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And Neftor play at push-pin with the boys,
And Critick Timon laugh at idle toys?

Where lyes thy grief? O tell me, good Dumain;
And gentle Longaville, where lyes thy pain?
And where my Liege's? all about the breast?
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 shall 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 gate, a state, a brow, a breaft, a waste,
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.

Jaq. God bless the King!

King. What Prefent haft thou there?

Coft. Some certain treafon.

King. What makes treafon here?
Coft. Nay, it makes nothing, Sir.
King. If it mar nothing neither,

The treason and you go in peace away together.
Jaq. I beseech your Grace, let this letter be read,
Our Parson mifdoubts it: it was treafon, he said.

King. Biron, read it over.

Where hadft thou it?

Faq. Of Coftard.

King. Where hadft thou it?

[He reads the letter.

Coft. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.

King. How now, what is in you? why doft thou

tear it ?

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 fhame. [To Coftard. Guilty, my lord, guilty: I confefs, I confefs.

King, What?

Biron. That you three fools lack'd me fool to make up the mess.

He, he, and you; and you, my Liege, and I

Are pick-purfes in love, and we deserve to die.
O, difmifs this audience, and I fhall tell you more.
Dum. Now the number is even.

Biron. True, true; we are four:
Will these turtles be gone?

King. Hence, Sirs, away.

Coft. Walk afide the true folk, and let the traitors

stay. [Exeunt Coft. and Jaquen. Biron. Sweet lords, fweet lovers, O, let us imbrace : As true we are, as flesh and blood can be.

The fea will ebb and flow, heaven will fhew 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 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 first opening of the gorgeous caft) Bows not his vaffal head, and, ftrucken blind, Kiffes the base ground with obedient breast ?

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 infpir'd thee now? My love (her miftrefs) is a gracious moon;

She (an attending ftar) fcarce feen 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 felf doth feek. Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues;

Fie, painted rhetorick! O, the needs it not: To things of fale, a feller's praife belongs:

She paffes praife; the praise too fhort doth blot. A wither'd hermit, fivefcore winters worn,

Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye:
Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born,

Ánd gives the crutch the cradle's infancy;
O, 'tis the fun, that maketh all things fhine.
King. By heav'n, thy love is black as ebony.
Biron. Is ebony like her? O wood divine! (29)
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?

L

No face is fair, that is not full fo black? King. O paradox, black is the badge of hell: The hue of dungeons, and the fcowl of night; (30) And beauty's creft becomes the heavens well. Biron. Devils fooneft tempt, resembling fpirits of light:

O, if in black my lady's brow be deckt,

It mourns, that Painting and ufurping Hair Should ravish doters with a falfe afpect:

And therefore is the born to make black fair.

(29) Is Ebony like her? O Word divine!] This is the Reading of all the Editions, that I have feen: but both Dr. Thirlby and Mr. Warburton concurr'd in reading, (as I had likewife conjectur'd,) O Wood divine!

black is the Badge of Hell;

1

(30) The bue of Dungeons, and the School of Night.] Black, being the School of Night, is a Piece of Mystery above my Comprehenfion. I had guess'd, it fhould be, the Stole of Night: but I have preferr'd the Conjecture of my Friend Mr. Warburton, as it comes nearer in Pronunciation to the corrupted Reading, as well as agrees better with the other Images.

Her

Her Favour turns the fashion of the days,
For native blood is counted painting now;
And therefore red, that would avoid difpraise,
Paints it felf black to imitate her brow.

Dum. To look like her, are chimney-fweepers black. Long. And fince her time, are colliers counted bright.

King. And Ethiops of their sweet 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 washt away. King. 'Twere good, yours did: for, Sir, to tell you plain,

I'll find a fairer face not washt 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 ftuff so dear.

Long. Look, here's thy love; my foot and her
face fee.

Biron. O, if the ftreets were paved with thine eyes,
Her feet were much too dainty for fuch tread.
Dum. O vile! then as fhe goes, what upward lies
The street should fee as fhe walkt 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 falve for perjury.

Biron. O, 'tis more than need.

Have at you then, Affection's Men at arms; (31)

Con

(31) Have at you then Affections. Men at Arms,] Thus Mr. Pope has pointed this Paffage in Both his Impreffions, not much to the Praise of his Sagacity. The third Edition in Folio began the Corruption of the Place in this Manner;

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 ftomachs are too young:
And abstinence ingenders maladies.

And where that you have vow'd to ftudy, (Lords)
In That each of you hath forfworn his book.
Can you still dream, and pore, and thereon look?
For when would you, my Lord, or you, or you,
Have found the ground of Study's excellence,
Without the beauty of a woman's face?
From womens eyes this doctrine I derive;
They are the ground, the book, the academies,
From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire:
Why, univerfal plodding prifons up

The nimble spirits in the arteries;
As motion and long-during action tires
The finewy vigour of the traveller.
Now, for not looking on a woman's face,
You have in That forfworn the ufe of eyes;
And Study too, the caufer of your vow.
For where is any author in the world,
Teaches fuch beauty as a woman's eye?
Learning is but an adjunct to our self,
And where we are, our Learning likewife is.
Then, when our felves we fee in ladies eyes,
Do we not likewise see our Learning there?
O, we have made a vow to ftudy, lords;
And in that vow we have forfworn our books:
For when would you, my liege, or you, or you,
In leaden contemplation have found out
Such fiery numbers, as the prompting eyes
Of beauty's tutors have enrich'd you with?

which Mr. Rowe inadvertently follow'd. But we must certainly read, as I have reftor'd to the Text:

Have at you then, Affection's Men at Arms;

i. e. Love's Soldiers. The King fays, towards the Conclusion of this Scene;

Saint Cupid, then! and, Soldiers, to the Field!

for by giving Cupid as the Word, he would intimate that they fought under his Banner.

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