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Nor fhines the filver moon one half fo bright,
Through the tranfparent bofom of the deep,
As doth thy face through tears of mine give light;
Thou fhin'ft 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 fwell in me,

And they thy glory through my grief will fhew;
But do not love thy felf, then thou wilt keep
My tears for glaffes, and ftill make me weep.
O Queen of Queens, how far doft thou excel!
No thought can think, no tongue of mortal tell.
How shall she know my griefs? I'll drop the paper;
Sweet leaves, fhade folly. Who is he comes here?
[the King fteps afide,

Enter Longaville.

What! Longaville! and reading! liften, ear.

Biron. Now in thy likeness one more fool appears. Long. Ay me! I am forfworn.

Biron. Why, he comes in like a Perjure, wearing papers, (26)

King. In love, I hope; fweet fellowship in fhame. Biron. One drunkard loves another of the name. Long. Am I the first, that have been perjur'd fo? Biron. I could put thee in comfort: not by two that I know;

Thou mak'ft the triumviry, the three-corner-cap of fociety,

The shape of love's Tyburn, that hangs up fimplicity. Long. I fear, thefe ftubborn lines lack power to

move:

Ofweet Maria, Emprefs of my love,

(26) Why, he comes in like a perjur'd, wearing Papers.] All the Editions, that I have feen, give us a nonfenfical Adjective here, except the first old Folio, and a Quarto Impreffion of this Play publifh'd in 1623: in Both which it is rightly, as I have regulated the Text, a Perjure. So2 in the Troublefom Reign of K. John, in two Parts.

But now black-Spotted Perjure as he is.

In like manner the French make a Subftantive of this Word, Un Parjure: i. e. a forfworn Wretch.

Thefe

Thefe numbers will I tear, and write in profe,
Biron. O, rhimes are guards on wanton Cupid's hose:
Disfigure not his flop. (27)

Long. This fame fhall

go.

[he reads the fonnet.
Did not the heavenly rhetorick of thine eye
('Gainft whom the world cannot hold argument)
Perfwade my heart to this falfe perjury?
Vows, for thee broke, deferve not punishment:
A woman I forfwore; but I will prove,
Thou being a goddess, I forfwore not thee.
My vow was earthy, thou a heav'nly love:
Thy grace, being gain'd, cures all difgrace in me.
Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour

is:

Then thou fair fun, which on my earth doft fhine,
Exhalft this vapour-vow; in thee it is;

If broken then, it is no fault of mine;
If by me broke, what fool is not fo wife
To lofe an oath to win a Paradife?

Biron, This is the liver-vein, which makes flesh a deity;

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 Hofe;

Disfigure not his Shop.] All the Editions happen to concur in this Error; but what Agreement in Senfe is there betwixt Cupid's Hafe 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 obferve from old Family-Pictures; but they are now worn only by Boors, and Sea-faring Men: and we have Dealers whofe fole Bufinefs it is to furnifh the Sailors with Shirts, Jackets, &c. who are call'd, Slop-men; and their Shops, Slop fhops. Shakespeare knew the Term, and has made use of it in more than one Place. 2 Henr. IV.

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What faid Mr. Dombledon about the Sattin for my short Cloak and Slops?

Romeo and Juliet. Signior Romeo, bon jour;

French Slop.

Much Ado about Nothing.

there's a French Salutation to your

or in the Shape of two Countries at once, as a German from

the Wafte downward, all Slops: &c.

K 4

Enter

Enter Dumain.

Long. By whom fhall I fend this?

ftay..

Biron. All hid, all hid, an old infant play; Like a demy God, here fit I in the sky,

company?

And wretched fools fecrets headfully o'er-eye:

More facks to the mill! O heav'ns, I have my wifh;
Dumain transform'd? four woodcocks in a difh?
Dum. O moft divine Kate!

Biron. O moft prophane coxcomb!

[afide.

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

[afide.

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

[afide.

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[afide.

Dum. As fair as day.

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

[afide

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[afide.

King And mine too, good Lord!

[afide.

word?

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

[afide.

(28) By Earth, fhe is not, corporal, there you lie.] Dumaine, one of the Lovers in fpite of his Vow to the contrary, thinking himself alone here, breaks out into fhort Soliloquies of Admiration on his Mistress; and Biron, who ftands behind as an Evesdropper, takes Pleasure in contradicting his amorous Raptures. But. Dumaine was a young Lord: He had no Sort of Poft in the Army: What Wit, or Allufion, then, can there be in Biron's calling him Corporal? I dare warrant, I have reftor'd the Poet's true Meaning, which is this. Dumaine calls his Mistress divine, and the Wonder of a mortal Eye; and Biron in flat Terms denies thefe hyperbolical Praises. I fcarce need hint, that our Poet commonly uses corporal, as corporeal. A Paffage, very fimilar to this, occurs before, betwixt Proteus and Valentine, in the Two Gentlemen of Verona.

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Val. Ev'n She; and is She not a heav'nly Creature?
Pro. No: but She is an earthly Paragon.

Dum.

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, 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 bis fonnet,

On a day, (alack, the day!)
Love, whofe month is ever May,
Spy'd a bloffom passing fair,
Playing in the wanton air:
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unfeen, 'gan passage 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 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,

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 Longaville,
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:

[afide.

[coming forward. You may look pale; but I fhould blufh, I know, To be o'er-heard, and taken napping so.

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 lay'd his wreathed arms athwart
His loving bofom, to keep down his heart?
I have been closely fhrowded in this bush,
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;
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 hypocrific.
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 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'er-fhot?
You found his mote, the King your mote did fee:
But I a beam do find in each of three.
O, what a scene of fool'ry have I seen,
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 gigg,
And profound Solomon tuning a jigg?

And

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