Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is;
Then thou fair fun, which on my earth doth shine,
Exhal'ft 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 Paradife?

Biron. [afide.] This is the liver-vein 2, which makes flesh a deity;

A green goofe a goddefs: pure, pure idolatry.
God amend us, God amend us, we are much out o' th'

way.

Enter Dumain.

Long. By whom fhall I fend this?

stay.

-company? Stepping afide. Biran. [afide.] All hid, all hid, an old infant play; Like a demy-god, here fit I in the sky,

And wretched fools' fecrets heedfully o'er-eye :
More facks 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!

[afide.

Dum. By heav'n, the wonder of a mortal eye! Biron. By earth, the is but corporal'; there you lie.

Dum. Her amber hairs for foul have amber coted. Biron. An amber-colour'd raven was well noted.

Dum. As fair as day.

[afide.

[afide.

Biron. Ay, as fome days; but then no fun muft

fhine.

King. And I mine too, good Lord!

{afide.

[afide.

[afide.

[afide.

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

word?

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 fawcers, fweet mifprifion. [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 fonnet.

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+ !
But, alack, my band is fworn,
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn.

[afide

Air, would I might triumph fo.] Perhaps we may better read,

Ah! would I might triumph fo.

Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,
Youth fo apt to pluck a sweet.
Do not call it fin in me,
That I am forfworn for thee:

Thou, for whom ev'n 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 Longueville,
Were lovers too! Ill, to example Ill,

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 should blush, I know, To be o'er-heard, and taken napping so.

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? Longueville 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 closely fhrowded in this bush, And markt you both, and for you both did blush. I heard your guilty rhimes, 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 Paradife break faith and troth;

[To Long, And Jove, for your loye, would infringe an oath.

[To Dumain.

What will Biron say, when that he shall hear
A faith infringed, which fuch zeal did swear?
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,

I would not have him know so much by me.
Biron. Now step I forth to whip hypocrifie.
Ah, good my Liege, I pray thee, pardon me.
[coming forward.
Good heart, what grace haft thou thus to reprove
These worms for loving, that art most in love?
Your eyes 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-shot ?
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 fool'ry have I seen,
Of fighs, of groans, of forrow, and of teen?
O me, with what strict patience have I fat,
To fee a king transformed to a knot?!
To fee great Hercules whipping a gigg,
And profound Solomon tuning a jigg!
And Neftor play at push-pin with the boys,
And Cynic Timon laugh at idle toys &!
Where lyes thy grief? O tell me, good Dumain
And gentle Longueville, where lies thy pain?
And where my Liege's? all about the breaft?

A candle, hoa!

King. Too bitter is thy jeft.

Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view

Biron. Not you by me, but I betray'd by you.
I, that am honeft; I, that hold it fin
To break the vow I am engaged 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 fhall you hear, that I
Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye,
A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waste,
A leg, a limb ?

King. Soft, whither away fo fast?

A true man or a thief, that gallops fo?

Biron. I poft from love; good lover, let me go.

Enter Jaquenetta and Coftard.

Jaq. God bless the King!

King. What prefent haft thou there?
Coft. Some certain Treafon.
King. What makes treason here?
Caft. Nay, it makes nothing, Sir.
King. If it mar nothing neither,

The treafon and you go in peace away together.
Jaq. I befeech your Grace, let this letter be read,
Our Parfon mifdoubts it: it was treafon, he said.
King. Biron, read it over.

Where hadft thou it?

Jaq. Of Coftard.

King. Where hadft thou it?

[He reads the letter.