By being once falfe, for ever to be true
To thofe that make us both; fair ladies, you:
And even that falfhood, in itself a fin,
Thus purifies itfelf, and turns to Grace.

Prin. We have receiv'd your letters, full of love;
Your Favours, the embaffadors of love:
And in our maiden council rated them
At courtship, pleafant jeft, and courtesy;
As bombaft, and as lining to the time 3:
But more devout than this, in our refpects*,
Have we not been; and therefore met your loves,
In their own fashion, like a merriment.

Dum. Our letters, Madam, fhew'd much more than jeft.

Long. So did our looks.

Ref. We did not cote them fo3.

King. Now at the latest minute of the hour,

Grant us your loves.

Prin. A time, methinks, too fhort,

To make a world-without-end bargain in;
No, no, my lord, your Grace is perjur'd much,

By being once falfe, for ever to be might be thrown away at plea

true

To thofe that made us fulfe.-] We should read,

We to our loves prove true.

3 As bombaft, and as lining to the time: This line is obfcure. Bombaft was a kind of loose texture not unlike what is now called wadding, ufed to give the dreffes of that time bulk and protuberance, without much encrease of weight; whence the fame name is yet given a tumour of words unfupported by folid fentiment. The princefs, therefore, fays, that they confidered this courtfhip as but bombaft, as fomething to fill out life, which not being clofely united with it,

fure.

Full of dear guiltinefs; and therefore, this-
If for my love (as there is no fuch cause)
You will do aught, this fhall you do for me:
Your oath I will not truft; but go with speed
To fome forlorn and naked Hermitage,
Remote from all the pleasures of the world;
There stay, until the twelve celeftial Signs
Have brought about their annual reckoning.
If this auftere infociable life

Change not your offer made in heat of blood;
If frofts and fafts, hard lodging, and thin weeds
Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love,
But that it bear this trial, and last love;
Then, at the expiration of the year,

Come challenge; challenge me, by these deserts;
And by this virgin palm, now kiffing thine,
I will be thine; and 'till that inftant fhut
My woful felf up in a mourning house,
Raining the tears of lamentation,

For the remembrance of my father's death.
If this thou do deny, let our hands part;
Neither intitled in the other's heart.

King. If this, or more than this, I would deny,
To flatter up these powers of mine with rest ";
The fudden hand of death close up mine eye!
Hence, ever then, my heart is in thy breaft.
Biron. And what to me, my love? and what to
me ?

6 To FLATTER up these powers of mine with reft;] We fhould read, FETTER up, i. e. the turbulence of his paffion, which hindered him from fleeping, while he was uncertain whether the would have him or not. So that he fpeaks to this purpofe, If I would not do more than this to gain my wonted repofe, may that repofe end in my death. WARB.

Rof.

Flatter or footh is, in my opinion, more appofite to the king's purpose than fetter. Perhaps we may read,

To fiatter on thefe hours of time with reft;

That is, I would not deny to live in the hermitage, to make the year of delay pafs in quiet.

7 Biron. (And what to me, my Love? and what to me?

Rof. You must be purged too, your fins are rank, You are attaint with fault and perjury: Therefore, if you my favour meant to get, A twelve-month fhall you fpend, and never reft, But fee the weary beds of people fick.

Dum. But what to me, my love? but what to me?
Cath. A wife-a beard, fair health and honefty;
With three-fold love I wish you all these three.
Dum. O, fhall I fay, I thank you, gentle wife?
Cath. Not fo, my lord--a twelve month and a
day-

I'll mark no words that fmooth-fac'd wooers fay,
Come, when the King doth to my lady come;
Then, if I have much love, I'll give you fome,
Dum. I'll ferve thee true and faithfully till then,
Cath. Yet fwear not, left ye be forfworn again,
Long. What fays Maria?

Mar. At the twelve-month's end,

I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend.
Long. I'll stay with patience; but the time is long.
Mar. The liker you; few taller are fo young.
Biron. Studies my lady? miftrefs look on me,
Behold the window of my heart, mine eye,
What humble Suit attends thy answer there;

Impose fome service on me for thy love.

Rof. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Biron.
Before I faw you; and the world's large tongue
Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks;
Full of comparisons and wounding flouts;
Which you on all eftates will execute,
That lie within the mercy of your wit:
To weed this wormwood from your
fruitful brain,
And therewithal to win me, if you please,
Without the which I am not to be won;
You fhall this twelve-month term from day to day
Vifit the fpeechlefs Sick, and ftill converfe
With groaning wretches; and your task shall be,
With all the fierce endeavour of your wit,
T'enforce the pained Impotent to fmile.

Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of death?

It cannot be, it is impoffible:

Mirth cannot move a foul in agony.

Rof. Why, that's the way to choak a gibing spirit,
Whofe influence is begot of that loofe grace,
Which fhallow-laughing hearers give to fools:
A jeft's profperity 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 fpirit;
And I fhall find you empty of that fault,
Right joyful of your Reformation.

Biron. Atwelve-month? well; befal, what will befal, I'll jeft a twelve-month in an Hofpital.

Prin. Ay, fweet my lord, and fo I take my leave. [To the King. King. No, Madam; we will bring you on your way. dear fhould here, as in many other places, be dere, fad,

odious.

Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old Play; Jack hath not Fill; thefe ladies' courtesy

Might well have made our fport 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.

Enter Armado.

Arm. Sweet Majefty, vouchfafe me—
Prin. Was not that Hector?

Dum. That worthy Knight of Troy.

Arm. I will kifs thy royal finger, and take leave. I am a Votary; I have vow'd to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her fweet love three years. But, most efteem'd Greatnefs, will you hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled, in praise of the owl and the cuckow? it fhould have follow'd in the end of our Show.

King. Call them forth quickly, we will do fo.
Arm. Holla! approach.--

Enter all, for the Song.

This fide is Hiems, winter.

This Ver, the fpring; the one maintained by the owl, The other by the cuckow.

Ver, begin.

When daizies pied, and violets blue",
And lady-fmocks all filver white,

`And cuckow-buds of yellow hue,
Do paint the meadows with delight';

The first lines of this fong that were transposed, have been

The

replaced by Mr. Theobald.
9 Do paint the meadors with
delight;]