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Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities;
Prin. We have receiv'd your letters, full of love;
Dum. Our letters, Madam, shew'd much more than jeft.
King. Now at the latest minute of the hour,
Prin. Å time, methinks, too short,
Come challenge me; challenge me, by these deferts ;
To flatter up these powers of mine with reft ;
Hence, ever then, my heart is in thy brealt.
Rof. You must be purged too, your fins are rank,
Dum. But what to me, my love? but what to me?
Carh. A wife! a beard, fair health and honcitys With three-fold love I wish you all these three,
Dum. O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife? Cath. Not so, my lord, a twelve-month and a day, I'll mark no words that (mooth-fac'd wooers say,
(39) Biron. [ And what to me, my Love? and what to me?
You are attaine with Fault and Perjury.
But seek the weary Beds of People fick.] These fix Verses both Dr. Thirlby and Mr. Warburton concur to think hould be expung'd; and therefore I have put them between Crotchets: Not that they were an Interpolation, but as the Au. thor's first Draught, which he afterwards rejected; and executa ed the same Thought a little lower with much more Spirit and Elegance. Shakespeare is not to answer for the present absurd repetition, but his Actor-Editors; who, thinking Rosalind's Speech too long in the second Plan, had abridg'd it to the Lines above quoted: but, in publishing the Play, stupidly printed both the Original Speech of Shakespeare, and their own Abridgment of it.
Come, when the King doth to my lady come ;
Dum. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then.
Mar. At the twelve month's end,
Long. I'll stay with patience; but the time is long.
Biron. Studies my lady? mistress, look on me,
Ros. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Biron,
Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of death?
Rof. Why, that's the way to choak a gibing spirit, Whose influence is begot of that loose grace, Which shallow-laughing hearers give to fools : A jeft's prosperity lies in the ear of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it: then, if fickly ears, Deaft with the clamours of their own dear groans, Will hear your idle fcorns ; continue then, And I will have you, and that fault withal : But if they will not, throw away that spirit;
And I shall find you empty of that fault,
Biron. A twelve-month? well; befall, what will befall,
[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 twelve-month and a day, And then 'twill end.
Biron. That's too long for a Play.
Arm, Sweet Majesty, vouchsafe memade
Arm. I will kiss rhy royal finger, and take Icave. I im a Votary; I have vow'd to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her sweet love three years. But, moft esteem'd Greatness, will you hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled, in praise of the owl and the cuckow ? it should have follow'd in the end of our Show.
King. Call them forth quickly, we will do fo.
Enter all, for the Song.
This fide is Hiems, winter,
The SON G.
SPRING W'ben daizies pied, and violets blue,
And lady-/mocks all filver white,
Do paint the meadows with delight;
Cuckow ! cuckow ! 0 word of fear,
Unpleasang to a married car! When Shepherds pipe on daten straws,
And merry larks are ploughmens' clocks :
And maidens bleach their fummer mocks ;
Cuckow! cuckow! O word of fear,
WINTER. When ificles bang by the wall,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail;
And milk comes frozen home in pail;
A merry note,
When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the Parson's faw; And birds fit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw;