As You Like It – Phebe

As You Like It – Phebe

Shakespeare – Women

Act 3, sc.5, lines 8-26

I would not be thy executioner.
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
Thou tell’st me there is murder in mine eye:
‘Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,
That eyes, that are the frail’st and softest things
Who shut their coward gates on atomies,
Should be called tyrants, butchers, murderers!
Now do I frown on thee with all my heart,
And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee.
Now counterfeit to swoon, why, now fall down;
Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame,
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers!
Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee:
Scratch thee with but a pin and there remains
Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush,
The cicatrice and capable impressure
Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes,
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not,
Nor, am I sure, there is no force in eyes
That can do hurt.