And even that falsehood, in itself a sin, Dum. Our letters, madam, show'd much more than jest Ros. We did not quote them so. King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour, Prin. A time, methinks, too short Change not your offer made in heat of blood; Come challenge me, challenge me by these deserts, I will be thine; and till that instant shut For the remembrance of my father's death. To flatter up these powers of mine with rest, Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast. Biron. And what to me, my love? and what to me? Ros. You must be purged too, your sins are rack'd, A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest, Dum. But what to me, my love? but what to me? Kath. A beard, fair health, and honesty ; With three-fold love I wish you all these three. Dum. O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife? Kath. Not so, my lord; a twelvemonth and a day I'll mark no words that smooth-faced wooers say: Come when the king doth to my lady come; Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some. Dum. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then. Kath. Yet swear not, lest ye be forsworn again. Long. What says Maria? Mar. At the twelvemonth's end I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend. Long. I'll stay with patience: but the time is long. Mar. The liker you; few taller are so young. Biron. Studies my lady? mistress, look on me; Behold the window of my heart, mine eye, What humble suit attends thy answer there: Impose some service on me for thy love. Ros. Oft have I heard of you, my Lord Biron, Before I saw you; and the world's large tongue Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks, Full of comparisons and wounding flouts, Which you on all estates will execute That lie within the mercy of your wit. To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain, You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day To enforce the pained impotent to smile. Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of death? It cannot be; it is impossible: Mirth cannot move a soul in agony. Ros. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit, Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools: A jest's prosperity lies in the ear Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Biron. A twelvemonth! well; befall what will befall, I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital. Prin. [To the King] Ay, sweet my Lord; and so I take my King. No, madam; we will bring you on your way. Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old play; King. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a day, Biron. That's too long for a play. Re-enter Armado. Arm. Sweet Majesty, vouchsafe me,— Dum. The worthy knight of Troy. [leave. Arm. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. I am a votary; I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her sweet love three years. But, most esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled in praise of the owl and the cuckoo? it should have followed in the end of our show. King. Call them forth quickly; we will do so. Re-enter Holofernes, Nathaniel, Moth, Costard and others. This side is Hiems, Winter, this Ver, the Spring; the one maintained by the owl, the other by the cuckoo. Ver, begin. The Song. SPRING. When daisies pied and violets blue And lady-smocks all silver-white And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of fear, When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, Mocks married men; for thus sings he, Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of fear, WINTER. When icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, 1 And milk comes frozen home in pail, Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. Arm. The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. You that way,we this way. [Exeunt. ACT I-SCENE I Athens. The palace of Theseus. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, and Attendants. Long withering out a young man's revenue. Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves in night; And then the moon, like to a silver bow New-bent in heaven, shall behold the night Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments; The pale companion is not for our pomp. [Exit Philostrate. And won thy love, doing thee injuries; But I will wed thee in another key, With pomp, with triumph and with revelling. Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke! The. Thanks, good Egeus: what's the news with thee ? child: |