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Spy'd a blossom paffing fair,
Playing in the wanton air :
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, 'gan paffage find;
That ibe lover, fick to death,
Wiß'd bimself the beaven's breath.
Air, (quoth he) thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph to!
But, alack, my

hand is sworn,
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,
Youth jo apt to pluck a sweet.
Do not call it fin in me,
That I am for

sworn for tbee :
Thou, for whom ev'n Jove would fear,
Jano but an Ethiope were ;
And deny bimself for Jove,

Turning mortal for thy love.
This will I send, and something else more plain,
That shall express my true love's fafting 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 desir'it society: [coming forward. S
You may look pale; but I should blush, I know,
To be o'er-heard, and taken napping fo.
King. Come, Sir, you bluth; as his, your case is such ;

[coming forward. You chide at him, offending twice as much. You do not love Maria ? Longaville Did never sonnet for her fake compile ; Nor never lay'd his wreathed arms arhwart His loving bosom, to keep down his heart: I have been coʻely fhrowded in this buih, And markt you both, and for you both did blush. I'heard your guilty rhimes, observ'd

your

fashion ; Saw fighs reek from you, noted well your passion.

Ay

Ay me! says one; O Jove! the other cries ;
Her hairs were gold, crystal the other's eyes.
You would for Paradise break faith and troth;
And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath.
What will Biron say, when that he shall hear
A faith infringed, which such 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 hypocrisie.
Ah, good my Liege, I pray thee, pardon me.

[coming forward.
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;
Tuh ; none but minstrels like of sonnetting.
But are you not alhamd? nay, are you not
All three of you, to be thus much o'er-fhot ?
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,
Of fighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen?
O me, with what strict patience have I sat,
To see a King transformed to a Knot!
To see great Hercules whipping a gigg,
And profound Solomon tuning a jigg,
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 jest
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 strange inconftancy.
When shall you see me write a thing in rhime ?
Or groxn for Joan ? or spend a minute's time
In pruning me i when shall you hear, that I
Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye,
A gate, a state, a brow, a breast, a waste,
A leg, a limb ?

King. Soft, whither away so fan?
A true man or a thief, that gallops so?
Biron. I post from love; good lover, let me go.

Enter Jaquenetta and Costard.
Jaq. God bless the King !
King. What Present haft thou there?
Cof. Some certain Treason.
King. What makes treason here?
Coj. Nay, it makes nothing, Sir.

King. If it mar nothing neither,
The treason and you go in peace away together.

Faq. I beseech your Grace, let this letter be read,
Our Parson misdoubts it : it was treason, he said.

King. Biron, read it over. (He reads the letter. Where hadit thou it?

Jag. Of Coftard.
King. Where hadft thou it?
Colt. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.
King. How now, what is in you? why dost thou

tear it?

Biron. A coy, my Liege, a toy: your Grace needs

not fear it. Long. It did move him to passion, and therefore let's

hear it. Dum. It is Biron's writing, and here is his name. Biron. Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, you were born to do me shame.

[To Coftard, Guilty, my lord, guilty : I confess, I confess.

King. What
Biron. That you three fools lack'd me fool to make

up
the mess.

He,

He, he, and you; and you, my liege, and I
Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die.
0, dismiss this Audience, and I shall tell you more.
Dum. Now the number is even.

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

King. Hence, Sirs, away.
Cof. Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay.

[Exeunt Coft. and Jaquer. Biron. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, let us embrace :

As true we are, as flesh and blood can be. The sea will ebb and flow, heaven will few 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 forsworn. King. What, did these rent lines (hew some love of

thine ? Biron. Did they, quoth you? Who sees the heavenly

Rosaline,
That (like a rude and savage man of Inde,

Àt the first opening of the gorgeous east)
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 infir'd thee

now?
My love (her mistress) is a gracious moon ;
She (an attending star) scarce seen 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 self doth seek. Lend me the flourih of all gentle tongues ;

Fie, painted rhetorick! O, she needs it not: To things of fale a seller's praise belongs : She passes praise; the praise, too thort, doth blot. A wither'd hermit, fivescore winters worn,

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

And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy ;
O, 'tis the sun, that maketh all things shine.

King. Fy heav'n, thy love is black as ebony.
Biron. Is ebony like her? O wood divine! (24)

d wife of such wood were felicity.
O, who can give an oath? where is a book,

That I may swear, Beauty doth beauty lack, If that she learn not of her eye to look ?

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 scowl of night; (25) And beauty's creft becomes the heavens well. Biron. Devils fooneft tempt, resembling spirits of

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

It mourns, that Painting and usurping Hair Should ravish doters with a false aspect :

And therefore is the born to make black fair. Her Favour turns the fashion of the days,

For native blood is counted painting now;
And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise,

Paints it self black to imitate her brow.
Dum. To look like her, are chimney-sweepers black.
Long. And since her time, are colliers counted

bright.
King. And Ethiops of their sweet complexion crack.

(24. Is Ebony like ber? 0 Word divine!) This is the Reade ing of all the Editions that I have seen : but both Dr. Tbirlby and Mr. Warburton concurr'd in reading, (as I had likewife conjectur’d) O Wood divine !

(25) black is the badge.of Hell; The bue of dungeons, and ibe School of Nigbt.] Black, being the Scbool of Night, is a piece of Mystery above my Compre. hension. I had guess’d, it should be, abe Stole of Nigbr : but I have preferr'd the Conjecture of my Friend Mr. Warburtos, as it comes nearer in Pronunciation to the corrupted Reading, as well as agrees better with the other Images.

Dum. !

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