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Nor shines the filver moon one half so bright,

Through the transparent bosom of the deep, As doth thy face through tears of mine give light :

Thou shin'sť in every tear that I do weep No drop, but as a coach doth carry thee,

So rideft thou triumphing in my woe. Do but behold the tears that swell in me,

And they thy glory through my grief will fhews But do not love thy self, 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, no tongue of mortal tell. How shall she know my griefs ? I'll drop the papers Sweet leaves, shade folly: Who is he comes here?

[the King steps afide, Enter Longaville. What! Longaville ! and reading! listen, ear.

Biron. Now in thy likeness one more fool appears.
Long. Ay me! I am forsworn.
Biron. Why, he comes in like a Perjure, wearing

papers, (26) King. In love, I hope ; sweet fellowship in shame.

Biron. One drunkard loves another of the name. . Long. Am I the first, that have been perjur'd so? Biron. I could put thee in comfort : not by two that

I know; Thou mak’st the triumviry, the three-corner-cap of

society, The shape of love's Tyburn, that hangs up simplicity. Long. I fear, these stubborn lines lack power to

move: O sweet Maria, Empress of my love,

(26) Why, he comes in like a perjur'd, wearing Papers.] All the Editions, that I have seen, give us a nonfenfical Adjective here, except the firit old Folio, and a Quarto Impreffion of this Play publish'd in 1623 : in Both which it is rightly, as I have regulated the Text, a. Perjure. Sog in the Troublesom Reign of K. John, in two Parts.

But now black-Spotted Perjure as he is. In like manner the French make a Substantive of this Word, Un Pær. jure : i. e. a forsworn Wretch,


These numbers will I tear, and write in prose,

Biron. O, rhimes are guards on wanton Cupid's hose:
Disfigure not his slop. (27)
Long. This same shall

go. [he reads the fonnet. Did not the heavenly rhetorick of thine eye

('Gainft whom the world cannot hold argument, Perswade 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 earthy, thou a beav'nly 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 doft shine,
Exbaloft 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 ?
Biron. This is the liver-vein, which makes flesh a

A green goofe a goddess: pure, pure idolatry,
God amend us, God amend, we are much out o'th' way,


(27) Oh, Rhymes are Guards on wanton Cupid's Hose ; Disfigure not his Shop.] All the Editions happen to concur in this Error ; but what Agreement in Sense is there betwixt Cupid's Hose and his Shop ? Or, what Relation can those two Terms have to one another? Or, what, indeed, can be understood by Cupid's Shop? It muft undoubtedly be corrected, as I have reform’d the Text. Slops are large and wide-kneed Breeches, the Garb in Fashion in our Author's Days, as we may oba serve from old Family-Pictures ; but they are now worn only by Boors, and Sea-faring Men: and we have Dealers whose sole Business it is to furnish the Sailors with Shirts, Jackets, &c. who are callid, Slop-men; and their Shops, Slop.shops. Shakespeare knew the Term, and has made use of it in more than one place. 2 Henr. IV.

Wbat said Mr. Dombledon about the Sattin for my hort Cloak and

Romeo and Juliet.
Signior Romeo, bon jour ; there's a French Salutation to your
French Slop.
Much Ado about Nothing.

or in the Shape of trvo Countries at once, as a German from the Waste downward, all Slops: &*c.

K 4


Enter Dumain. Long. By whom shall I send this? - company?

Biron. All hid, all hid, an old infant play ;
Like a demy God, here fit I in the sky,
And wretched fools secrets headfully o'er-eye:
More facks to the mill! O heav'ns, I have my wish ;
Dumain transform'd? four woodcocks in a dish?

Dum. O most divine Kate!
Biron. O most prophane coxcomb!

[aside. Dum. By heav'n, the wonder of a mortal eye! Biron. By earth, she is but corporal; there you lie. (28)

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

[afide, Dum. As upright as the cedar.

Biron. Stoop, I say; Her shoulder is with child,


[aside, Dum. A's fair as day, Biron. Ay, as some days; but then no sun must shine.

[afide Dum. O that I had my wish! Long. And I had mine!

[afide. KingAnd mine too, good Lord !

[aside. Biron. Amen, so I had mine ! Is not that a good word?

[afide. (28) By Earth, she is not, corporal, there you lie.] Dumaine, one of the Lovers in spite of his Vow to the contrary, thinking himself alone here, breaks out into short Soliloquies of Admiration on his Mistress; and Biron, who stands behind as an Evesdropper, takes Pleasure in contradicting his amorous Raptures. But. Dumaine was a young Lord.: He þad no Sort of Poft in the Army: What Wit, or Allusion, then, can there be in Biron's calling him Corporal? I dare warrant, I have restor'd the Poet's trụe Meaning, which is this. Dumaine calls his Mistress divine, and the Wonder of a mortal Eye; and Biron in flat Terms de nies chefe hyperbolical Praises. I scarce need hint, that our Poet com. monly uses corporal, as corporeal. A Passage, very similar to this, 'occurs before, betwixt Proteus and Valentine, in the Two Gentlemen of Verona.

Val. Evin She; and is She nos a heav'nly Creature
Pro. No: but She is an earthly Paragon.


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

Biron. A fever in your blood! why then, incision Would let her out in fawcers, sweet misprision. Cafide.

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 bis Sonnet,
On a day, (alack, the day !)
Love, whose month is ever May,
Spy'd a blossom pasing fair,
Playing in the wanton air :
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, 'gan pasage find;
That the lover, fick to death,
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.
Air, (quoth he) thy cheeks may blow ;
Air, would I might triumph fo!
But, alack, my hand is sworn,
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
Vow, alack, for youth unmeets
Youth fo apt to pluck a sweet.
Do not call it fin in me,
That I am for sworn for thee :
Thou, for whom ev'n Jove would swear,
Juno but an Ethiope 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! 111, 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 desir'it fociety: [coming forwarda
You may look pale; but I should blus, I know,
To be o’er-heard, and taken napping fo.

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King. Come, Sir, you blush ; as his, your case is

[coming forward. You chide at him, offending twice as much. You do not love Maria ? Longaville Did never sonner for her fake compile. Nor never lay'd his wreathed arms athwart His loving bosom, to keep down his heart? I have been closely shrowded in this bush, And markt you both, and for you both did blush. I heard your guilty rhimes, observ'd your fashion ; Saw fighs reek from you, noted well your paffion. Ay me! says one ; 0 Jove! the other cries; Her hairs were gold, cryftal the other's eyes. You would for Paradise break faith and troth; And yove, for your love, would infringe an oath, What will Biron say, when that he fhall hear A faith infringed, which such zeal did swear? How will he scorn ? how will he spend his wit ?. How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it ? For all the wealth that ever I did see, I would not have him know so much by me.

Biron, Now step I forth to whip hypocrisie. Ah, good my Liege, I pray thee, pardon me.

[Coming forward. Good heart, what grace haft 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 perjur'd, 'tis a hateful thing; Tush; none but minstrels like of sonnetting, 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. 0, what a scene of fool'ry have I seen, Of fighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen? O me, with what strict patience have I fat, To see a King transformed to a Knot ! To see great Hercules whipping a gigg, And profound Solomon tuning a jigg?


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