,
Were man as rare as phoenix.
'Od's my will!
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt:
Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well,
is a letter of your own device.
No, I protest, I know not the contents:
Phebe did write it.
Come, come, you are a fool
And turn'd into the extremity of love.
I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand.
freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands:
She has a
huswife's hand; but that's no matter:
I say she never did invent this letter;
This is a man's invention and
Sure, it is hers.
Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style.
A style for-challengers; why, she defies me,
Like Turk to Christian: women's
Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention
Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect
in their countenance. Will you hear the letter?
So please you, for I never heard it yet;
Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty.
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