As you like it act 3 scene 5

Phoebe: Think not I love him, though I ask for him:
Tis' but a peevish boy; yet he talks well;
But what I care for words? yet words do well
When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.
It is a pretty youth: not very pretty:
But, sure, he's proud, and yet his pride becomes him:
He'll make a proper man; the best thing in him is
his complexion; and yet faster than his tongue did
make offence his eye did heal it up.
He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall:
His leg is but so so; and yet tis well:
There was a pretty redness in his lip, a little
riper and more lusty red than that mix'd in his
cheek; 'twas just the difference between the
constant red and mingled damask. There be
some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him in
parcels as I did, would have gone near to fall in
love with him; but, for my part, I love him not nor
hate him not; and yet I have more cause to hate him
than to love him: For what had he to chide at me?
He said mine eyes were black and my hair black:
And, now I am remeber'd, scorn'd at me:
I marvel why I answer'd not again:
But that's all one; omittance is no quittance.
I'll write him a taunting letter, and thou shalt
bear it: wilt thou, Silvius?