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Nath. Marvellous well for the pen.

Hol. I do dine to-day at the father's, of a certain pupil of mine; where if (being repaft) it fhall please you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, on my privilege I have with the parents of the aforefaid child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto; where I will prove those verfes to be very unlearned, neither favouring of poetry, wit, nor invention: I beseech your fociety.

Nath. And thank you too : for society (faith the text) is the happiness of life.

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

SCENE III.

Enter BIRON with a paper.

Biron. The king is hunting the deer; I am courfing myself. They have pitch'd a toil; I am toiling in a pitch ;[9] pitch, that defiles: defile! a foul word.Well, Set thee down, forrow? for fo they fay, the fool faid, and fo fay I, and I the fool. Well prov'd, wit! By the lord, this love is as mad as Ajax; it kills sheep; it kills me, I a fheep. Well prov'd again on my fide! 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, the hath one o' my fonnets already; the clown bore it, the fool fent 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 ! [He ftands afide.

King. Ay me!

Enter the King.

Biron. [Afide.] Shot, by heaven !-Proceed, sweet

[9] Alluding to lady Rofaline's complexion, who is through the whole play reprefented as a black beauty.

JOHNS.

Cupid; thou haft thump'd him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap:-I'faith, fecrets.

King. [Reads.] So faveet a kifs the golden fun gives not
To thofe fresh morning-drops upon the rofe,
As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have fmote
The night of dew, that on my cheeks down flows:
Nor fhines the filver moon one half fo bright

Through the transparent bofom of the deep,
As doth thy face through tears of mine give light;
Thou fhin'ft in every tear that I do weep:
No drop, but as a coach doth carry thee,
So rideft thou triumphing in my woe:
Do but behold the tears that fwell in me,

And they thy glory through my grief will fhew: But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep My tears for glasses, and fill make me weep. O queen of queens, how far doft thou excel! No thought can think, no tongue of mortal tell.Now fhall fhe know my griefs? I'll drop the paper; Sweet leaves, fhade folly. Who is he comes here; [The King steps afide.

Enter LONGAVILLE.

What, Longaville! and reading !—Listen, ear. Biron. [Afide.] Now, in thy likeness, one more fool appear!

Long. Ay me! I am forfworn.

Biron. [Afide.] Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearing papers.[1]

King. [Afide.] In love, I hope; fweet fellowship in fhame!

Biron. [Afide.] One drunkard loves another of the name. Long. Am I the first that hath been perjur'd fo ? Biron. [Afide.] I could put thee in comfort; not by two that I know:

Thou mak'st the triumviry, the corner-cap of fociety, The fhape of love's Tyburn, that hangs up fimplicity. Long. I fear, these flubborn lines lack power to move : O fweet Maria, emprefs of my love!

These numbers will Î tear, and write in profe.

[1] The punishment of perjury is to wear on the breaft a paper expressing the crime. JOHNS.

Biron. [Afide.] O, rhymes are guards on wanton Cupid's hofe :

Disfigure not his flop.[2]

Long. The fame shall go.—

[He reads the Sonnet.

Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye

('Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument) Perfuade my heart to this falfe perjury,

Vows, for thee broke, deferve not punishment: A woman I forfwore; but I will prove,

Thou, being a goddess, I forfwore not thee: My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love:

Thy grace being gain'd, cures all difgrace in me. Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is: Then thou, fair fun, which on my earth doft shine, Exhalf this vapour vow; in thee it is:

If broken then, it is no fault of mine; If by me broke, What fool is not fo wife, To lofe an oath to win a paradise ?

Biron. [Afide.] This is the liver vein,[3] which makes flesh a deity;

A green goofe, a goddess: pure, pure idolatry.
God amend us, God amend! we are much out o'the way.

Enter DUMAIN.

Long. By whom shall I send this?-Company! ftay. [Stepping afide. Biron. [Afide.] All hid, all hid, an old infant play;

Like a demi-god, here fit I in the sky,
And wretched fools' fecrets heedfully o'er-eye :
More facks to the mill! O heavens, I have my wish;
Dumain transform'd, four wood-cocks in a dish!
Dum. O moft divine Kate!

[Afide.

Biron. O most profane coxcomb !
Dum. By heaven, the wonder of a mortal eye!
Biron. By earth, the is not corporal; there you lie.
[Afide.

Dum. Her amber hair for foul hath amber coted.[4]
Biron. An amber-colour'd raven was well noted. [Afide.
Dum. As upright as the cedar.

THEO.

[2] 'Slops' are large and wide-kneed breeches, the garb in fashion in our author's days, as we may obferve from old family pictures. [3] The liver was anciently fuppofed to be the feat of love. [4] To 'cote' is to outftrip, to overpals. STEEV.

JOHNS.

Biron. Stoop, I fay;

Her fhoulder is with child.

[Afide.

Dum. As fair as day.

Biron. Ay, as fome days; but then no sun must shine.

[Afide.

Dum. O that I had my wish!

Long. And I had mine!

[Afide.

King. And I mine too, good lord!

[Afide.

Biron. Amen! fo I had mine! Is not that a good

word?

[Afide.

Dum. I would forget her; but a fever fhe Reigns in my blood, and will remembred be.

Biron. A fever in your blood! why then, incifion Would let her out in faucers; sweet misprifion! [Afide 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 ever May,
Spy'd a bloffom paffing fair,
Playing in the wanton air:
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unfeen, 'gan passage find;
That the lover, fick to death,
Wifb'd himself the heaven's breath.
Air, (quoth he) thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph fo ![5]
But, alack, my hand is fworn,

Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn :
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,

Youth fo apt to pluck a fweet.

Do not call it fin in me,

That I am forfavorn for thee:

Thou, for whom even Jove would fear,
Juno but an Ethiop 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 Longaville,
Were lovers too! ill, to example ill,

[5] Perhaps we may better read,-Ah ! would I might,' &c.

[Afide.

JOHNS.

Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd note;
For none offend where all alike do dote.

Long. Dumain, thy love is far from charity,
That in love's grief defir'ft fociety: [Coming forward.
You may look pale, but I fhould blush, I know,
To be o'erheard, and taken napping so.

King. Come, fir, you blush; as his, your cafe is fuch;

[Coming forward.
You chide at him, offending twice as much.
You do not love Maria? Longaville
Did never fonnet for her fake compile ?
Nor never lay'd his wreathed arms athwart
His loving bofom, to keep down his heart.
I have been clofely fhrouded in this bush,
And mark'd you both, and for you both did blush.
I heard your guilty rhymes, obferv'd your fashion;
Saw fighs reek from you, noted well your paffion.
Ay me fays one; O Jove! the other cries;
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 Biron fay, when that he fhall hear
A faith infringed, which fuch zeal did fwear?
How will he scorn? how will he fpend his wit?
How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it?
For all the wealth that ever I did fee,

I would not have him know fo much by me.
Biron. Now ftep I forth to whip hypocrify.-
Ah, 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 moft in love?
Your eye do make no coaches; in your tears,
There is no certain princefs that appears?
You'll not be perjur'd, 'tis a hateful thing;
Tufh, none but minstrels like of fonnetting.
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 a scene of foolery have I feen,
Of fighs, of groans, of forrow, and of teen!

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