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, Our parfon misdoubts it: it was treason, he said. KING. Biron, read it over. Where hadft thou it? JAQ. Of Costard. KING. Where hadft thou it? [He reads the letter. COST. Of Dun Adramadio, of Dun Adramadio. KING. How now, what is in you? why doft thou tear it? 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. Guilty, my liege, guilty; I confefs, I confefs. KING. What? [To Coftard. BIRON. That you three fools lack'd me fool to make up the mess. He, he, and you; 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, firs, away. COST. Walk afide the true folk, and let the traytors stay. [Exeunt Coftard and Jaquenetta, BIRON. Sweet lords, fweet lovers, O, let us embrace: As true we are, as flesh and blood can be. The fea will ebb and flow, heaven will fhew his face: Young blood doth not obey an old decree. We cannot cross the cause why we were born; Therefore of all hands muft we be forfworn. KING. What, did these 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 east) Bows not his vaffal head, and, ftrucken blind, Kiffes the base ground with obedient breast? What peremptory eagle-fighted 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 itar) fcarce feen a light. BIRON. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Biron. O, but for my love, day would turn to night, She paffes praife, then praise too short, doth blot. O, 'tis the fun that maketh all things fhine. O, who can give an oath? where is a book, No face is fair, that is not full fo black? BIRON. Devils fooneft tempt, refembling fpirits of light: O, if in black my lady's brow he deckt, It mourns, that painting and ufurping hair Should ravish doters with a falfe aspect: And therefore is the 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 difpraise, Paints itself black to imitate her brow. DUM. To look like her, are chimney-fweepers black. LONG. And fince her time, are colliers counted bright. KING. And Ethiops of their fweet co:nplexion crack. DUM. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light. BIRON. Your miftreffes dare never come in rain, For fear their colours fhould be wash'd away. KING. 'Twere good, yours did: for, Sir, to tell you plain, I'll find a fairer face not wafh'd to-day: BIRON. I'll prove her fair, or talk till dooms-day here. KING. No devil will fright thee then fo much as fhe. DUM. I never knew man hold vile ftuff fo dear. LONG. Look, here's thy love; my foot and her face fee. [fhowing his fhoe. BIRON. O, if the streets were paved with thine eyes, Her feet were much too dainty for such tread. DUM. O vile! then as fhe goes, what upward lies The street should fee as she walkt 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 Biron, now prove Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn. DUM. Ay, marry, there,-some flattery for this evil. LONG. O fome authority how to proceed; Some tricks, fome quillets, how to cheat the devil. BIRON. O, 'tis more than need. And where that you have vow'd to study, (lords) Can you ftill dream, and pore, and thereon look? From women's eyes this doctrine I derive; They are the ground, the book, the academies, From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire: The nimble fpirits in the arteries; As motion and long-during action tires It adds a precious feeing to the eye: |