Long. Dumain [advancing.] thy love is far from 'charity, That in love's grief desir'st society: You may look pale, but I should blush, I know, To be o'erheard, and taken napping so. King. Come, sir, [advancing.] you blush; as his your case is such; You chide at him, offending twice as much : I would not have him know so much by me. But I a beam do find in each of three. me, To see great Hercules whipping a gigg, Where lies thy grief, Ō tell me, good Dumain? King. Too bitter is thy jest. I am betrayed, by keeping company King. Soft; Whither away so fast? A true man, or a thief, that gallops so? Biron. I post from love; good lover, let me go. Enter Jaquenetta and Costard. Jaq. God bless the king! King. What present hast thou there? Cost. Some certain treason. King. 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; (1) Grief. (2) Cynic. (3) In trimming myself. What makes treason here? Our parson misdoubts it; 'twas treason, he said. King. Biron, read it over. [Giving him the letter, Where hadst thou it? Jaq. Of Costard. King. Where hadst thou it? Cost. 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. [Picks up the pieces. Biron. Ah, you whoreson loggerhead [To Costard.] you were born to do me shame. 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, my liege, and I, Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die. Biron. True, true; we are four : Will these turtles be gone? King Hence, sirs; away. Cost. Walk aside the true folk, and let the trai[Exeunt Cost. and Jaq. tors stay. Biron. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O let us em brace! As true we are, as flesh and blood can be: The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his face; Young blood will 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 show 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-sighted 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, scarce seen a light. Biron. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Birón: O, but for my love, day would turn to night! Of all complexions the cull'd sovereignty Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek; Where several worthies make one dignity; Where nothing wants, that want itself doth seek. Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues, Fie, painted rhetoric! O, she needs it not : A wither'd hermit, five-score winters worn, And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy. 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; And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well. Biron. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light. O, if in black my lady's brows 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. Her favour turns the fashion of the days; For native blood is counted painting now; And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise, Paints itself 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 wash'd away. King. 'Twere good, yours did; for, sir, to tell you plain, I'll find a fairer face not wash'd to-day. Biron. I'll prove her fair, or talk till dooms-day here. King. No devil will fright thee then so much as she. Dum. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear. Long. Look, here's thy love my foot and her [Showing his shoe. Biron. O, if the streets were paved with thine face see. eyes, Her feet were much too dainty for such tread! Dum. O vile! then as she goes, what upward lies The street should see as she walk'd over head. King. But what of this? Are we not all in love? Biron. O, nothing so sure; and thereby all for sworn. King. Then leave this chat; and, good Birón, now prove Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn. |