Biron. All hid, all hid, an old infant play;
Like a demy-god, here fit I in the fky,

And wretched fools' fecrets headfully o'er-eye:
More facks to the mill! O heav'ns, I have my wish;
Dumain transform'd? four woodcocks in a dish?
Dum. O moft divine Kate!

Biron. O moft prophane coxcomb!

[afide.

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

lie.

Jafide.

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

Dum. As upright as the cedar.

Biron. Stoop, I fay;

Her fhoulder is with child.

Dum. As fair as day.

[afide.

[a fide.

Biron. Ay, as fome days: but then no fun must

King. And mine too, good Lord!

Long. And I had mine!

[afide.

[afide.

[afide.

[afide.

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

word?

Dum. I would forget her, but a fever she Reigns in my blood, and will remembred be.

Biron. A fever in your blood! why then, incifion Would let her out in fawcers, sweet misprision. [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 paffage find;

[afide.

That

That the lover, fick to death,
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.
Air, (quoth he) thy cheeks may blow
Air, would I might triumph fo!
But, alack, my hand is fworn,
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
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 fhall exprefs my true love's feftring pain;
O, would the King, Biron and Longaville,
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 fhould blush, I know,
To be o'er-heard, and taken napping fo.

fuch:

King. Gome, Sir, you blush; as his, your cafe is
[coming forward.
You chide at him, offending twice as much.
You do not love Maria? Longaville

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

You would for Paradife break faith and troth;
And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath.
What will Biron fay, when that he shall hear
A faith infringed, which fuch zeal did fwear?
How will he fcorn? how will he spend his wit?
* How will he triumph, geap, and laugh at it?
For all the wealth that ever I did fee,

I would not have him know fo much by me.
Biron. Now ftep I forth to whip hypocrify.
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 Princess that appears?
You'll not be perjur'd, 'tis a hateful thing;
Tufh; none but minstrels like of fonnetting.
But are you not asham'd? nay, are
you
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,

not

Of fighs, of groans, of forrow, and of teen?
O me, with what strict patience have I fat,
To see 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 lies thy grief? O tell me, good Dumain;
And gentle Longaville, 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. * How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it?] We should certainly read, geap, i. c. jeer, ridicule.

+ critic Timon]ought evidently to be Cynic.

།

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 vane-like men, of ftrange inconftancy.
When shall you see me write a thing in rhime?
Or groan for Joan? or spend a minute's time
In pruning me? when shall you hear, that I
Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye,
A gait, a ftate, a brow, a breast, 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 Present haft thou there?
Coft. Some certain Treason.

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

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

Where hadst thou it?

Jaq. Of Coftard.

King. Where hadft thou it?

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 shame.

[To Coftard. Guilty,

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 deferve 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 begone?

King. Hence, Sirs, away.

Coft. Walk afide the true folk, and let the traitors ftay. [Exeunt Coft. and Jaquen. Biron, Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, let us embrace: As true as we are, as flesh and blood can be. The fea will ebb and flow, heav'n 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 muft we be forfworn.

King. What, did thefe rent lines fhew fome love of thine ?

Biron. Did they, quoth you? Who fees the hea-, venly Rofaline,

That (like a rude and favage man of Inde,

At the first opening of the gorgeous eaft) 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 inspir'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