Our master and mistress seeks you; come, away, away!

If you will see a pageant truly play'd,
Between the pale complexion of true love
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain,
Go hence a little and I shall conduct you,
If you will mark it.

Mistress and master, you have oft inquired
After the shepherd that complain'd of love,
Who you saw sitting by me on the turf,
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
That was his mistress.

Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother.

Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get
that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man's
happiness, glad of other men's good, content with my
harm, and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes
graze and my lambs suck.

You have too courtly a wit for me: I'll rest.

And they are often tarred over with the surgery of
our sheep: and would you have us kiss tar? The
courtier's hands are perfumed with civet.

Besides, our hands are hard.

Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their
fells, you know, are greasy.

Not a whit, Touchstone: those that are good manners
at the court are as ridiculous in the country as the
behavior of the country is most mockable at the
court. You told me you salute not at the court, but
you kiss your hands: that courtesy would be
uncleanly, if ...

For not being at court? Your reason.

Nay, I hope.

No, truly.

No more but that I know the more one sickens the
worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money,
means and content is without three good friends;
that the property of rain is to wet and fire to
burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep, and that ...

And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone?

Assuredly the thing is to be sold:
Go with me: if you like upon report
The soil, the profit and this kind of life,
I will your very faithful feeder be
And buy it with your gold right suddenly.

That young swain that you saw here but erewhile,
That little cares for buying any thing.

Fair sir, I pity her
And wish, for her sake more than for mine own,
My fortunes were more able to relieve her;
But I am shepherd to another man
And do not shear the fleeces that I graze:
My master is of churlish disposition
And little recks to find ...

And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.

Else are they very wretched.

Who calls?

Into a thousand that I have forgotten.

I partly guess; for I have loved ere now.

That is the way to make her scorn you still.