Hol. And, certes,' the text most infallibly concludes it. Sir, [To DULL.] I do invite you too; you shall not say me, nay: pauca verba. Away; the gentles are at their game, and we will to our recreation. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.-Another part of the Park.

Enter BIRON, with a paper. Biron. The king he is hunting the deer; I am coursing myself: they have pitch'd a toil; I am toiling in a pitch; pitch that defiles; defile! a foul word. Well, set thee down, sorrow! for so, they say, the fool said, and so say I, and I the fool.

Well proved, wit! By the lord, this love is as mad as Ajax it kills sheep; it kills me, I a sheep: Well proved again on my side! I will not love: if I do, hang me; i'faith, I will not. O, but her eye,-by this light, but for her eye, I would not love her; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, I do love: and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to be melancholy; and here is part of my rhyme, and here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my sonnets already; the clown bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady hath it: sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady! By the world, I would not care a pin if the other three were in: Here comes one with a paper; God give him grace to groan!

[Gets up into a tree. Enter the KING, with a paper.

King. Ah me!

Biron. [Aside.] Shot, by heaven!-Proceed, sweet Cupid; thou hast thump'd him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap:-I'faith secrets.—

King. [Reads.] So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not

To those fresh morning drops upon the rose As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows: Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright

Through the transparent bosom of the deep, As doth thy face through tears of mine give light; Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep: No drop, but as a coach doth thee, carry my woe;

So ridest thou triumphing in
Do but behold the tears that swell in me,

And they thy glory through my grief will show.
But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep
My tears for glasses, and still make me weep.
0 queen of queens, how far dost thou excel!
No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell.—
How shall she know my griefs? I'll drop the paper;
Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here?
[Steps aside.

Enter LONGAVILLE, with a paper. What Longaville! and reading! listen, ear. Biron. Now, in thy likeness, one more fool, ap

pear!

Long. Ah me! I am forsworn.

[Aside.

Biron. Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearing papers. [Aside. King. In love, I hope: sweet fellowship in shame! [Aside. Biron. One drunkard loves another of the name. [Aside. Long. Am I the first that have been perjured so? Biron. [Aside.] I could put thee in comfort; not by two, that I know:

1 In truth.

ciety,

The shape of love's Tyburn that hangs up simplicity. Long. I fear, these stubborn lines lack power to

[He reads the sonnet. Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye Persuade my heart to this false perjury? ('Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument)

A

woman I forswore; but, I will prove, Vows, for thee broke, deserve not punishment. My row was earthly, thou a heavenly love; Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:

Thy grace being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me.
Vows are but breath, and breath a vapor is:
Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth doth
shine,

Exhal'st this vapor vow; in thee it is:
If broken, then, it is no fault of mine:
by me broke, what fool is not so wise,
To lose an oath to win a paradise?

Biron. [Aside.] This is the liver vein, which A green goose a goddess: pure, pure idolatry. makes flesh a deity; God amend us, God amend! we are much out o' the way.

Enter DUMAIN, with a paper.

Long. By whom shall I send this?-Company!
stay.
[Stepping aside.
Biron. [Aside.] All hid, all hid, an old infant
play:

Like a demi-god here sit I in the sky,
And wretched fools' secrets heedfully o'er-eye.
More sacks to the mill! O heavens, I have my
wish;

Dumain transform'd: four woodcocks in a dish!
Dum. O most divine Kate!
Biron.

O most profane coxcomb! [Aside. Dum. By heaven, the wonder of a mortal eye! Biron. By earth, she is but corporal; there you [Aside.

lie.

Dum. Her amber hairs for foul have amber coted.2

Biron. An amber-color'd raven was well noted.

Biron. Once more I'll mark how love can vary wit.

Dum. On a day, (alack the day!)

[Aside.

Love, whose month is ever May,
Spied a blossom, passing fair,
Playing in the wanton air:
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, 'gan passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blou
Air, would I might triumph so!
But, alack, my hand is sworn,
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet;
Youth so apt to pluck a sweet.
Do not call it sin in me,
That I am forsworn for thee;
Thou for whom even Jove would swear
Juno but an Ethiop were;
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.-

This will I send; and something else more plain,
That shall express my true love's fasting pain.
O would the King, Birón, and Longaville,
Were lovers too! Ill to example ill,
Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd note;
For none offend, where all alike do dote.

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:
You do not love Maria; Longaville
Did never sonnet for her sake compile ;
Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart
His loving bosom, to keep down his heart?
I have been closely shrouded in this bush,
And mark'd you both, and for you both did blush.
I heard your guilty rhymes, observ'd your fashion;
Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion:
Ah me! says one; O Jove! the other cries;
One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other's eyes:
You would for paradise break faith and troth;
[To LONG.
And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath.
[To DUMAIN.
What will Birón say, when that he shall hear
A faith infring'd, which such a zeal did swear?
How will he scorn? how will he spend his wit?
How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it?
For all the wealth that ever I did see,
I would not have him know so much by me.
Biron. Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy.-
Ah, good my liege, I pray thee pardon me:
[Descends from the tree.
Good heart, what grace hast thou, thus to reprove
These worms for loving, that art most in love?
Your eyes do make no coaches; in your tears
There is no certain princess that appears:
You'll not be perjur'd, 'tis a hateful thing;
Tush, none but minstrels like of sonnetting.
But are you not asham'd? nay, are you not,
All three of you, to be thus much o'ershot?
You found his mote; the king your mote did see;
But I a beam do find in each of three.
what a scene of foolery I have seen,

Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen!"
me, with what strict patience have I sat,

* Grief.

To see a king transformed to a gnat!
To see great Hercules whipping a gigg,
And profound Solomon to tune a jigg,
And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys,
And critic Timon laugh at idle toys!
Where lies thy grief, O tell me, good Dumain?
And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain?
And where my liege's? all about the breast:-
A caudle, ho!
King. Too bitter is thy jest.
Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view?
Biron. Not you by me, but I betray'd to you;
I, that am honest; I, that hold it sin
To break the vow I am engaged in!
I am betray'd, by keeping company
With moon-like men of strange inconstancy.
When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme?
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 gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist,
A leg, a limb?-

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.
O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more.
Dum. Now the number is even.

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?

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

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

Long. O, some authority how to proceed;

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 itselfdoth seek. Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues

Fye, painted rhetoric! O, she needs it not; To things of sale a seller's praise belongs;

She passes praise; then praise too short doth blot. A wither'd hermit, five-score 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 heaven, thy love is black as ebony. Biron. Is ebony like her? O wood divine! 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; 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 favor 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 colors 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 face see. [Showing his shoe. Biron. O, if the streets were paved with thine

eyes,

Her feet were much too dainty for such tread!

Dum. Some salve for perjury.

Biron.

O, 'tis more than need!Have at you then, affection's 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 fast? your stomachs are too young And abstinence engenders 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 women's eyes this doctrine I derive: They are the ground, the books, the academes, 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 vigor 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 ourself, And where we are, our learning likewise is. Then, when ourselves we see in ladies' eyes, Do we not likewise see our learning there? O, we have made a vow to study, lords; And in that vow 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 beauteous tutors have enrich'd you with? Other slow arts entirely keep the brain; And therefore finding barren practisers, Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil: But love, first learned in a lady's eyes, Lives not alone immured in the brain; But, with the motion of all elements, Courses as swift as thought in every power; And gives to every power a double power, Above their functions and their offices. It adds a precious seeing to the eye; A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind; A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound, When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd; Love's feeling is more soft, and sensible, Than are the tender horns of cockled snails; Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste: For valor, is not love a Hercules, Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? Subtle as Sphinx; as sweet, and musical, As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair; And, when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. Never durst poet touch a pen to write, Until his ink were temper'd with Love's sighs;

Law-chicane.

·

from the barbarous. Do you not educate youth at the charge-house on the top of the mountain? Hol. Or, mons, the hill.

Arm. At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain. Hol. I do, sans question.

Arm. Sir, it is the king's most sweet pleasure and affection, to congratulate the princess at her pavilion, in the posteriors of this day; which the rude multitude call the afternoon.

Hol. The posterior of the day, most generous sir, is liable, congruent, and measurable for the afternoon the word is well cull'd, chose; sweet and apt, I do assure you, sir, I do assure.

Arm. Sir, the king is a noble gentleman; and my familiar, I do assure you, very good friend :-For what is inward between us, let it pass:-I do beseech thee, remember thy courtesy ;-I beseech thee, apparel thy head;-and among other importunate and most serious designs,-and of great import indeed, too;- but let that pass: for I must tell thee, it will please his grace (by the world) sometime to lean upon my poor shoulder; and with his royal finger, thus, dally with my excrement, with my mustachio: but sweet heart, let that pass. By the world, I recount no fable; some certain special honors it pleaseth his greatness to impart to Armado, a soldier, a man of travel, that hath seen the world: but let that pass.-The very all of all is, but sweet heart, I do implore secrecy,that the king would have me present the princess, sweet chuck, with some delightful ostentation, or show, or pageant, or antic, or fire-work. Now, understanding that the curate and your sweet self, are good at such eruptions, and sudden breaking out of mirth, as it were, I have acquainted you withal, to the end to crave your assistance.

Hol. Sir, you shall present before her the nine worthies.-Sir Nathaniel, as concerning some entertainment of time, some show in the posterior of this day, to be rendered by our assistance,-the king's command, and this most gallant, illustrate, and learned gentleman,-before the princess; I say, none so fit as to present the nine worthies.

Nath. Where will you find men worthy enough to present them?

Hol. Joshua, yourself; myself, or this gallant gentleman, Judas Maccabæus; this swain, because of his great limb or joint, shall pass Pompey the great; the page, Hercules.

Arm. Pardon, sir, error: he is not quantity enough for that worthy's thumb: he is not so big as the end of his club.

Hol. Shall I have audience? he shall present Hercules in minority: his enter and exit shall be strangling a snake; and I will have an apology for that purpose.

Moth. An excellent device! so, if any of the audience hiss, you may cry, Well done, Hercules! now thou crushest the snake! that is the way to make an offence gracious; though few have the grace to do it.

Arm. For the rest of the worthies?

Hol. I will play three myself.
Moth. Thrice-worthy gentleman!

Arm. Shall I tell you a thing?

Hol. We attend.

Arm. We will have, if this fadge" not, an antic.

I beseech you, follow.

Hol. Allons! we will employ thee. Dull. I'll make one in a dance, or so; or I will play on the tabor to the worthies, and let them dance the hay.

Hol. Most dull, honest Dull, to our sport, away. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-Before the Princess's Pavilion. Enter the PRINCESS, KATHARINE, ROSALINE, and MARIA.

Prin. Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart, If fairings come thus plentifully in: A lady wall'd about with diamonds!-Look you, what I have from the loving king.

Ros. Madam, came nothing else along with that? Prin. Nothing but this? yes, as much love in rhyme,

As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper,
Writ on both sides the leaf, margent and all;
That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name.

Ros. That was the way to make his god-head wax;8

For he hath been five thousand years a boy Kath. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too. Ros. You'll ne'er be friends with him; he kill'd your sister.

Kath. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy; And so she died: had she been light, like you, Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit, She might have been a grandam ere she died: And so may you; for a light heart lives long. Ros. What's your dark meaning, mouse," of this light word?

Kath. A light condition in a beauty dark. Ros. We need more light to find your meaning out. Kath. You'll mar the light, by taking it in snuff;' Therefore, I'll darkly end the argument.

Ros. Look what you do, you do it still i' the dark.

Kath. So do not you; for you are a light wench. Ros. Indeed, I weigh not you; and therefore light. Kath. You weigh me not-O, that's you care not for me.

Ros. Great reason; for, Past cure is still past care. Prin. Well bandied both; a set of wit well play'd. But, Rosaline, you have a favor too: Who sent it? and what is it?

Ros.

I would, you knew:
An if my face were but as fair as yours,
My favor were as great; be witness this.
Nay, I have verses too, I thank Birón:
The numbers true; and, were the numb'ring too,
I were the fairest goddess on the ground:
I am compared to twenty thousand fairs.
O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter!
Prin. Any thing like?

Ros. Much, in the letters: nothing, in the praise.
Prin. Beauteous as ink; a good conclusion.
Kath. Fair as a text B in a copy-book.
Ros. 'Ware pencils! How? let me not die your
debtor,

My red dominical, my golden letter:
O, that your face were not so full of O's!
Kath. A pox of that jest! and beshrew all shrows!
Prin. But what was sent to you from fair Dumain?
Kath. Madam, this glove.

Prin.
Did he not send you
Kath. Yes, madam; and moreover,

word all this while.

Dull. Nor understood none neither, sir.

A huge translation of hypocrisy,

Vilely compil'd, profound simplicity.

twain!