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LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

SCENE 1.]

Moth. No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love, perhaps, a hackney. But have you forgot your love?

Arm. Almost I had.

Moth. Negligent student! learn her by heart.
Arm. By heart, and in heart, boy.

Moth. And out of heart, master: all those three
I will prove.

Arm. What wilt thou prove?

Moth. A man, if I live; and this, by, in, and without, upon the instant: By heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by her in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with her; and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you cannot enjoy her.

Arm. I am all these three.

Moth. And three times as much more, and yet
[a letter.
nothing at all.
Arm. Fetch hither the swain; he must carry me
Moth. A message well sympathized; a horse to
be embassador for an ass!

Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose befat.-
Let me see a fat l'envoy; ay, that's a fat goose.
To sell a bargain well, is as cunning as fast and loose:
Arm. Come hither, come hither: How did this
argument begin?

Moth. By saying that a Costard was broken in a
shin.

Arm. Ha, ha! what sayest thou?

Moth. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the
horse, for he is very slow-gaited: But I go.
Arm. The way is but short; away.

Moth. As swift as lead, sir.

Then call'd you for the l'envoy.

Cost. True, and I for a plantain: Thus came
your argument in ;

And he ended the market.
Then the boy's fat l'envoy, the goose that you bought;

Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious?
Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow?
Moth. Minime, honest master; or rather,master,no.
Arm. I say, lead is slow.

You are too swift, sir, to say so:
Moth.
Is that lead slow which is fir'd from a gun?
Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetorick!

Arm. But tell me; how was there a Costard broken in a shin?

Moth. I will tell

you sensibly.
Cost. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth! I will
speak that l'envoy.

I, Costard, running out, that was safely within,
Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin.

Arm. We will talk no more of this matter.
Cost. Till there be more matter in the shin.
will enfranchise thee.
Arm. Sirrah Costard,
Cost. O, marry me to one Frances;-I smell
some l'envoy, some goose, in this.

Arm. By my sweet soul, I mean, setting thee at
liberty, enfreedoming thy person; thou wert im-
mured, restrained, captivated, bound.

He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he:-
I shoot thee at the swain.

Moth.

Thump then, and I flee.

[Exit.

[face:
Arm. A most acute juvenal; voluble and free of
grace!
By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy
Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place.
My herald is return'd.

Re-enter MOTH and COSTARD.
Moth. A wonder, master; here's a Costard broken
in a shin.

Arm. Some enigma, some riddle: come,-thy
l'envoy ;-begin.

Cost. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no salve
in the mail, sir: O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain;
no l'envoy, no l'envoy, no salve, sir, but a plantain!
Arm. By virtue, thou enforcest laughter; thy silly
thought, my spleen; the heaving of my lungs pro-
vokes me to ridiculous smiling: O, pardon me, my
stars! Doth the inconsiderate take salve for l'envoy,
and the word, l'envoy, for a salve?

Moth. Do the wise think them other? is not
[make plain
Fenvoy a salve?
Arm. No,page: it is an epilogue or discourse, to
Some obscure precedence, that hath tofore been sain.
I will example it:

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
Were still at odds, being but three.
There's the moral: Now the l'envoy.

Moth. I will add the l'envoy: Say the moral again.
Arm. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
Were still at odds, being but three:
Moth. Until the goose came out of door,
And stay'd the odds by adding four.
Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow
with my l'envoy.

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
Were still at odds, being but three:
Arm. Until the goose came out of door,
Staying the odds by adding four.
Moth. A good l'envoy, ending in the goose:
Would you desire more?
Cast. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose,
that's flat:-

Cost. True, true; and now you will be my pur-
gation, and let me loose.

Arm. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from dur-
ance; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing
but this: Bear this significant to the country maid
Jaquenetta: there is remuneration; (giving him
[Exit.
warding my dependents. Moth, follow.
money) for the best ward of mine honour is, re-
Moth. Like the sequel, I.-Signior Costard,
adieu.

Cost. My sweet ounce of man's flesh! my incony [Exit Moth. Jew! ration! O, that's the Latin word for three farthings: Now will I look to his remuneration. Remunethree farthings-remuneration.-What's the price of this inkle? a penny:-No, I'll give you a remuneration: why, it carries it.-Remuneration!never buy and sell out of this word. why, it is a fairer name than French crown.

will

Enter BIRON.

Biron. O, my good knave Costard! exceedingly well met.

Cost. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon
Biron. What is a remuneration?
may a man buy for a remuneration?
Cost. Marry, sir, half-penny farthing.

Biron. O, why then, three-farthings worth of silk.
Cost. I thank your worship: God be with you!
Biron. O, stay, slave; I must employ thee:
As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave,
Do one thing for me that I shall entreat.
Cost. When would you have it done, sir?
Biron. O, this afternoon.

well.

you Cost. Well, I will do it, sir: Fare Biron. O, thou knowest not what it is. Cost. I shall know, sir, when I have done it. Biron. Why, villain, thou must know first. Cost. I will come to your worship to-morrow morning.

1

Biron. It must be done this afternoon. Hark, slave, it is but this ;

And in her train there is a gentle lady;
The princess comes to hunt here in the park,

When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her

name,

And Rosaline they call her ask for her;
And to her white hand see thou do commend

(Gives him money.) This seal'd-up counsel. There's thy guerdon; go. Cost. Guerdon,-O sweet guerdon! better than remuneration; eleven-pence farthing better: Most

sweet guerdon!-I will do it, sir, in print. Guerdon-remuneration.

[Exit.

Biron. O!And I, forsooth, in love! I, that have been love's whip;

A very beadle to a humorous sigh;
A critic; nay, a night-watch constable;
A domineering pedant o'er the boy,
Than whom no mortal so magnificent!
This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy;
This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid;
Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms,
The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans,
Liege of all loiterers and malcontents,
Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces,
Sole imperator, and great general
Of trotting paritors, O my little heart!
And I to be a corporal of his field,
And wear his colours like a tumbler's hoop!
What? I! I love! I sue! I seek a wife!
A woman, that is like a German clock,
Still a repairing; ever out of frame;
And never going aright, being a watch,
But being watch'd that it may still go right?
Nay, to be perjur'd, which is worst of all;
And, among three, to love the worst of all;
A whitely wanton with a velvet brow,
With two pitch balls stuck in her face for eyes;
Ay, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed,
Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard:
And I to sigh for her! to watch for her!
To pray for her! Go to; it is a plague,
That Cupid will impose for my neglect
Of his almighty dreadful little might.
Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan;
Some men must love my lady, and some Joan. [Exit.
ACT IV.

SCENE I. Another part of the same. Enter the PRINCESS, ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, BOYET, Lords, Attendants, and a Forester. Prin. Was that the king, that spurr'd his horse so hard

Against the steep uprising of the hill?

Boyet. I know not; but, I think, it was not he. Prin. Whoe'er he was, he show'd a mounting mind.

Well, lords, to-day we shall have our despatch;
On Saturday we will return to France.-
Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush,
That we must stand and play the murderer in?

For. Here by, upon the edge of yonder coppice; A stand, where you may make the fairest shoot. Prin. I thank my beauty, I am fair, that shoot, And thereupon thou speak'st, the fairest shoot.

For. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so. Prin. What, what? first praise me, and again say, no?

O short-liv'd pride! not fair? alack for woe!
For. Yes, madam, fair.
Prin.
Nay, never paint me now;
Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow.
Here, good my glass, take this for telling true;
(Giving him money.)
Fair payment for foul words is more than due.
For. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.
Prin. See, see, my beauty will be sav'd by merit.
O heresy in fair, fit for these days!
A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.-
But come, the bow:-Now mercy goes to kill,
And shooting well is then accounted ill.
Thus will I save my credit in the shoot:
Not wounding, pity would not let me do't;
If wounding, then it was to show my skill,
That more for praise, than purpose, meant to kill.
And, out of question, so it is sometimes;
Glory grows guilty of detested crimes;
When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part,
We bend to that the working of the heart:

As I, for praise alone, now seek to spill
The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill.
Boyet. Do not curst wives hold that self-sove-

reignty

Only for praise' sake, when they strive to be Lords o'er their lords?

Prin. Only for praise: and praise we may afford To any lady, that subdues a lord. Enter COSTARD.

Prin. Here comes a member of the commouwealth. [the head lady? Cost. God dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is Prin. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that have no heads.

Cost. Which is the greatest lady, the highest? Prin. The thickest, and the tallest.

Cost. The thickest, and the tallest! it is so; truth is truth.

An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit, One of these maids' girdles for your waist should be fit. [here. Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickest Prin. What's your will, sir? what's your will? Cost. I have a letter from monsieur Biron, to one lady Rosaline. [of mine: Prin. O, thy letter, thy letter; he's a good friend Stand aside, good bearer.-Boyet, you can carve; Break up this capon. Boyet. I am bound to serve.This letter is mistook, it importeth none here; It is writ to Jaquenetta. Prin. We will read it, I swear : Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear. Boyet. (Reads.) By heaven, that thou art fair, is most infallible; true, that thou art beauteous; truth itself, that thou art lovely: More fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous; truer than truth itself, have commiseration on thy heroical vassal! The magnanimous and most illustrate king Cophetua set eye upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon; and he it was that might rightly say, veni, vidi, vici; which to anatomize in the vulgar, ( O base and obscure vulgar!) videlicet, he came, saw, and overcame: he came, one; saw, two; overcame, three. Who came? the king; Why did he come? to see; Why did he see? to overcome: To whom came he? to the beggar; What saw he? the beggar; Who overcame he? the beggar: The conclusion is victory; On whose side? the king's: the captive is enrich'd; Ou whose side? the beggar's; The catastrophe is a nuptial; On whose side? The king's?—no, on both in one, or one in both. I am the king; for so stands the comparison: thou the beggar; for so witnesseth thy lowliness. Shall I command thy love? I may: Shalt I enforce thy love? I could: Shall I entreat thy love? I will. What shalt thou exchange for rags? robes; For tittles, titles; For thyself, me. Thus, expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thy every part. Thine, in the dearest design of industry, DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO. Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar 'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey; Submissive fall his princely feet before,

And he from forage will incline to play: But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou then? Food for his rage, repasture for his den.

Prin. What plume of feathers is he, that indited this letter? [better? What vane? what weather-cock? did you ever hear Boyet. I am much deceived, but I remember the style. Lerewhile. Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here in court;

A phantasm, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport To the prince, and his book-mates.

Prin. Thou fellow, a word: Who gave thee this letter?

Cost.

Cost.

I told you; my lord. | Prin. To whom should'st thou give it? From my lord to my lady. Prin. From which lord, to which lady? Cost. From my lord Biron, a good master of mine,

To a lady of France, that he call'd Rosaline.
Prin. Thou hast mistaken his letter.-Come,
lords, away.

Here, sweet, put ap this; 'twill be thine another day.
[Exit Princess and train.
Boyet. Who is the suitor? who is the suitor?
Ros. Shall I teach you to know?
Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty.
Ros.
Why, she that bears the bow.
Finely put off!
[marry,
Boyet. My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou
Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry.
Finely put on!

Ros. Well then, I am the shooter.
Boyet.
And who is your deer?
Ros. If we choose by the horns, yourself: come
Finely put on, indeed!-

[near. Mar. You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the brow. [her now? Boyet. But she herself is hit lower: Have I hit Ros. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was a man when king Pepin of France was a little boy, as touching the hit it?

Boyet. So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a woman when queen Guinever of Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit it.

Ros. Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it, (Singing.) Thou canst not hit it, my good man. Boyet. An I cannot, cannot, cannot, An I cannot, another can. [Exeunt Ros. and Kath. Cost. By my troth, most pleasant! how both did fit it! [both did hit it. Mar. mark marvellous well shot; for they Boyet. A mark! O, mark but that mark; Ă mark, says my lady! [be. Let the mark have a prick in't, to mete at, if it may Mar. Wide o' the bow hand! I'faith your hand is out. [hit the clout. Cost. Indeed, a' must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er Boyet. An if my hand be out, then, belike your hand is in. [the pin. Cost. Then will she get the upshot by cleaving Mar. Come, come, you talk greasily, your lips grow foul. Cost. She's too hard for you at pricks, sir; lenge her to bowl. Boyet. I fear too much rubbing; Good night, my good owl. [Exeunt Boyet and Maria. Cost. By my soul, a swain! a most simple clown! Lord, lord! how the ladies and I have put him down! O' my troth, most sweet jests! most incony vulgar wit! [were, so fit. When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it Armatho o' the one side,-O, a most dainty man! To see him walk before a lady, and to bear her fan! To see him kiss his hand! and how most sweetly a’ will swear!And his page o' t' other side, that handful of wit! Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit! (Shouting within.) Sola, sola!

sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least: But, ir, I assure ye, it was a buck of the first head. Hol. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.

Dull. 'Twas not a haud credo; 'twas a pricket. Hol. Most barbarous intimation! yet a kind of insinuation, as it were, in via, in way of explication; facere, as it were, replication, or rather ostentare, to show, as it were, his inclination,-after his undressed, unpolished, uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or rather unlettered, or, ratherest, unconfirmed fashion,-to insert again my haud credo [a pricket. Dull. I said, the deer was not a haud credo; 'twas Hol. Twice sod simplicity, bis coctus!--O thou monster ignorance, how deformed dost thou look!

for a deer.

Nath. Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in a book; he hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink: his intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts;

And such barren plants are set before us, that we thankful should be

(Which we of taste and feeling are) for those parts, that do fructify in us more than he. For, as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, or a fool, [a school: So, were there a patch set on learning, to see him in But, omne bene, say I; being of an old father's mind, Many can brook the weather, that love not the wind. Dull. You two are book-men: Can you tell by your wit

What was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not five weeks old as yet? [man Dull. Hol. Dictynna, good man Dull; Dietynna, good Dull. What is Dictynna? Nath. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon. Hol. The moon was a month old, when Adam was no more; [fivescore. And raught not to five weeks, when he came to The allusion holds in the exchange.

Dull. 'Tis true indeed; the collusion holds in the exchange.

Hol. God comfort thy capacity! I say, the allusion holds in the exchange.

Dull. And I say the pollusion holds in the exchange; for the moon is never but a month old: and I say beside, that 'twas a pricket that the princess kill'd.

Hol. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extempora epitaph on the death of the deer? and, to humour the ignorant, I have call'd the deer the princess chal-kill'd, a pricket.

Nath. Perge, good master Holofernes, perge; so it shall please you to abrogate scurrility.

Hol. I will something affect the letter; for it argues facility.

The praiseful princess pierc'd and prick'd a pretty
pleasing pricket;
Some say, a sore; but not a sore, till now made
sore with shooting.

The dogs did yell; put I to sore, then sorel jumps
from thicket;
[hooting.
Or pricket, sore, or else sorel; the people fall a-
If sore be sore, then L to sore makes fifty sores; O
sore L!
[more L.
Of one sore I an hundred make, by adding but one
Nath. A rare talent!

[Exit Costard, running. SCENE II.-The same. Enter HOLOFERNES, Sir NATHANIEL, and DULL. Nath. Very reverent sport, truly; and done in the testimony of a good conscience. Hol. The deer was, as you know, in sanguis,mory, blood; ripe as a pomewater, who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of cœlo,-the sky, the welkin, the heaven; and anon falleth like a crab on the face of terra,--the soil, the land, the earth.

Nath. Truly, master Holofernes, the epithets are

Dull. If a talent be a claw, look how he claws him with a talent.

Hol. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a foolish, extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions: these are begot in the ventricle of menourished in the womb of pia mater; and deliver'd upon the mellowing of occasion: But the gift is good in those in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it.

Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you; and so may my parishioners; for their sons are well tutor'd by

Jaq. Good Costard, go with me.-Sir, God save your life! Cost. Have with thee, my girl.

[Exeunt Cost. and Jaq. Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very religiously; and, as a certain father saith

you, and their daughters profit very greatly under you: you are a good member of the commonwealth. Hol. Mehercle, if their sons be ingenious, they shall want no instruction: if their daughters be capable, I will put it to them: But, vir sapit, qui pauca loquitur: a soul feminine saluteth us.

Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTARD.

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Ruminat,-and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan ! I may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice: Vinegia, Vinegia,

Chi non te vede, ei non te pregia. Old Mantuan! old Mantuan! Who understandeth thee not, loves thee not.-Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa.Under pardon, sir, what are the contents? or, rather, as Horace says in his-What, my soul, verses? Nath. Ay, sir, and very learned.

Hol. Let me hear a staff, a stanza, a verse; Lege, domine.

Nath. If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love? Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed! [prove Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bowed. [eyes; Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine Where all those pleasures live, that art would comprehend: [suffice; If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee commend: All ignorant that soul, that sees thee without wonder; (Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire ;) Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful thunder, [fire.

Which, not to anger bent, is music, and sweet Celestial, as thou art, oh pardon, love, this wrong, That sings heaven's praise with such an earthly

tongue!

Hol. You find not the apostrophes, and so miss the accent: let me supervise the canzonet. Here are only numbers ratified; but, for the elegancy, facility, and golden cadence of poesy, caret. Ovidius Naso was the man: and why indeed, Naso; but for smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy, the jerks of invention? Imitari, is nothing: so doth the hound his master, the ape his keeper, the tired horse his rider. But, damosella virgin, was this directed to you?

Jaq. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Biron, one of the strange queen's lords.

Hol. I will overglance the superscript. To the snow-white hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosaline. I will look again on the intellect of the letter, for the nomination of the party written unto.

Your Ladyship's in all desired employment, BIRON. Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of the votaries with the king; and here he hath framed a letter to a sequent of the stranger queen's, which, accidentally, or by the way of progression, hath miscarried.-Trip and go, my sweet; deliver this paper into the royal hand of the king; it may concern much: Stay not thy compliment; I forgive thy duty; adien.

Hol. Sir, tell not me of the father, I do fear colourable colours. But, to return to the verses; Did they please you, sir Nathaniel?

Nath. Marvellous well for the pen.

Hol. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain pupil of mine; where if, before repast, it shall please you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, on my privilege I have with the parents of the foresaid child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto; where I will prove those verses to be very unlearned, neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention: I beseech your society.

Nath. And thank you too: for society, (saith the text,) is the happiness of life.

Hol. And, certes, the text most infallibly concludes it.-Sir, (to Dull) I do invite you too; you shall not say me, nay: pauca verba.-Away; the gentles are at game, and we will to our recreation. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.-Another part of the same.
Enter BIRON, with a paper.

Biron. The king he is hunting the deer; I am coursing myself: they have pitch'd a toil; I am toiling in a pitch; pitch, that defiles; defile! a foul word. Well, Set thee down, sorrow! for so, they say, the fool said, and so say I, and I the fool. Well proved, wit! By the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax it kills sheep; it kills me, I a sheep: Well proved again on my side! I will not love: if I do, hang me; i'faith, I will not. O, but her eye, by this light, but for her eye, I would not love her; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, I do love and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to be melancholy; and here is part of my rhyme, and here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my sonnets already; the clown bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady hath it: sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady! By the world, I would not care a pin, if the other three were in: Here comes one with a paper; God give him grace to groan. (Gets up into a tree.)

Enter the King, with a paper. King. Ah me!

Biron. (Aside.) Shot by heaven!- Proceed, sweet Cupid; thou hast thump'd him with thy birdbolt under the left pap:-I'faith secrets.

King. (Reads.) So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not

To those fresh morning drops upon the rose,
As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote
The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows:
Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright

Through the transparent bosom of the deep,
As doth thy face through tears of mine give light;
Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep:
No drop but as a coach doth carry thee,

So ridest thou triumphing in my woe;
Do but behold the tears that swell in me,

And they thy glory through my grief will show: But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. O queen of queens, how far dost thou excel!" No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell.— How shall she know my griefs? I'll drop the paper; Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here? (Steps aside.) Enter LONGAVILLE, with a paper. What, Longaville! and reading! listen, ear.

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LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

SCENE 3.]

(Aside.) Biron. Now, in thy likeness, one more fool appear!

Long. Ah me! I am forsworn.

Biron. Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearing
(A side.)
papers.
King. In love, I hope; Sweet fellowship in
(Aside.)
shame!
Biron. One drunkard loves another of the name.
(Aside.)
Long. Am I the first that have been perjur'd so?
Biron. (Aside.) I could put thee in comfort; not
[society.
by two, that I know:
Thou mak'st the triumviry, the corner-cap of
[move:
The shape of Love's Tyburn, that hangs up sim-
plicity.

Long. I fear, these stubborn lines lack power to
O sweet Maria, empress of my love!
These numbers will I tear and write in prose.
Biron. (Aside.) O, rhymes are guards on wanton
Cupid's hose:
Disfigure not his slop.
Long.

This same shall go.(He reads the sonnet.) Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye (Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument,) Persuade my heart to this false perjury?

Vows, for thee broke, deserve not punishment. A woman I forswore; but, I will prove,

Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee: My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;

Thy grace, being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me. Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is:

Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine, Exhal'st this vapour vow; in thee it is:

If broken then, it is no fault of mine;
If by me broke. What fool is not so wise,
To lose an oath to win a paradise?

Dum. On a day, (alack the day!)
May,
Love, whose month is ever
Spied a blossom, passing fair,
Playing in the wanton air:
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, 'gan passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so!
But alack, my hand is sworn,
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet;
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet.
Do not call it sin in me,
That I am forsworn for thee:
Thou, for whom even Jove would swear,
Juno but an Ethiop were;

And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.-

This will I send; and something else more plain,
That shall express my true love's fasting pain.
O, would the King, Biron, and Longaville,
Were lovers too! Ill, to example ill,
Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd note;
For none offend, where all alike do dote.

Biron. (Aside.) This is the liver vein, which
makes flesh a deity:

A green goose, a goddess: pure, pure idolatry.
God amend us, God amend! we are much out o' the
way.

Long. Dumain, (advancing) thy love is far from
charity,

That in love's grief desir'st society:
You may look pale, but I should blush, I know,
To be o'erheard, and taken napping so.

King. Come, sir, (advancing) you blush; as his
your case is such;

You chide at him, offending twice as much;
You do not love Maria; Longaville
Did never sonnet for her sake compile ;
Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart
I have been closely shrouded in this bush,
His loving bosom, to keep down his heart!
And mark'd you both, and for you both did blush.
heard your guilty rhymes, observ'd your fashion;
Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion:
Ah me! says one; O Jove! the other cries;
One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other's eyes:
(To Long.)
You would for paradise break faith and troth;
Dumain.)
And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath.
What will Birón say, when that he shall hear
A faith infring'd, which such a zeal did swear?
How will he scorn? how will he spend his wit?
How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it?
would not have him know so much by me.
For all the wealth that ever I did see,
forth to whip hypocrisy.-
Biron. Now step
Ah, good my liege, I pray thee pardon me:

Enter DUMAIN, with a paper.

Long. By whom shall I send this?-Company!
(Stepping aside.)
stay.
Biron. (Aside.) All hid, all hid, an old infant play:
Like a demi-god here sit I in the sky,
And wretched fools' secrets heedfully o'er-eye.
More sacks to the mill! O heavens, I have my wish!
Dumain transform'd: four woodcocks in a dish!
Dum. O most divine Kate!
O most profane coxcomb! (Aside.)
Biron.
Dum. By heaven, the wonder of a mortal eye!
Biron. By earth, she is but corporal; there you
(Aside.)
Dum. Her amber hairs for foul have amber coted.
Biron. An amber-colour'd raven was well noted.
(Aside.)
Stoop, I say;
(Aside.)
As fair as day.

lie.

Dam. As upright as the cedar.
Biron.
Her shoulder is with child.
Dum.

Biron. Ay, as some days; but then no sun must
shine.

(Aside.)

Dum. O that I had my wish!
And I had mine! (Aside.)
(Aside.)
Long.
King. And I mine too, good lord!
(Aside.)
Biron. Amen, so I had mine: Is not that a good

word?

(Descends from the tree.)
Good heart, what grace hast thou, thus to reprove
These worms for loving, that art most in love?
Your eyes do make no coaches; in your tears,
There is no certain princess that appears;
You'll not be perjured, 'tis a hateful thing;
Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting.
But are you not asham'd? nay, are you not,
All three of you, to be thus much o'ershot?
You found his mote; the king your mote did see;
But I a beam do find in each of three.
O, what a scene of foolery I have seen,
O me, with what strict patience have I sat,
Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen!
To see a king transformed to a gnat!
To see great Hercules whipping a gigg,
And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys,
And profound Solomon to tune a jigg,
And critic Timon laugh at idle toys!
And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain?
Where lies thy grief, O tell me, good Dumain?
A caudle, ho!
And where my liege's? all about the breast :-

Dum. I would forget her; but a fever she
Reigns in my blood, and will remember'd be.
Biron. A fever in your blood, why, then incision
(Aside.)
Would let her out in saucers; sweet misprision!

Dum. Once more I'll read the ode that I have

writ.

(Aside.) Biron. Once more I'll mark how love can vary

wit.

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