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and golden cadence of poefy, caret. Ovidius Nafo was the man. And why, indeed, Nafo; but for smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy? the jerks of invention? imitari, is nothing: fo doth the hound his mafter, the ape his keeper, the try'd horse his rider. But, Damofella Virgin, was this directly to you?

Jaq. Ay, Sir, from one Monfieur Biron, to one of the ftrange Queen's ladies.

Hol. I will overglance the fuperfcript. To the fnowwhite hand of the most beauteous Lady Rofaline. I will look again on the intellect of the letter, for the nomination of the party writing to the perfon written


Your Ladyship's in all defired employment, BIRON. This Biron is one of the votaries with the King; and here he hath fram'd a letter to a fequent of the stranger Queen's, which accidentally, or by the way of progreffion, hath miscarry'd. Trip and go, my fweet; deliver this paper into the hand of the King; it may concern much; ftay not thy compliment; I forgive thy duty adieu.

Jaq. Good Coftard, go with me. Sir, God fave your life.

Coft. Have with thee, my girl.

[Exeunt Coft. and Jaq. Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very religiously: and as a certain father faith

Hol. Sir, tell not me of the father, I do fear colourable colours. But, to return to the verses; did they please you, Sir Nathaniel ?

Nath. Marvellous well for the pen.

Hol. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain pupil of mine; where if (being repaft) it fhall please you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, on my privilege I have with the parents of the aforefaid child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto; where will I prove thofe verfes to be very unlearned, neither favouring of poetry, wit, nor invention. I beseech your fociety.

Nath. And thank you too: for fociety (faith the text) is the happiness of life.


Hol. And, certes, the text moft infallibly concludes it. Sir, I do invite you too; [To Dull.] you shall not fay me, Nay: Pauca berba. Away, the gentles are at their game, and we will to our recreation. [Exeunt.


Enter Biron, with a paper in his hand, alone.

Biron. The King is hunting the deer, I am courfing myfelf. They have pitcht a toil, I am toiling in a pitch; pitch, that defiles; defile! a foul word: well, fet thee down, forrow; for fo they fay the fool faid, and fo fay I, and I the fool. Well prov'd wit. By the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax, it kills fheep, it kills me, I a sheep. Well prov'd again on my fide. I will not love; if I do, hang me; i'faith, I will not. O, but her eye: by this light, but for her eye, I would not love; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in the world but lye, and lye in my throat. By heaven, I do love and it hath taught me to rhime, and to be melancholy; and here is part of my rhime, and here my melancholy. Well, he hath one o' my fonnets already; the clown bore it; the fool fent it, and the lady hath it: fweet 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 grone! [He ftands afide.

King. Ay me!

Enter the King.

Biron. Shot, by heav'n! proceed, fweet Cupid ; thou haft thumpt him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap: in faith, fecrets.

King [reads.] So fweet a kifs the golden fun gives


To thofe fresh morning-drops upon the rofe, As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have fmote The night of dew, that on my cheeks down flows; Nor fhines the filver moon one half fo bright, Through the transparent bofom of the deep,

As doth thy face through tears of mine give light;
Thou shin'ft in every tear that I do weep;
No drop, but as a coach doth carry thee,
So rideft thou triumphing in my woe.
Do but behold the tears that fwell in me,

And they thy glory thro' my grief will fhew;
But do not love thyself, then thou wilt keep
My tears for glaffes, and ftill make me weep.
O Queen of Queens, how far doft thou excel !
No thought can think, no tongue of mortal tell.-

How fhall fhe know my griefs? I'll drop the paper;
Sweet leaves fhade folly. Who is he comes here?
[The King steps afide.

Enter Longaville.

What! Longaville! and reading! liften, ear.
Biron. Now in thy likeness one more fool appears.
Long. Ay me! I am forfworn.

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


King. In love, I hope; fweet fellowship in shame. Biron. One drunkard loves another of the name. Long. Am I the first that have been perjur'd fo? Biron. I could put thee in comfort: not by two that I know;

Thou mak'ft the triumviry, the three-corner-cap of fociety,

The shape of love's Tyburn, that hangs up fimplicity. Long. I fear, these stubborn lines lack power to


O fweet Maria, Emprefs of my love,

Thefe numbers will I tear, and write in profe.

Biron. O rhimes are guards on wanton Cupid's hofe :

Disfigure not his flop.

Long. The fame shall go.

[He reads the fonnet.

Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye
('Gainft whom the world cannot hold argument)
Perfuade my heart to this falfe perjury?

Vows, for thee broke, deferve not punishment:


A woman I forfwore; but I will prove,

Thou being a goddefs, I forfwore not thee. My vow was earthy, thou a heav'nly love:

Thy grace being gain'd, cures all difgrace in me. Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is; Then thou fair fun, which on my earth doft shine, Exhalf this vapour-vow; in thee it is;

If broken then it is no fault of mine; If by me broke, what fool is not fo wife To lofe an oath to win a paradife?

Biron. This is the liver-vein, which makes flesh a deity;

A green goofe a goddefs: pure, pure idolatry.
God amend us, God amend, we are much out o' th'


Enter Dumain.

Long. By whom fhall I fend this?



Biron. All hid, all hid, an old infant play;

Like a demy-god, here fit I in the sky,

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 most profane coxcomb!


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


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

[blocks in formation]

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


Dum. O that I had my wifh!

Long. And I had mine!



King. And mine too, good Lord!



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


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, fweet mifprifion. [afide. Dum. Once more I'll read the ode, that I have


Biron. Once more I'll mark, how love can vary


Dumain reads his fonnet.

On a day, (alack, the day!)
Love whofe mouth is ever May,
Spy'd a bloffom passing fair,
Playing in the wanton air:
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unfeen, gan passage find;
That the lover, fick to death,
Wifh'd himself the heaven's breath.
Air, (quoth be), 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 fweet.
Do not call it fin in me,

That I am forfworn for thee:

Thou, for whom ev'n Jove wou'd fwear,

Juno but an Ethiope were;

And deny himfelf for Jove,

Turning mortal for thy love.


This will I fend, and fomething elfe 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 doat.

Long. Dumain, thy love is far from charity,
That in love's grief defir'ft fociety: [coming forward.

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