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Dum. Her amber hairs for foul have amber coted. Biron. An amber-colour'd raven was well noted.

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Biron. Ay, as fome days; but then no fun muft

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Biron. Amen, fo I had mine! Is not that word?

Dum. I would forget her, but a fever she Reigns in my blood, and will remembred be.

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Biron. A fever in your blood! why then, incifion Would let her out in fawcers, fweet mifprifion. [afide. Dum. Once more I'll read the ode, that I have writ. Biron: Once more I'll mark, how love can vary wit.


Dumain reads his fonnet.

On a day, (alack, the day!)
Love, whofe month is ever May,
Spy'd a bloffom paffing fair,
Playing in the wanton air...
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unfeen, 'gan passage find;
That the lover, fick to death.
Wifh'd himself the heaven's breath.
Air, (quoth he) thy cheeks may blow
Air, would I might triumph fo+ !
But, alack, my hand is fworn,
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn.


Air would I might triumph fo.] Perhaps we may better read,

Ah! would I might triumph fo.

Vow, aldek, for youth unmeet,
Youth fo apt to pluck a fweet.
Do not call it fin in me,
That I am forfworn for thee!

Thou, for whom ev'n Jove would fwear,
Juno but an Ethiope were;
And deny himself for Jove,

Turning mortal for thy love.

This will I fend, and fomething elfe more plain,
That fhall exprefs my true love's fafting pain;
O, would the King, Biron and Longueville,
Were lovers too! Ill, to example ill,

Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd note:
For none offend, where all alike do dote.

Long. Dumain, thy love is far from charity,
That in love's grief defir'ft fociety: [coming forward.
You may look pale; but I fhould blufh, I know,
To be o'er heard, and taken napping fo.

King. Come, Sir, you blush; as his, your cafe is fuch; [coming forward. You chide at him, offending twice as much. You do not love Maria? Longueville




Did never fonnet for her fake compile; to! #t
Nor never lay'd his wreathed arms athwart
His loving bofom, to keep down his heart p
I have been clofely fhrowded in this buff,
And markt you both, and for you both did blush. :^.
I heard your guilty rhimes, obferv'd your fashion;
Saw fighs reek from you, noted well your paffion.
Ay me! fays one; O Jove the other cries;
Her hairs were gold, cryftal the other's eyes.
You would for Paradife break faith and troth;

[To Long.

And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath.

5 my true love's fafting pain; I fhould rather chufe to read feftring, rankling. WARB.

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[To Dumain.

There is no need of any alteration; fafting is longing, hungry, wanting.

What will Biron fay, when that he fhall hear
A faith infringed, which fuch zeal did fwear?
How will he fcorn? how will he fpend his wit?
How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it?
For all the wealth that ever I did fee,



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I would not have him know fo much by me. card Biron. Now ftep I forth to whip hypocrifie, mi Ah, good my Liege, I pray thee, pardon me, ev [coming forward

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Good heart, what grace hast thou thus to reprove, ()}).
Thefe worms for loving, that art moft in love?G
Your eyes do make no coaches: In your tears, i
There is no certain Princefs that appears?ring A
You'll not be perjur'd, 'tis a hateful thing
Tufh; none but minstrels like of fonnetting
But are you not afham'd? nay, are you not
All three of you, to be thus much o'er-fhot?
You found his mote, the King your mote did fee:
But I a beam do find in each of three.
Q, what a scene of fool'ry have I feen,
Of fighs, of groans, of forrow, and of reen?)
O me, with what ftrict patience have I fat,
To fee a king transformed to a Knot?!
To fee great Hercules whipping a gigg, M
And profound Solomon tuning a jigg!
And Neftor play at pufh-pin with the boys,
And Cynic Timon laugh at idle toys!
Where lyes thy grief? O tell me, good Dumain;
And gentle Longueville, where lyes thy pain?
And where my Liege's? all about the breaft?

• How will be triumph, LEAP, and laugh at it?] We fhould certainly read, GEAP, i. e. jeer, ridicule. WARBURTON, To leap is to exult, to skip for joy. It must ftand.

To fee a King transformed to
Knot! Knot has no fenfe

that can fuit this place. We may read fot. The rhymes in this play are fuch as that fat and fot may be well enough admitted.


CRITIC Timon-] ought evidently to be cYNIC.


A candle,

A candle, hoa si ver's

King. Too bitter is thy jeft.

Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view?
Biron. Not you by me, but I betray'd by you.
I, that am honeft; I, that hold it fin

To break the vow I am engaged in.
I am betray'd by keeping company

With men-like men?, of ftrange inconftancy.
When thall you fee me write a thing in rhime?
Or groan for Jean? or fpend a minute's time
In pruning me? when fhall you hear, that I
Will praife a hand, a foot, a face, an eye,
A gait, a ftate, a brow, a breast, a waste,
A leg, a limb?

King. Soft, wither away fo faft?

A true man or a thief, that gallops fo?

Biron. I poft from love; good lover, let me go.

Enter Jaquenetta and Coftard.

Jaq. God bless the King!

King. What Prefent haft thou there?

Coft. Some certain Treafon.

King. What makes treason here?
Coft. Nay, it makes nothing, Sir.
King. If it mar nothing neither,

The treafon and you go in peace away together.
Jaq. I beseech your Grace, let this letter be read,
Our Parfon misdoubts it: it was treason, he said.

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[He reads the letter.

Coft Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.

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King. How now, what is in you? why doft thou

tear it?

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Biron. A toy, my Liege, a toy: your Grace needs not fear it.

Long. It did move him to paffion, and therefore,

let's hear it..

Dum. It is Biron's writing, and here is his name. Biron. Ah, you whorefon loggerhead, you were [To Coftard,

born to do me fhame.

Guilty, my lord, guilty: I confefs, I confels,
King. What?

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Biron. That you three fools lack'd me fool to make up the mess.


He, he, and you; and you, my liege, and I

Are pick-purfes in love, and we deferve to die.
O, difmifs this Audience, and I fhall tell you more,
Dum. Now the number is even...

Biron. True, true; we are four:
Will these turtles be gone?

King. Hence, Sirs, away.

Coft. Walk afide the true folk, and let the traitors [Exeunt Coftard and Jaquenetta, Biron. Sweet lords, fweet lovers, O, let us embrace:


As true we are, as flesh and blood can be.
The fea will ebb and flow, heaven will fhew his face:
Young blood doth not obey an old decree.

We cannot cross the cause why we were born:
Therefore of all hands must be forfworn.

King What, did thefe rent lines fhew fome love of, . thine!

Biron. Did they, quoth you? Who fees the heavenly Rofaline.

That (like a rude and favage man of Inde,

At the first opening of the gorgeous east) Bows not his vaffal head, and, ftrucken blind, Kiffes the bafe ground with obedient breast?


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