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.