Puslapio vaizdai

Enter Dumain.

Long. By whom fhall I fend this! (Company?) Stay. Biren. All hid, all hid, an old infant Play; Like a Demy God, here fit I in the Sky: And wretched Fools Secrets heedfully o'er eye: More Sacks to the Mill! O Heav'ns I have my Wifh, Dumain transform'd; four Woodcocks in a Difh. Dum. O moft Divine Kate.

Biron. O moft prophane Coxcomb,

Dum. By Heav'n the Wonder of a mortal Eye.
Biron. By Earth fhe is not; Corporal, there you lie.
Dum. Her Amber Hairs for Fowl have Amber coted.
Biron. An Amber-colour'd Raven was well noted.
Dum. As upright as the Cedar.

Biron. Stoop I fay, her Shoulder is with Child.
Dum. As fair as Day.

Biron. Ay as fome Days; but then no Sun muft shine. Dum. O that I had my With?

Long. And I had mine,

King. And mine too, good Lord.

Biron. Amen, fo I had mine. Is not that a good Word? Dum. I would forget her, but a Feaver fhe Reigns in my Blood, and will remembred be.

Biron. A Feaver in your Blood! Why then Incifion Would let her out in Sawcers, fweet Mifprifion.

Dum. Once more I'll read the Ode that I have writ. Biron. Once more I'll mark how Love can vary Wit.

Dumain reads his Sonnet.

On a Day, alack the Day:
Love, whofe Month is every May,
Spy'd a Bloffom paffing fair,
Playing in the wanton Air:
Through the Velvet Leaves, the Wind,
All unfeen, can Paffage find.
That the Lover fick to death.
Wish'd himself the Heav'n's Breath.
Air, (quoth be) thy Cheeks to blow,
Air, would I might triumph fo.
But alack my Hand is worn,
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy Throne:

Vow alack for Youth unmeet,
Youth fo apt to pluck a Sweet.
Do not call it Sin in me,
That I am forfworn for thee.
Thou for whom Jove would fwear
Juno but an Ethiope were,
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning Mortal for thy Love.
This will I fend, and fomething else more plain,
That shall exprefs my true Love's fafting Pain:
O would the King, Biron and Longavile,
Were Lovers too, ill to example ill
Would from my Fore-head wipe a perjui'd Note:
For none offend, where all alike do dote.

Lon. Dumain, thy Love is far from Charity, That in Loves Grief defir'ft Society: [Coming forward. You may look pale, but I fhould blufh I know, To be o'er-heard, and taken napping fo. King. Come, Sir, you blush; as his, your Cafe is fuch,

[Coming forward,

You chide at him, offending twice as much.
You do not love Maria, Longavile
Did never Sonnet for her fake compile;
Nor never lay'd his wreathed Arms athwart
His loving Bofom, to keep down his Heart.
I have been clofely throwded in a Bush
And markt you both, and for you both did blush.
I heard your guilty Rimes, obferv'd your Fashion;
Saw Sighs reek from you, noted well your Paffion,
Ay me, fays one! O Jove, the other cries!
Her Hairs were Gold, Crystal the others Eyes.
You would for Paradife break faith and troth,
And Jove for your Love would infringe an Oath.
What will Biron fay, when that he shall hear
A Faith infringed, which fuch Zeal did fwear?
How will he fcorn? how will he spend his Wit?
How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it?
For all the Wealth that ever I did fee 9

I would not have him know fo much by me.
Biron. Now ftep I forth to whip Hypocrifie.
Ay good my Liege, I pray thee pardon me. [Coming forward.


Good heart, what grace haft thou thus to reprove
Thefe Worms for loving, that art most in love?
Your Eyes do make no Couches in your
There is no certain Princess that appears.
You'll not be perjur'd, 'tis a hateful thing
Tuh, none but Minstrels like of Sonnetting.
But are you not afham'd? Nay, are you not
All three of you, to be thus much o'er-fhot?
You found his Mote, the King your Mote did fee:
But I a Beam do find in each of three.
O what Scene of Fool'ry have I feen,

Of Sighs, of Groans, of Sorrow, and of Teen?
O me, with what ftric Patience have I fat,
To fee a King transformed to a Gnat?
To fee great Hercules whipping a Gigg,
And profound Solomon tuning a Jygg?
And Neftor play at Pufh-pin with the Boys,
And Critick Tymon laugh at idle Toys.
Where lyes thy Grief? O tell me good Dumain;
A gentle Longavile, where lyes thy Pain?
And where my Liege's? all about the Breaft.
A Candle hoa!

King. Too bitter is thy Jeft,

Are we betrayed thus to thy Over-view?
Biron. Not you by me, but I betrayed to you.
I that am honeft, I that hold it Sin,

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To break the Vow I am ingaged in.

I am betray'd by keeping Company
With Men, like Men of ftrange Inconftancy.
When fhall you fee me write a thing in Rhime?


Or groan for Joan? or fpend a Minute's time

In pruning me? When shall you hear that I will praise a Hand, a Foot, a Face, an Eye, a Gate, a State, a Brow, a Breaft, a Waste, a Leg, a Limb?

King. Soft, whither away fo faft?

A true Man or a Thief, that gallops fo.

Biron. I poft from Love, good Lover let me go.
Enter Jaquenetta, and Coftard.

Faq. God blefs the King.
King. What Prefent haft thou there?
Coft. Some certain Treafor.

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King. What makes Treafon here?
Coft. Nay it makes nothing, Sir.
King. If it mar nothing neither,
The Treafon and you go in Peace together.
Jaq. I beseech your Grace, let this Letter be read,
Our Perfon mifdoubts it: it was Treafon he said.

King. Biron. Read it over. Where hadft thou it?

Jag. Of Coftard.

King. Where hadst thou it ?

Coft. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.

King. How now, what mean you? why doft thou tear

it ?

He reads the Letter.

Biron. A Toy, my Liege, a Toy: Your Grace needs not fear it.

Long. It did move him to Paffion, and therefore let's hear it.

Dum. It is Biron's Writing, and here is his Name.

Biron. Ah you whorefon Loggerhead, you were born to do me Shame.

Guilty my Lord, guilty: I confefs, I confefs.

King. What?

Biron. That you three Fools lackt me Fool, to make up the Mefs.

He, he, and you and you my Liege, and I,

Are Pick-purfes in Love, and we deserve to dye.

O difmifs this Audience, and I fhall tell you more.

Dum. Now the Number is even.

Biron. True, true, we are four: Will thefe Turtles be gone?

King. Hence, Sirs, away.

Coft. Walk afide the true Folk, and let the Traitors ftay. Biron. Sweet Lords, fweet Lovers, O let us imbrace : As true we are as Flesh and Blood can be.

The Sea will ebb and flow, Heav'n will fhew his Face:
Young Blood doth not obey an old Decree.

We cannot cross the Caufe why we were born:
Therefore of all hands muft we be forfworn.

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King. What did thefe Rent-lines fhew fome Love of thine ?

Biron. Did they, quoth you? Who fees the heavenly Rofaline.

That (like a rude and favage Man of Inde)
At the first opening of the gorgeous Eaft,
Bows not his vaffal Head, and strucken blind,
Kifles the bafe Ground with obedient Breaft?
What peremptory Eagle-fighted Eye
Dares look upon the Heav'n of her Brow,
That is not blinded by her Majefty?

King. What Zeal, what Fury hath infpir'd thee now?
My Love (her Mistress) is a gracious Moon,
She (an attending Star) fcarce feen a Light.

Biron. My Eyes are then no Eyes, nor I Piron.
O but for my Love, Day would turn to Night,
Of all Complexions the cull'd Soveraignty,
Do meet as at a Fair in her fair Cheek;
Where several Worthies make one Dignity,
Where nothing wants that Want it felf doth feek.
Lend me the Flourish of all gentle Tongues;
Fie painted Rhetorick, O fhe needs it not:
To Things of Sale, a Seller's Praife belongs:
She paffes Praife, then Praise too fhort doth blot:
A wither'd Hermite, fivefcore 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 fhine.

King. By Heaven thy Love is black as Ebony. Biron. Is Ebony like her? O Wood Divine? A Wife of fuch Wood were Felicity.

O who can give an Oath? Where is a Book?
That I may fwear Beauty doth Beauty lack,
If that the learn not of her Eye to look:
No Face is fair that is not full fo black.

King. O Paradox, black as the Badge of Hell; The Hue of Dungeons, and the School of Night; And Beauty's Creft becomes the Heav'ns well.

Biron. Devils fooneft tempt refembling Spirits of Light:
O, if in black my Lady's Brow be deckt;
It mourns, that painting and ufurping Hair
Should ravish Doters with a falfe Afpect:


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