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 perjur'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 blush I know, To be o'er-heard, and taken napping fo.

King. Come, Sir, you blush; as his, your Cafe is fuck,

[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 closely fhrowded in this 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.
Ah 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 fhall hear
A Faith infringed, which fuch Zeal did fwear?
How will he fcorn? 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 step I forth to whip Hypocrifie.

Ah good my Liege, I pray thee pardon me. [Coming forward.

God

Good heart, what grace haft thou thus to reprove
Thefe Worms for loving, that ar't most in love?
Your Eyes do make no Couches 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 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.

Owhat a Scene of Fool'ry have I feen,

Of Sighs, of Groans, of Sorrow, and of Teen?
Ome, with what strict 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 Dumains
And 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,
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 spend a Minute's time

In pruning me? When shall you hear that I will praife a Hand, a Foot, a Face, an Eye, a Gate, a State, a Brow, a Breaft, a Wafte, 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 Treafon.

King. What makes Treason 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 faid.

King. Biron. Read it over.

Where hadft thou it?

it ?

Faq. Of Coftard.

King. Where hadft thou it?

He reads the Letter.

Coft. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.

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

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 deferve 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.

Coff. 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 must 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 firft opening of the gorgeous Eaft,
Bows not his vaffal Head, and ftrucken blind,

Kiffes the base Ground with obedient Breast?
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 inspir'd thee now?
My Love (her Miftrefs) is a gracious Moon,
She (an attending Star) fcarce feen a Light.

Biron. My Eyes are then no Eyes, nor I Biren.
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 self 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 Praise belongs:
She paffes Praise, then Praise too short 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 false Afpe&t:

And

And therefore is fhe 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 Dispraise,
Paints it felf black, to imitate her Brow.

Dum. To look like her are Chimney-Sweepers black?
Long. And fince her time, are Colliers counted bright ?
King. And Ethiops of their fweet Complexion 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 wafht away.

King. 'Twere good yours did: for, Sir, to tell you plain, · I'll find a fairer Face not wafht 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 Stuff fo dear.
Long. Look, here's thy Love, my Foot and her Face fee.
Biron. O if the Streets were paved with thine Eyes,
Her Feet were much too dainty for fuch Tread.

Dum. O vile, then as fhe goes, what upward lyes?
The Street should fee as fhe walk'd over head.

King. But what of this, are we not all in Love?
Biron. Nothing fo fure, and thereby all forfworn.
King. Then leave this Chat, and good Biron now prove
Our loving lawful, and our Faith not torn.

Dum. Ay marry there, fome Flattery for this Evil.
Long. O fome Authority how to proceed,
Some Tricks, fome Quillets, how to cheat the Devil.
Dum. Some Salve for Perjury.

Biron. O'tis more than need.

Have at you then Affections, Men at Arms,
Confider what you firft did fwear unto:
To faft, to study, and to fee no Woman;
Flat Treafon 'gainst the kingly State of Youth.
Say, Can you faft? your Stomachs are too young:
And Abstinence ingenders Maladies.

And where that you have vow'd to study (Lords)
In that each of you have forfworn his Book.
Can you ftill dream and pore, and thereon look?
For when would you, my Lord, or you, or you.
Have found the Ground of Study's Excellence,