Without the Beauty of a Woman's Face; Still climing Trees in the Hefperides. Subtle as a Sphinx, as fweet and mufical As bright Apollo's Lute, ftrung with his Hair: From Womens Eyes this Doctrine I derive : For Charity it felf fullfils the Law; And who can fever Love from Charity? King. Saint Cupid then, and Soldiers to the Field. Biron. Advance your Standards, and upon them, Lords; Pell, mell, down with them: But be firft advis'd, In Conflict that you get the Sun of them. Long. Now to Plain-dealing, lay these Gloffes by, Shall we refolve to woo these Girls of France. King. And win them too; therefore let us devife Biron. First from the Park let us conduct them thither, We will with some strange Paftime folace them, VOL. I. Ff Biros Away, the Gentles are at their Game, and we will to our Recreation. [Exeunt Enter Biron with a Paper in his Hand, alone, Bian. The King he is hunting the Deer. I am courfing my felf. They have pitcht a Toyl, I am toyling in a Pitch, Pitch that defiles; defile, a foul Word: Well, fet thee down Sor row; 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, itkills Sheep, it kills me, I a Sheep. Well prov'd 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 Rhime, and to be Melancholly; and here is part of my Rhime, and here my Melancholly. Well, the hath one a'my Sonnets already; the Clown bore it, the Fool fent it, and the Lady hath it: Sweet Clown, fweeter Fool, fweeteft 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. Shot, by Heav'n! Proceed, fweet Cupid; thou haft thumpt him with thy Birdbolt under the left Pap: In faith Secrets. King. So fweet a Kifs the golden Sun gives not, O Queen of Queens, how far do'st thou excel ! [The King fteps afide. What! Longavile! and reading: Liften Ear. Biron. Now in thy Likeness one more Fool appears. (know, Biron. Why he comes in like a Perjur'd, wearing Papers. Long. In Love I hope, fweet Fellowship in Shame. Biron. One Drunkard loves another of the Name.. Long, Am I the first that have been perjur'd fo? Biron, I could put thee in Comfort: Not by two that I Thou mak'ft the Triumvirat the three Corner-Cap of Society, The Shape of Loves Tiburs, that hangs up Simplicity. Long. I fear these stubborn Lines' lack Power to move: O fweet Maria, Emprefs of my Love, Thefe Numbers will I tear, and write in Profe. Biron. O Rhimes are Guards on wanton Cupid's Hose: Disfigure not his Shop. Long. This fame fhall go, [He reads the Sonnet, Did not the heavenly Rhetorick of thine Eye, Biron. This is the Liver-veir, which makes Fleih a Deity; A green Goose a Goddefs, pure, pure Idolatry. God amend us, God amend, we are much out o'th' way. Enter Enter Dumain. Long. By whom fhall I fend this! (Company?) Stay. Biron. 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 Wish, Dumain transform'd; four Woodcocks in a Dish. Dum. O moft divine Kate. ·Biron. O most prophane Coxcomb. Dum. By Heav'n the Wonder of a mortal Eye. 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. Biron. Ay as fome Days; but then no Sun must shine. 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 the 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 Bloom paffing fair, Playing in the wanton Air: Through the Velvet Leaves, the Wind, All unfeen, can Paffage find. |