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That, which long Process could not arbitrate.
And though the mourning brow of Progeny
Forbid the smiling courtesy of love,
The holy fuit which fain it would convince ;
Yet since love's argument was first on foot,
Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it'
From what it purpos'd : Since, to wail friends loft,
Is not by much so wholesome, profitable,
As to rejoice at friends but newly found.

Prin. I understand you not, my griefs are double.
Biron. Honest plain words best pierce the car of

grief; And by these badges understand the King. For your

fair sakes have we neglected time, Play'd faul Play with our oaths: your beauty, ladies, Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours Even to th' opposed end of our intents ; And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous, As love is full of unbefitting strains, All wanton as a child, skipping in vain, Form'd by the eye, and therefore like the eye, Full of straying shapes, of habits, and of forms, Varying in subjects as the eye doth rowl, To every varied object in his glance ; Which party-coated presence of loose love Put on by us, if, in your heav'nly eyes, Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities; Those heav'nly eyes, that look into these faults, Suggested us to make them: therefore, ladies, Our love being yours, the error that love makes Is likewise yours. We to ourselves prove falfe, By being once false, for ever to be true To those that make us both; fair ladies, you: And even that falfhood, in itself a fin, Thus purifies itself, and turns to Grace.

Prin. We have receiv'd your letters, full of love; Your Favours, the embassadors love: And in our maiden council rated them

At

At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy;
As bumbast, and as lining to the time:
But more devout than this, (save our respects)
Have we not been; and therefore met your loves
In their own fashion, like a merriinent. (jeft.

Dum. Our letters, Madam, shew'd much more than
Long. So did our looks.
Rof. * We did not quote them so.

King. Now at the latest minute of the hour,
Grant us your loves.

Prin. A time, methinks, too short, To make a world-without-end bargain in; No, no, my lord, your grace is perjur'd much, Full of dear guiltiness; and therefore, thisIf for my love (as there is no such cause) You will do ought, this shall you Your oath I will not truft ; but go with speed To fome forlorn and naked Hermitage, Remote from all the pleasures of the world; There stay, until the twelve celestial Signs Have brought about their annual reckoning. If this auftere infociablc life Change not your offer made in heat of blood; If frolis, and fails, hard lodginy, and thin weeds Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love, But that it bear this trial, and last love; Then, at the expiration of the year, Come challenge me; challenge me, by these deserts; And by this virgin palm, now kissing thine, I will be thine; and 'till that instant Shut My woful felf up in a mourning house, Raining the tears of lamentation, For the remembrance of my father's death. If this thou do deny, let our hands part; Neither intitled in the other's heart.

do for me;

* We did not coat them fo.) We should read, quote, esteem, reckon.

King. If this, or more than this, I would deny,

To fetter up these powers of mine with reft; The sudden hand of death close up mine eye!

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 fins are rank, Your are attaint with fault and perjury; Therefore if you my favour mean to get, A twelve-month shall you spend, and never rest, But seek the weary beds of people fick.]

Dum. But what to me, my love? but what to me?

Cath. A wife! a beard, fair health and honefty; With three-fold love I wish

you

all these three. Dum. O, shall I say, I thank you, genile wife ?

Cath, Not fo, my lord, a twelve-month and a day, I'll mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers say: Come, when the Kingdoth to my lady come; Then if I have much love, I'll give you

fome.
Dum. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then.
Cath. Yet swear not, left ye be forsworn again. .
Long. What says Maria?

Mar. At the twelve-month'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 ;
Impofe fome service on me for my

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,

* And what to me, my love ? &c] These fix Lines are misplaced and ought to be expung'd, as being the Author's first Draught only, of what he afterwards improved and made more perfe&.

That

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That lie within the mercy of your wit:
To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain,
And therewithal to win me, if you please,
(Without the which I am not to be won ;)
You shall this twelve-month-term from day to day
Visit the speechless Sick, and still converse
With groaning wretches; and your task shall be,
With all the fierce endeavour of your wit,
T' 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.

Rof. Why, that's the way to choak a gibing spirit,
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace,
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools:
A jest's prosperity lies in the ear
Of him that hears it, never in the tongue
Of him that makes it: then, if fickly ears,
Deaft with the clamours of their own dear groans,
Will hear your idle scorns ; continue then,
And I will have you, and that fault withal :
But if they will not, throw away that spirit;
And I shall find you empty of that fault,
Right joyful of your Reformation.
Biron. A twelve-month ? well; befal, what will

befal,
I'll jeft a twelve-month in an Hospital. !
Prin. Ay, sweet my lord, and so I take my leave.

To the King
King. No, Madam; we will bring you on your

way:
Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old Play;
Jack hath not fill; these ladies' courtesy
Might well have made our sport a Comedy.
King. Come, Sir, it wants a twelve-month and a

day,
And then 'twill end.
Biron. That's too long for a Play.

Enter

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Enter Armado,
Arm. Sweet Majesty, vouchfase me
Prin. Was not that Hector?
Dum. That worthy Knight of Troy.

Arn. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. I am a Votary; I have vow'd to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her sweet love three years. But, moftesteemed Greatness, will you hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled, in praise of the owl and the cuckow ? it should have follow'd in the end of our Show.

King. Call them forth quickly, we will do so.
Arni. Holla! approach.-

Enter all, for the Song.
This fide is Hiems, Winter.
This Ver, the spring: the one maintain'd by the owl,
The other by the cuckow.
Ver, begin.

The S ÓN G.

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SPRING
When daizies pied, and violets blue,

And lady-smocks all filver white,
And cuckow-buds of yellow hue,

* Do paint the meadows much-bedight;
The cuckow then on

every

Tree
Mocks married men; for thus fings he,
Cuckow !

Cuckow ! cuckow ! 0 word of fear,

Unpleasing to a married ear! * Do faint the meadorus with deliglit;] This is a pretty rural Song, in which the Images are drawn with great Force from Nature. But this senseless Expletive of painting with delight we should read thus,

Do paint the incadows much-bedight, i. c. much bedecked or adorned, as they are in Spring-Time. The Epithet is proper, and the Compound not inelegant.

When

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