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And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys,
And Critick Timon laugh at idle toys ?
Where lyes thy grief? O tell me, good Dumain;
And gentle Longaville, where lyes thy pain?
And where my Liege's ? all about the breast?
A candle, 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 men, like men, of strange inconftancy,
When shall you fee me write a thing in rhime ?
Or groan for Joan? or spend a minute's time
In pruning me? when shall you hear, that I
Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye,
A gate, a state, a brow, a breaft, a waste,
A leg, a limb ?

King. Soft, whither away so fast ?
A true man or a thief, that gallops fo?
Biron. I post from love; good lover, let me go.

Enter Jaquenetta and Coftard.
Faq. God bless the King!
King. What Present haft thou there?
Cost. Some certain treason.
King. What makes treason here?
Cost. Nay, it makes nothing, Sir.
King. If it mar nothing neither,
The treason and you go in peace away together.

Jaq. I beseech your Grace, let this letter be read, Our Parson misdoubts it: it was treafon, he said.

King. Biron, read it over. [He reads the letter. Where hadlt thou it?

Jaq. Of Coftard.
King. Where hadít thou it?
Coft, Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.
King. How now, what is in you? why dost thou

tear it?

Biron. A toy, my Liege, a toy: your Grace needs

not fear it. Long. It did move him to passion, and therefore let's

hear it. Dum. It is Biron's writing, and here is his name. Biron. Ah, you whoreson

loggerhead, you were born to do me shame.

[To Costard. Guilty, my lord, guilty: I confess, I confess.

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-purses in love, and we deserve to die.
O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more.

Dum. Now the number is even,

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

King. Hence, Sirs, away. Cost. Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay.

[Exeunt Coft. and Jaquen. Biron. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, let us imbrace :

As true we are, as flesh and blood can be. The sea will ebb and flow, heaven will shew 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 forsworn. King. What, did these rent lines Thew some love of

thine ? Biron. Did they, quoth you ? Who sees the heavenly

Rosaline,
That (like a rude and savage man of Inde,

At the first opening of the gorgeous east)
Bows not his vassal head, and, strucken blind,

Kisses the base 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 inspir’d thee now? My love (her mistress) is a gracious moon; She (an attending star) (carce seen a light,

Biron. My eyes are then nó eyes, nor I Biron.

O, but for my love, day would turn to night. Of all complexions the cullid Soveraignty,

Do meet, as at a Fair, in her fair cheek ; Where several worthies make one dignity;

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

Fie, painted rhetorick! 0, she needs it not: To things of fale, a seller's praise belongs :

She passes praise; the praise too short doth blot. A wither'd hermit, fivescore 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 sun, that maketh all things shine.

King. By heav'n, thy love is black as ebony.
Biron. Is ebony like her? O wood divine ! (29)

A wife of such wood were felicity.
O, who can give an oath? where is a book,

That I may swear, Beauty doth beauty lack;
If that she learn not of her eye to look?

No face is fair, that is not full so black? King. O paradox, black is the badge of hell:

The hue of dungeons, and the scowl of night; (30) And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well. Biron. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of

light: O, if in black my lady's brow be deckt,

It mourns, that Painting and usurping Hair Should ravish doters with a false aspect:

And therefore is she born to make black fair. (29) Is Ebony like her? O Word divine ! ] This is the Reading of all the Éditions, that I have seen: but both Dr. Thirlby and Mr. Warburton concurr'd in reading, (as I had likewise conjectur’d,) O Wood divine!

(30) black is the Badge of Hell ; The hue of Dungeons, and the School of Night.] Black, being the School of Night, is a piece of Mystery above my Comprehenfion. I had gues'd, it should be, the Stole of Night: but I have preferr'd the Conjecture of my Friend Mr. Warburton, as it comes nearer in Pronunciation to the corrupted Reading, as well as agrees better with the other Images,

Her

Her Favour turns the fashion of the days,

For native blood is counted painting now; And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise,

Paints it self black to imitate her brow. Dum. To look like her, are chimney-sweepers black. Long. And since her time, are colliers counted

bright. King. And Ethiops of their sweet complexion crack.

Dum. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light. Biron. Your mistresses dare never come in rain,

For fear their colours should be washt away. King. 'Twere good, yours did: for, Sir, to tell you

plain, I'll find a fairer face not washt to day : Biron. I'll prove her fair, or talk 'till dooms-day here.

King. No devil will fright thee then so much as the. Dum. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear: Long. Look, here's thy love ; my foot and her

face fee. Biron. O, if the streets were paved with thine eyes,

Her feet were much too dainty for such tread. Dum. O vile! then as the goes, what upward lies

The street should see as she walkt over head. King. But what of this, are we not all in love?

Biron. Nothing so sure, and thereby all forsworn. King. Then leave this chat; and, good Biron, now

prove Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn. Dum. Ay, marry, there ; some flattery for this

evil. Long. O, fome authority how to proceed; Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil.

Dum. Some salve for perjury,

Biron. O, 'tis more than need.
Have at you then, Affection's Men at arms ; (31)

Con. (31) Have at you then Affections. Men at Arms,] Thus Mr. Pope has pointed this Paffage in Both his Impressions, not much to the Praise of his Sagacity. The third Edition in Folio began the Corruption of the Place in this Manner; Have at you then Affections, Men at Arms,

Consider, what you first did swear unto :
To fast, to study, and to see no woman;
Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth.
Say, can you faft? your stomachs are too young :
And abstinence ingenders maladies.
And where that you have vow'd to study, (Lords)
In That each of you hath forsworn his book.
Can you still dream, and pore, and thereon look?
For when would you, my Lord, or you, or you,
Have found the ground of Study's excellence,
Without the beauty of a woman's face?
From womens eyes this doctrine I derive;
They are the ground, the book, the academies,
From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire:
Why, universal plodding prisons up
The nimble spirits in the arteries ;
As motion and long-during action tires
The sinewy vigour of the traveller.
Now, for not looking on a woman's face,
You have in That forsworn the use of eyes;
And Study too, the causer of your vow.
For where is any author in the world,
Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye?
Learning is but an adjunct to our self,
And where we are, our Learning likewise is.
Then, when our felves we see in ladies eyes,
Do we not likewise fee our Learning there?
O, we have made a vow to study, lords;
And in that yow we have forsworn our books:
For when would you, my liege, or you, or you,
In leaden contemplation have found out
Such fiery numbers, as the prompting eyes
Of beauty's tutors have enrich'd you with?
which Mr. Rowe inadvertently follow'd. But we must certainly read,
as I have restor'd to the Text :

Have. at you then, Affection's Men at Arms ; i. e. Love's Soldiers. The King says, towards the Conclusion of this Scene ;

Saint Cupid, then! and, Soldiers, to the Field! for by giving Cupid as the Word, he would intimate that they fought under his Banner,

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