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Spy'd a bloom paffing fair,
Long. Dumain, thy love is far from charity,
Ay me! says one; o Jove! the other cries ;
Biron. Now step I forth to whip hypocrisie.
[coming forward. Good heart, what grace
hast thou thus to reprove These worms for loving, that art most in love? Your eyes
do make no coaches in your tears,
King. Too bitter is thy jest.
Biron. Not you by me, but I betray’d by you.
I am betray'd by keeping company
for Joan ? or spend a minute's time
King. Soft, whither away so fast ?
Enter Jaquenetta and Coftard.
King. If it mar nothing neither,
Jag. I beseech your Grace, let this letter be read, Our Parfon misdoubts it: it was treason, he said.
King. Biron, read it over. [He reads the letter. Where hadit thou it?
Faq. Of Cofiard.
not fear it. Long: It did move him to passion, and therefore let's
hear it. Dum. It is Biron's writing, and here is his name. Biron. Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, you were born to do me shame.
[To Costard. Guilty, my lord, guilty : I confess, I confefs.
He, he, and you ; and you, my liege, and I
Biron. True, true; we are four :
King. Hence, Sirs, away.
[Exeunt Coft. and Jaquen. Biron. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, 0, let us embrace:
As true we are, as flesh and blood can be. The sea will ebb and flow, heaven will thew his face:
Young blood doth not obey an old decree. We cannot cross the cause why we were born Therefore of all hands must we be forsworn. King. What, did these rent lines Thew some love of
thine ? Biron. Did they, quoth you? Who sees the heavenly
At the first opening of the gorgeous east)
Kisses the base ground with obedient breaft? 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 My love (her mistress) is a gracious moon ; She (an attending star) scarce seen a light. Biron. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Biron.
O, but for my love, day would turn to night. Of all complexions the cull'd Sovereignty
Do meet, as at a Fair, in her fair cheek ; Where several worthies make one dignity;
Where nothing wants, that want it self doth seek. Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues ;
Fie, painted rhetorick ! O, she needs it not : To things of fale a seller's praise belongs : She passes praise; the praise, too fhort, doth blot.
A wither'd hermit, fivescore 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 ; 0, 'tis the sun, that maketh all things fine.
King. By heav'n, thy love is black as ebony.
A wife of such wood were felieity.
That I may swear, Beauty doth beauty lack,
No face is fair, that is not full so black? King. O paradox, black is the badge of hell:
The hue of dungeons, and the scowl of night ; (25) And beauty's creft becomes the heavens well. Biron. Devils sooneft tempt, resembling 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 aspect :
And therefore is she 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 self black to imitate her brow. Dum. To look like her, are chimney-sweepers black. Long. And since her time, are colliers counted
bright. King. And Ethiops of their sweet complexion crack.
(24). Is Ebony like her ? O Word divine ! ] This is the Reading of all the Editions that I have seen : but both Dr. Thirlby and Mr. Warburlon concurr'd in reading, (as I had likewise conjectur'd,) o Wood divine !
(25) black is the badge of Hell; The hue of dungeons, and the School of Night.] Black, being the School of Night, is a piece of Mystery above my Comprehension. I had guess’d, it should be, the Stole of Night: but I have preferr’d the Conjeâure of my Friend Mr. Warburton, as it comes nearer in Pronunciation to the corrupted Reading, as well as agrees better with the other Images.