As You Like It by William Shakespeare

As You like It

written by William Shakespeare

PHOEBE "I would not be thy executier.

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 caleed tyrants, butchers, murderers.

Now I do frown on thee with all my heart,

And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee.

Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains

Some scar of it. Lean 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 I am sure there is no force in eyes

That can do hurt."

Act III Scene V