AS YOU LIKE IT

A monologue from Act III, Scene v

by: William Shakespeare

PHEBE: Think not I love him, though I ask for him;

'Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well.

But what care I for words? Yet words do well

When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.

It is a pretty youth; not very pretty;

But sure he's proud; and yet his pride becomes him.

He'll make a proper man. The best thing in him

Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue

Did make offense, his eye did heal it up.

He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall.

His leg is but so so; and yet 'tis well.

There was a pretty redness in his lip,

A little riper and more lusty red

Than that mixed in his cheek; 'twas just the difference

Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask [1].

There be some women, Silvius, had they marked him

In parcels [2] as I did, would have gone near

To fall in love with him; but, for my part,

I love him not nor hate him not; and yet

I have more cause to hate him than to love him;

For what had he to do to chide at me?

He said mine eyes were black and my hair black;

And, now I am rememb'red, scorned at me.

I marvel why I answered not again.

But that's all one: omittance is no quittance.

I'll write to him a very taunting letter,

And thou shalt bear it. Wilt thou, Silvius?

Purchase this play!

1 pink and white; the colors of damask roses

2 part by part