As bombast,' and as lining to the time. But more devout than this, in our respects Have we not been; and therefore met your loves Dum. Our letters, madam, show'd much more than jest. Long. So did our looks. Ros. We did not quote them so. King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour, Grant us your loves. Prin. Change not your offer made in heat of blood; Come challenge me, challenge by these deserts, For the remembrance of my father's death. King. If this, or more than this, I would deny, Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast. Biron. And what to me, my love? and what to me? Ros. You must be purged too, your sins are rank :* 1 Cotton wool, used for stuffing dresses. 2 has me in f. e. 3 instances in f. e. 4 Knight and Coleridge think that this speech of Rosaline's should be omitted. It is found in all the old eds. VOL. II.-25 You are attaint with faults and perjury; Dum. But what to me, my love? but what to me? Kath. A wife!-A beard, fair health, and honesty; With three-fold love I wish you all these three. Dum. O! shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife? Kath. Not so, my lord. A twelvemonth and a day I'll mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers say: Come when the king doth to my lady come, Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some. Dum. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then. Kath. Yet swear not, lest you be forsworn again. Long. What says Maria? Mar. Ros. Oft had I heard of you, my lord Biron, To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain, You shall this twelvemonth term, from day to day, With groaning wretches; and your task shall be, To enforce the pained impotent to smile. Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of death? It cannot be; it is impossible: Mirth cannot move a soul in agony. Ros. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit, Whose influence is begot of that loose grace, Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools. 1 execute in f. e. A jest's prosperity lies in the ear Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Deaf'd with the clamours of their own dire1 groans, Biron. A twelvemonth? well, befal what will befal, I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital. Prin. Ay, sweet my lord; and so I take my leave. [To the KING. King. No, madam; we will bring you on your way. Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old play; Jack hath not Jill: these ladies' courtesy Might well have made our sport a comedy. King. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a day, And then 't will end. Biron. That's too long for a play. Enter ARMADO. Arm. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me.- Dum. The worthy knight of Troy. Arm. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. I am a votary: I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her sweet love three years. But, most esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled in praise of the owl and the cuckoo? it should have followed in the end of our show. King. Call them forth quickly; we will do so. Enter HOLOFERNES, NATHANIEL, MOTH, COSTARD, and others. This side is Hiems, winter; this Ver, the spring; the one maintained by the owl, the other by the cuckoo. Ver, begin. SONG. Spring. When daisies pied, and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue 1 dear in f. e. 2 then in f. e. The cuckoo then, on every tree, Cuckoo, cuckoo,-O word of fear! II. When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, Mocks married men, for thus sings he; Cuckoo, cuckoo,-O word of fear! III. Winter. When icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note, IV. When all aloud the wind doth blow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw; Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. Arm. The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. You, that way: we, this way. [Exeunt. |