Typical tales of fancy, romance, and history from Shakespeare's plays; in narrative form. largely in Shakespeare's words, with dialogue passages in the original dramatic text

 
9781232152965: Typical tales of fancy, romance, and history from Shakespeare's plays; in narrative form. largely in Shakespeare's words, with dialogue passages in the original dramatic text

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1892 Excerpt: ...be treated by scorn and proud disdain." So they all repaired to a shady nook in the forest, where, themselves unseen, they could witness an interview between the lovelorn shepherd and the blackeyed, red-cheeked Phebe. "Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me," pleaded the poor fellow; "say that you love me not, but say not so in bitterness." "O, for shame, for shame," said the scornful maiden, " to pretend that mine eyes have pierced thee! Now I do frown on thee with all my heart; and if mine eyes can wound, why dost thou not fall down?" "Ah, Phebe dear," said Silvius, "if ever in the future you feel the power of love, then you will know how keen, although invisible, are the wounds that are made by its arrows." "When that time comes," she answered, " I will not ask thy pity; and until it comes, I certainly shall not pity thee." This unfeeling speech was too much for Rosalind to bear: she broke from her hiding-place, and rated the saucy maiden soundly. "And who are you, I pray you?" she began; "and who might be your mother, that you thus insult the wretched? I see no such wondrous beauty in you that you should presume to be so proud and pitiless." But just here she remarked the fixed gaze and heightened color of the shepherdess, and knew in a moment that the silly little thing had fallen in love with the handsome youth who was so severely scolding her. "Why, what means this?" continued Rosalind; "why look you so upon me?" "Sweet youth," said Phebe, " I pray you, chide me so a year together: I had rather hear you chide than this man woo." "I pray you, do not fall in love with vie" retorted Rosalind. 'T is not your ink...

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