That, which long Process could not arbitrate. The holy fuit which fain it would convince; From what it purpos'd: Since, to wail friends loft, As to rejoice at friends but newly found. Prin. I understand you not, my griefs are double. Biron. Honeft plain words best pierce the car of grief; And by these badges understand the King. For your fair fakes have we neglected time, Play'd faul Play with our oaths: your beauty, ladies, All wanton as a child, skipping in vain, To thofe that make us both; fair ladies, you: Thus purifies itself, and turns to Grace. Prin. We have receiv'd your letters, full of love; Your Favours, the embaffadors of love: And in our maiden council rated them At At courtship, pleasant jeft, and courtesy; [jeft. Dum. Our letters, Madam, fhew'd much more than Long. So did our looks. Rof. * We did not quote them so. King. Now at the latest minute of the hour, Grant us your loves. Prin. A time, methinks, too fhort, To make a world-without-end bargain in; Change not your offer made in heat of blood; Come challenge me; challenge me, by these deserts; I will be thine; and 'till that inftant fhut For the remembrance of my father's death. *We did not coat them fo.] We should read, quote, esteem, reckon. King. If this, or more than this, I would deny, To fetter up thefe powers of mine with rest; The fudden hand of death clofe up mine eye! Hence, ever then, my heart is in thy breast. Biron. [And what to me, my love? and what to me? : Rof. You must be purged too, your fins are rank, Your are attaint with fault and perjury; Therefore if you my favour mean to get, A twelve-month fhall you spend, and never reft, But feek the weary beds of people fick.] Dum. But what to me, my love? but what to me? Cath. A wife! a beard, fair health and honesty; With three-fold love I wish you all these three. Dum. O, fhall I fay, I thank you, gentle wife? Cath. Not fo, my lord, a twelve-month and a day, I'll mark no words that fmooth-fac'd wooers say. Come, when the King doth to my lady come; Then if I have much love, I'll give you fome. Dum. I'll ferve thee true and faithfully till then. Cath. Yet fwear not, left ye be forfworn again. Long. What fays Maria? Mar. At the twelve-month's end, I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend. Rof. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Biron, And what to me, my love? &c] These fix Lines are misplaced and ought to be expung'd, as being the Author's firft Draught only, of what he afterwards improved and made more perfe&. That That lie within the mercy of your wit: Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of death? It cannot be, it is impoffible: Mirth cannot move a foul in agony. Rof. Why, that's the way to choak a gibing spirit, Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Biron. A twelve-month? well; befal, what will befal, I'll jeft a twelve-month in an Hospital. Prin. Ay, fweet my lord, and fo I take my leave. [To the King. King. No, Madam; we will bring you on your way. Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old Play; Jack hath not fill; thefe ladies' courtesy Might well have made our sport a Comedy. King. Come, Sir, it wants a twelve-month and a day, And then 'twill end. Biron. That's too long for a Play. Enter Enter Armado, Arm. Sweet Majefty, vouchíase me- Dum. That worthy Knight of Troy. Arm. I will kifs thy royal finger, and take leave. I am a Votary; I have vow'd to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her fweet love three years. But, moftefteemed Greatnefs, will you hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled, in praife of the owl and the cuckow? it fhould have follow'd in the end of our Show. King. Call them forth quickly, we will do fo. Enter all, for the Song. This fide is Hiems, Winter. This Ver, the spring: the one maintain'd by the owl, The other by the cuckow. Ver, begin. The SON G. SPRING. When daizies pied, and violets blue, * Do paint the meadows much-bedight; Mocks married men; for thus fings he, Cuckow! Cuckow! cuckow! O word of fear, Unpleafing to a married ear! Do paint the meadows with delight;] This is a pretty rural Song, in which the Images are drawn with great Force from Nature. But this fenfeless Expletive of painting with delight we should read thus, Do paint the meadows much-bedight, i. e. much bedecked or adorned, as they are in Spring-Time. The Epithet is proper, and the Compound not inelegant. When |