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fool fent it, and the lady hath it: sweet clown, fweeter fool, sweetest lady! By the world, I would not care a pin if the other three were in : Here comes one with a paper; God give him grace to groan! [Gets up into a tree.

Enter the King, with a paper. King. Ah me!

Biron. [aside.] Shot, by heaven !_Proceed, sweet Cupid; thou hast thump'd him with thy bird-bolt under the left

pap :l'faith secrets.-
King. [reads.] So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not

To those fresh morning drops upon the rose,
As thy eye-beans, when their fresh rays have smote

Tbe night of dew that on my cheeks down flows :
Nor shines the filver moon one balf so bright

Through the transparent bofom of the deep,
As doth thy face through tears of mine give light;

Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep :
No drop but as a coach dɔth

So ridest thou triumphing in my woe ;
Do but bebold the tears that swell in me,

And they thy glory through my grief will show :
But do not love thyself ; then thou wilt keep
My tears for glasses, and still make me weep.

queen of queens, bow far dost thou excel!
No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell.-
How shall she know my griefs ? I'll drop the paper ;
Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here?

[Steps aside.
Enter LONGAVILLE, with a paper.
What, Longaville ! and reading ! listen, ear,
Biron. Now, in thy likeness, one more fool, appear!

[Afide. Long. Ah me! I am forsworn.



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Biron. Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearing papers.

[Afide. King. In love, I hope ; Sweet fellowship in shame!

[Afide. Biron. One drunkard loves another of the name. [Aside. Long. Am I the first that have been perjur'd so? [Aside. Biron. I could put thee in comfort; not by two, that I know:

[Aside. Thou mak'st the triumviry, the corner-cap of society, The shape of love's Tyburn that hangs up simplicity.

Long. I fear, these stubborn lines lack power to move:
O sweet Maria, empress of my love!
These numbers will I tear, and write in prose.
Biron. O, rhymes are guards on wanton Cupid's hose:

[Afide. Disfigure not his Nop.

Long. This same shall go. [He reads the fonnet.
Did not the heavenly rhetorick of thine eye

('Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument,) Persuade my heart to this false perjury ?

Vows, for thee broke, deserve not punishment. A woman I forswore; but, I will prove,

Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee : My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;

Thy grace being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me. Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is :

Then thou, fair fun, which on my earth doft shine, Exhal'st this vapour vow; in thee it is :

If broken then, it is no fault of mine; If by me broke, What fool is not so wife,

To lose an oath to win a paradise ? [flesh a deity; Biron. [ Afide.] This is the liver vein, which makes A green goose, a goddess : pure, pure idolatry,

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God amend us, God amend! we are much out o'the way.

Enter Dumain, with a paper. Long. By whom shall I send this ?_Company! stay.

[Stepping aside. Biron. [Aside.] All hid, all hid, an old infant play: Like a demi-god here fit I in the sky, And wretched fools' secrets heedfully o'er-eye. More facks to the mill! O heavens, I have

my Dumain transform’d: four woodcocks in a dish!

Dum. O most divine Kate !
Biron. O most prophane coxcomb !

[Afide. Dum. By heaven, the wonder of a mortal eye! Biron. By earth, she is but corporal ; there you


[Afide. Dum. Her amber hairs for foul have amber coted. Biron. An amber-colour'd raven was well noted. [Afde. Dum. As upright as the cedar.

Biron. Stoop, I say;
Her shoulder is with child.

[Afide. Dum. As fair as day. Biron. Ay, as some days; but then no sun must shine.

[Afide. Dum. O that I had my wish! LONG. And I had mine!

[Aside. King. And I mine too, good Lord !

[Afide. Biron. Amen, so I had mine : Is not that a good word?

[Afide. Dum. I would forget her; but a fever she Reigns in my blood, and will remember'd be.

Biron. A fever in your blood! why, then incision Would let her out in faucers; Sweet misprision! [Aside.

Dum. Once more I'll read the ode that I have writ. Biron. Oncemore I'llmark how love can vary wit. [Afide, Dum. On a day, (alack the day!)

Love, whose month is ever May,
Spied a blossom, pasing fair,
Playing in the wanton air :
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, 'gan passage find;
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 sworn,
Nier to pluck thee from thy thorn :
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet;
Youth fo apt to pluck a sweet.
Do not call it sin in me,
That I am forsworn for thee :
Thou for whom even Jove would

Juno but an Ethiop were;
And deny himself for Jove,

Turning mortal for thy love.-
This will I send; and something else more plain,
That shall express my true love's fasting 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, [advancing.) thy love is far from cha-
That in love's grief desir's society:
You may look pale, but I should blush, I know,
To be o'erheard, and taken napping so.
King. Come, sir, [advancing.) you blush ; as his your

case is such ; You chide at him, offending twice as much:

You do not love Maria ; Longaville
Did never fonnet for her fake compile;
Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart
His loving bosom, to keep down his heart.
I have been closely shrouded in this bush,
And mark'd

you both, and for you both did blush. I heard your guilty rhymes, observ'd


fashion ; Saw fighs reek from you, noted well your passion : Ah me! says one; O Jove! the other cries ; One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other's eyes : You would for paradife break faith and troth; [To Long. And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath.

[To DUMAIN, What will Birón say, when that he shall hear A faith infring'd, which such a zeal did swear? How will he scorn ? how will he spend his wit ? How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it? For all the wealth that ever I did see, I would not have him know so much by me.

Biron. Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy. Ah, good my liege, I pray thee, pardon me :

[Descends from the tree. 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, ·
There is no certain princess that appears :
You'll not be perjur'd, 'tis a hateful thing;
Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting.
But are you not asham’d? nay, are you not,
All three of you, to be thus much o'er-shot ?
You found his mote; the king your mote did see;
But I a beam do find in each of three.
O, what a scene of foolery I have seen,


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