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That, which long Process could not arbitrate.
And though the mourning brow of Progeny
Forbid the fmiling courtesy of love,

The holy fuit which fain it would convince;
Yet fince love's argument was first on foot,
Let not the cloud of forrow juftle it

From what it purpos'd: Since, to wail friends loft,
Is not by much fo wholefome, profitable,

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,
Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours
Even to th' opposed end of our intents;
And what in us hath feem'd ridiculous,
As love is full of unbefitting ftrains,

All wanton as a child, skipping in vain,
Form'd by the eye, and therefore like the eye,
Full of ftraying fhapes, of habits, and of forms,
Varying in fubjects as the eye doth rowl,
To every varied object in his glance;
Which party-coated prefence of loofe love
Put on by us, if, in your heav'nly eyes,
Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities;
Those heav'nly eyes, that look into these faults,
Suggested us to make them: therefore, ladies,
Our love being yours, the error that love makes
Is likewife yours. We to ourfelves prove falfe,
By being once false, for ever to be true

To thofe that make us both; fair ladies, you:
And even that falfhood, in itself a fin,

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;
As bumbaft, and as lining to the time:
But more devout than this, (fave our refpects)
Have we not been; and therefore met your loves
In their own fashion, like a merriment.

[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;
No, no, my lord, your grace is perjur'd much,
Full of dear guiltinefs; and therefore, this-
If for my love (as there is no fuch cause)
You will do ought, this fhall you do for me;
Your oath I will not truft; but go with fpeed
To fome forlorn and naked Hermitage,
Remote from all the pleasures of the world;
There ftay, until the twelve celestial Signs
Have brought about their annual reckoning.
If this auftere infociable life

Change not your offer made in heat of blood;
If frolts, and fafts, hard lodging, and thin weeds
Nip not the gaudy bloffoms of your love,
But that it bear this trial, and last love;
Then, at the expiration of the year,

Come challenge me; challenge me, by these deserts;
And by this virgin palm, now kiffing thine,

I will be thine; and 'till that inftant fhut
My woful felf up in a mourning house,
Raining the tears of lamentation,

For the remembrance of my father's death.
If this thou do deny, let our hands part;
Neither intitled in the other's heart.

*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.
Long. I'll ftay with patience; but the time is long.
Mar. The liker you; few taller are fo young.
Biron. Studies my lady? miftrefs, look on me,
Behold the window of my heart, mine eye,
What humble Suit attends thy answer there;
Impofe fome fervice on me for
my love.

Rof. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Biron,
Before I faw you; and the world's large tongue
Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks;
Full of comparisons and wounding flouts;
Which you on all eftates will execute,

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:
To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain,
And therewithal to win me, if you pleafe,
(Without the which I am not to be won ;)
You fhall this twelve-month-term from day to day
Vifit the fpeechless Sick, and ftill converse
With groaning wretches; and your task shall be,
With all the fierce endeavour of your wit,
T'enforce the pained Impotent to fmile.

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,
Whofe influence is begot of that loofe grace,
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools:
A jeft's profperity lies in the ear

Of him that hears it, never in the tongue
Of him that makes it: then, if fickly ears,
Deaft with the clamours of their own dear groans,
Will hear your idle fcorns; continue then,
And I will have you, and that fault withal:
But if they will not, throw away that spirit;
And I fhall find you empty of that fault,
Right joyful of your Reformation.

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-
Prin. Was not that Hector?

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.
Arm. Holla! approach.-

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,
And lady-fmocks all filver white,
And cuckow-buds of yellow hue,

* Do paint the meadows much-bedight;
The cuckow then on every Tree

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

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