The forest.
Enter ROSALIND and CELIA
ROSALIND
Never talk to me; I will weep.
CELIA
Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider
that tears do not become a man.
ROSALIND
But have I not cause to weep?
CELIA
As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep.
ROSALIND
His very hair is of the dissembling colour.
CELIA
Something browner than Judas's marry, his kisses are
Judas's own children.
ROSALIND
I' faith, his hair is of a good colour.
CELIA
An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the only colour.
ROSALIND
And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch
of holy bread.
CELIA
He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a nun
of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously;
the very ice of chastity is in them.
ROSALIND
But why did he swear he would come this morning, and
comes not?
CELIA
Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.
ROSALIND
Do you think so?