Biron. Amen, fo I had mine! Is not that a good

word?

Dum. I would forget her, but a fever she

Reigns in my blood, and will rememb’red be:

[afide

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 paffage find;
That the lover, fick to death,
Wifb'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:
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,
Youth fo apt to pluck a sweet.
Do not call it fin in me,

That I am forfworn for thee:

Thou for whom ev'n Jove would fwear,
Funo 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 fest'ring 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 doat.

Long. Dumain, thy love is far from charity,
That in love's grief defir'ft fociety:

[afide.

[coming forward.

You

You

may look pale; but I fhould blufh, I know, To be o'er-heard, and taken napping fo.

King. Come, Sir, you blufh; as his, your cafe is fuch; [coming forward.

You chide at him, offending twice as much.
You do not love Maria? Longaville
Did never fonnet for her fake compile?
Nor never laid his wreathed arms athwart
His loving bofom, to keep down his heart?
1 have been closely shrowded in this bush,
And mark'd you both, and for you both did blush.
I heard your guilty rhymes, obferv'd your fashion;
Saw fighs reek from you, noted well your paffion.
Ah me! fays one; O Jove! the other cries;
Her hairs were gold, cryftal the other's eyes.
You would for paradise break faith and troth;
And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath.
What will Biron fay, when that he fhall hear
A faith infringed, which fuch zeal did fwear!
How will he fcorn? How will he spend his wit?
How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it?
For all the wealth that ever I did fee,

I would not have him know fo much by me.
Biron. Now ftep I forth to whip hypocrify.
Ah,good my Leige, I pray thee, pardon me.

[coming forward.
Good heart, what grace haft thou thus to reprove
Thefe worms for loving, that art moft in love?
Your eyes
do make no coaches in your tears,
There is no certain Princefs that appears?
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'erfhot?
You found his mote, the King your mote did fee:
But I a beam do find in each of three.
O, what a fcene of fool'ry have I feen,
Of fighs, of groans, of forrow, and of teen?
O me, with what ftrict patience have I fat,
To fee a King transformed to a knot!
To fee great Hercules whipping a gig,
And profound Solomon tuning a jig!

And

And Neftor play at pufh-pin with the boys,
And Cynic Timon laugh at idle toys!
Where lies thy grief? O tell me, good Dumain;
And gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain?
And where my Liege's? all about the breast?
A caudle, hoa!

King. Too bitter is thy jest.

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 vane-like men, of ftrange inconftancy.
When shall you fee me write a thing in rhyme?
Or groan for Joan? or spend a minute's time
In pruning me? when fhall you hear, that I
Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye,
A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waste,
A leg, a limb?

King. Soft, whither 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 blefs the King!

King. What present haft thou there?

Coft. Some certain treason.

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. 1 befeech your Grace, let this letter be read,
Our Parfon mifdoubts it: it was treason, he said.
King. Biron, read it over.

Where hadft thou it?

Jaq. Of Coftard.

King. Where hadft thou it?

[He reads the letter.

Coft. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.

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

it?

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

fear it.

Long.

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 born to do me fhame. [To Coftard. Guilty, my Lord, guilty: I confefs, I confefs.

King. What?

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 moře.
Dum. Now the number is even.

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

Coff. Walk afide the true folk, and let the traitors flays
[Exeunt Coft. and Jaquen
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 we 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 firft opening of the gorgeous caft) Bows not his vaffal head, and, ftrucken blind, Kiffes the bafe ground with obedient breast? What peremptory eagle-fighted eye

Dares look upon the heaven of her brow, That is not blinded by her majesty?

King. What zeal, what fury, hath infpir'd thee now?

My love (her miftrefs.) is a gracious moon ;

She (an attending Itar) fcarce feen a light.
Biron. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Biron.
O, but for my love, day would turn to night,

Of all complexions the cull'd fovereignty
Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek?
VOL. II.

Q

Where

Where feveral worthies make one dignity;

Where nothing wants, that want itself doth seek. Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues;

Fie, painted rhetoric! O, fhe needs it not: To things of fale a feller's praise belongs:

She paffes praife; the praife, too short, doth blot. A wither'd hermit, fivefcore winters worn,

Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye:
Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born,

And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy;
O, 'tis the fun that maketh all things shine.
King. By heav'n, thy love is black as ebony.
Biron. Is ebony like her? O wood divine!
A wife of fuch wood were felicity.

O, who can give an oath? where is a book,
That I may fwear, Beauty doth beauty lack,
If that she learn not of her eye to look?

No face is fair, that is not full fo black?
King. O paradox, black is the badge of hell:
The hue of dungeons, and the fcowl of night;
And beauty's crete becomes the heavens well.
Biron. Devils fooneft tempt, refembling fpirits of light;
O, if in black my Lady's brow be deckt,

It mourns, that painting and ufurping hair Should ravifh doaters with a falfe afpect:

And therefore is fhe born to make black fair. Her favour turns the fashion of the days,

For native blood is counted painting now; And therefore red, that would avoid difpraife, Paints itself black to imitate her brow.

Dum. To look like her are chimney-fweepers black. Long. And fince her time are colliers counted bright King. And Ethiops of their fweet complexion crack. Dum. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light. Biron. Your miftreffes dare never come in rain,

For fear their colours fhould be wash'd away. King. "Twere good, yours did: for, Sir, to tell you plain,

I'll find a fairer face not wafh'd to-day.

Biron. I'll prove her fair, or talk till dooms-day

here.

King. No devil will fright thee then fo much as fhe.

Dum.