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(Which we of taste and feeling are) for those parts Or pricket sore, or else sorel; the people fall a that do fructify in us more than he;

hooting. For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, If sore be sore, then I to sore makes fifty sores ; or a fool,

O sore 1! So, were there a patch set on learning, to see him Of one sore I an hundred make, by adding bul in a school:

one more l. But, omne bene, say I; being of an old father's mind,

Nath. A rare talent!
Many can brook the weather, that love not the wind.
Dill. You two are book men: can you tell by

Dull. If a talent be a claw, look how he claws

him with a talent. your wit,

Hol. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple ; What was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not five weeks old as yet?

a foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, Hol. Dictynna, good man Dull; Dictynna, good

shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revo

lutions: these are begot in the ventricle of memory, man Dull. Dull. What is Dictynna ?

nourished in the womb of pia mater, and delivered Nath. A title to Phæbe, to Luna, to the moon.

upon the mellowing of occasion. But the gift is Hol. The moon was a month old when Adam

good in those in whom it is acute, and I am thankful

for was no more ;

Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you, and so may And raught not to five weeks, when he came to five

my parishioners; for their sons are well tutored by score. The allusion holds in the exchange.

you, and their daughters profit very greatly under Dull. 'Tis true indeed: the collusion holds in the you; you are a good member of the common

wealth. exchange. Hol. God comfort thy capacity! I say, the

Hol. Mehercle ! if their sons be ingenious, they

shall want no instruction: if their daughters be allusion holds in the exchange.

capable, I will put it to them; but, vir sapit, qui Dull. And I say the pollusion holds in the exchange, for the moon is never but a month old ; and pauca loquitur." A soul feminine saluteth us. I say beside, that 'twas a pricket that the princess

Enter JAQUENETTA and CostaRD. kill'd. Hol. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal

Jaq. God give you good morrow, master person.

Hol. Master person,-quasi pers-on. An if one epitaph on the death of the deer? and, to humour

should be pierced, which is the one ? the ignorant, I have callid the deer the princess kill'd, a pricket.

Cost. Marry, master schoolmaster, he that is

likest to a hogshead. Nath. Perge, good master Holofernes, perge ; so

Hol. Of piercing a hogshead! a good lustre of it shall please you to abrogate scurrility. Hol. I will something affect the letter, for it pearl enough for a swine : 'tis pretty; it is well.

conceit in a turf of earth ; fire enough for a flint, argues facility.

Jaq. Good master parson, be so good as read me The preyful princess pierc'd and prick'd a pretty this letter : it was given me by Costard, and sent pleasing pricket;

me from Don Armado: I beseech you, read it. Some say, a sore; but not a sore, till now made Hol. Fauste, precor gelidâ quando pecus omne sore with shooting.

sub umbra The dogs did yell; put l to sore, then sorel jumps || Ruminat,—and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan! from thicket;

I may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice:

[graphic]

with a paper. .

Venegia, Venegia,

you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, on my Chi non te vede, non te pregia.

privilege I have with the parents of the foresaid Old Mantuan! old Mantuan! Who understandeth

child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto; where thee pot, loves thee not.Ul, re, sol, la, mi, fa.— I will prove those verses to be very unlearned, Cnder pardon, sir, what are the contents ? or, neither savouring of poetry, wit, por invention. I rather, as Horace says in his— What, my soul, beseech your society. verses !

Nath. And thank you too; for society (saith the Nath. Ay, sir, and very learned.

text) is the happiness of life. Hol. Let me hear a staff, a stanza, a verse: lege, Hol. And, certes, the text most infallibly concludes domine.

it.—Sir,-[ To Dull]-I do invite you too: you Nath. If love make me forsworn, how shall I shall not say me nay: pauca verba. Away! the swear to lore?

gentles are at their game, and we will to our recreAh, never faith could hold, if not to beauty ation.

[Exeunt. voued? Though to myself forsuorn, to the rul faithful SCENE III.-Another part of the Same.

prove; Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers

Enter Biron, bowed.

Biron. The king he is hunting the deer; I am Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes, coursing myself: they have pitch'd a toil; I am Where all those pleasures live, that art would

toiling in a pitch-pitch that defiles.

Defile ? a comprehend :

foul word. Well, set thee down, sorrow! for so, If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice.

they say, the fool said, and so say I, and I the fool. Well learned is that longue, that well can thee Well proved, wit! By the lord, this love is as mad commend;

as Ajax: it kills sheep; it kills me, I a sheep. All ignorant that soul, that sees thee without wonder;

Well proved again o'my side! I will not love; if Which is to me some praise, that I thy parls I do, hang me: i'faith, I will not. 0! but her admire.

eye,-by this light, but for her eye, I would not Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dread love her! yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do noful thunder,

thing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By Which, not to anger bent, is music, and sweet heaven, I do love, and it hath taught me to rhyme, fire.

and to be melancholy; and here is part of my rhyme, Celestial, as thou art, 0! pardon, love, this wrong, and here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' That sings heaven's praise with such an earthly my sonnets already: the clown bore it, the fool sent tongue!

it, and the lady hath it: sweet clown, sweeter fool, Hol. You find not the apostrophes, and so miss sweetest lady! By the world, I would not care a the accent: let me supervise the canzonet. Here pin if the other three were in. Here comes one are only numbers ratified; but, for the elegancy, with a paper: God give him grace to groan! facility, and golden cadence of poesy, caret. Ovidius

[Gets up into a tree. Naso was the man: and why, indeed, Naso, but for sinelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy, the

Enter the King, with a paper. jerks of invention? Imitari is nothing: so doth the

King. Ay me! hound his master, the ape his keeper, the 'tired

Biron. (Aside.] Shot, by heaven !—Proceed, horse his rider. But damosella, virgin, was this sweet Cupid : thou hast thump'd him with thy directed to you?

bird-bolt under the left pap.—In faith, secrets !Jaq. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Biron, one of the strange queen's lords.

King. (Reads.] So sweet a kiss the golden sun Hd. I will overglance the superscript. “ To

gives not the snow-white hand of the most beauteous Lady

To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, Rosaline." I will look again on the intellect of the

As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote letter, for the nomination of the party writing to

The night of dew that on my cheeks doun flous : the person written unto: “Your ladyship’s, in all

Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright desired employment, Biron.” Sir Nathaniel, this

Through the transparent bosom of the deep, Biron is one of the votaries with the king; and here

As doth thy face through tears of mine give light; he hath framed a letter to a sequent of the stranger

Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep: queen's, which, accidentally, or by the way of pro

No drop but as a coach doth carry thee ; gression, hath miscarried.—Trip and go, my sweet:

So ridest thou triumphing in my woe.

Do but behold the tears thal suell in me, deliver this paper into the royal hand of the king; it may concern much. Stay not thy compliment;

And they thy glory through my grief will show: I forgive thy duty: adieu.

But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep Jaq. Good Costard, go with me.

2.-Sir, God save

My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. your life!

O queen of queens, how far dost thou ercel ! Cost. Have with thee, my girl.

No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell. [Ereunt Cost. and JAQ. How shall she know my griefs? I'll drop the paper. Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here? very religiously; and, as a certain father saith

(Steps aside. Hol. Sir, tell not me of the father; I do fear colourable colours. But, to return to the verses :

Enter LongAVILLE, with a paper. did they please you, sir Nathaniel ?

[Aside.] What, Longaville! and reading ? listen, Nath. Marvellous well for the pen.

Hol. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain Biron. (Aside.) Now, in thy likeness, one more pupil of mine; where if before repast it shall please fool appear!

ear.

move.

Long. Ay me! I am forsworn.
Biron. [ Aside.) Why, he comes in like a perjurer,

wearing papers, King: (Aside.] In love, I hope. Sweet fellow

ship in shame! Biron. [Aside.] One drunkard loves another of

the name. Long. Am I the first that have been perjur'd so ? Biron. [Aside.] I could put thee in comfort: not

by two that I know. Thou mak'st the triumviry, the corner-cap of soci

ety, The shape of love's Tyburn, that hangs up simpli

city. Long. I fear these stubborn lines lack power to O sweet Maria, empress of my love! These numbers will I tear, and write in prose. Biron. [Aside.) 0! rhymes are guards on wan

ton Cupid's hose : Disfigure not his shape. Long

This same shall go.

[He reads the sonnet. Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,

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

Vous for thee broke deserre not punishment. A woman I forswore; but I will prove,

Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee : My row 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 sun, which on my earth dost

shine,
E.chal'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 wise,
To lose an oath, to win a paradise ?
Biron. [Aside.] This is the liver vein, which

makes flesh a deity ; A green goose, a goddess : pure, pure idolatry. God amend us, God amend! we are much out o'the

way.

Enter DUMAINE, with a paper. Long. By whom shall I send this ?—Company! stay.

[Sleps aside. Biron. (Aside.] All hid, all hid; an old infant

play.
Like a demi-god here sit I in the sky,
And wretched fools' secrets heedfully o'er-eye.
More sacks to the mill! O heavens! I have my wish:
Dumaine transform’d? four woodcocks in a dish!

Dum. O most divine Kate !
Biron. [Aside.] O most profane coxcomb !
Dum. By heaven, the wonder of a mortal eye!
Biron. Aside.) By earth, she is not :—corporal;

there you lie.
Dum. Her amber hairs for foul have amber

quoted.
Biron. [Aside.) An amber-colour'd raven was

well noted.
Dum. As upright as the cedar.
Biron.

[Aside.] Stoop, I say: Her shoulder is with child. Dum.

As fair as day.
Biron. (Aside.) Ay, as some days; but then no

sun must shine.
Dum. O, that I had my wish!
Long.

(Aside.) And I had mine!

King. [Aside.) And I mine too, good lord ! Biron. (Aside.) Amen, so I had mine. Is cot

that a good word ? Dum. I would forget her; but a fever she Reigns in my blood, and will remember'd be. Biron. [å side.] A fever in your blood ! why,

then incision Would let her out in saucers: sweet misprision!

Dum. Once more I'll read the ode that I have writ. Biron. [Aside.] Once more I'll mark how love

can vary wit.
Dum. On a day, alack the day!

Love, whose month is ever May,
Spied a blossom, passing fair,
Playing in the wanton air:
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, 'gan passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow ;
Air, would I might triumph so!
But alack! my hand is suorn,
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
Vow, alack! for youth unmeet,
Youth so apt to pluck a sweet.
Do not call it sin in me,
That I am forsworn for thee;
Thou for whom Jove would sutar
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: (Advancing.] Dumaine, thy love is far

from charity,
That in love's grief desir'st society :
You may look pale, but I should blush, I know,
To be o'erheard, and taken napping so.
King. (Advancing.] Come, sir, you blush; as

his your case is such ;
You chide at him, offending twice as much :
You do not love Maria ; Longaville
Did never sonnet for her sake 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 your fashion,
Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion :
Ay me! says one; O Jove! the other cries;
One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other's eyes:
You would for paradise break faith and troth;

[To LoxgAVILLE. And Jove for your love would infringe an oath.

(To DUMAINE.
What will Biron say, when that he shall hear
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 hypocrisy:-

[Descends from the tree.
Ah, good my liege, I pray thee pardon me:
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'ershot ?
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 have I seen,
Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen!
O me! with what strict patience have I sat,
To see a king transformed to a gnat!
To see great Hercules whipping a gig,
And profound Solomon to tune a jig,
And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys,
And critic Timon laugh at idle toys!
Where lies thy grief? O! tell me, good Dumaine :
And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain ?
And where my liege's ? all about the breast :-
A caudle, ho !

King. Too bitter is thy jest.
Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view?

Biron. Not you by me, but I betray'd to you:
I, that am honest; I, that hold it sin
To break the vow I am engaged in;
I am betray'd, by keeping company
With men, like men of strange inconstancy.
When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme ?
Or groan for love ? 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 state, a brow, a breast, a waist,
A leg, a limb ?-

King. Soft! Whither away so fast ?
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 hast thou there?
Cost. Some certain treason.
King.

What makes treason here?
Cost. Nay, it makes nothing, sir.

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

Jaq. I beseech your grace, let this letter be read: Our parson misdoubts it; 'twas treason, he said. King. Biron, read it over.

(BIRON reads the letter. Where had'st thou it? Jag. Of Costard. King. Where had'st thou it? Cost. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio. King. How now! what is in you? why dost thou

tear it? Biron. A toy, 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.

[Picking up the pieces. Biron. Ah, you whoreson loggerhead !--[ To Cos

TARD]—you were born to do me shame. 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, 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 be gone? King.

Hence, sirs; away! Cost. Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors

stay. (Exeunt CoSTARD and JAQUENETTA. 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 show 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 show some love

of thine ?
Biron. Did they ? quoth you.

Who sees the heavenly Rosaline, That, like a rude and savage man of Inde,

At the first opening of the gorgeous east, Bows not his vassal head; and, stricken blind,

Kisses the base ground with obedient breast? What peremptory, eagle-sighted 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 mistress, is a gracious moon,

She, an attending star, scarce seen a light.
Biron. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I no 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 itself doth seek. Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues,

Fie, painted rhetoric! O! she needs it not : To things of sale a seller's praise belongs ;

She passes praise ; then praise too short doth blot. A wither'd hermit, five-score 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. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony.
Biron. Is ebony like her? O wood divine !

A 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 so black.
King. O paradox! Black is the badge of hell.

The hue of dungeons, and the scowl of night; And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well. Biron. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of

light. 0! if in black my lady's brows be deck'd,

It mourns, that painting, and usurping hair, Should ravish doters with a false aspect;

And therefore is she 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 itself 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.
Dum. Dark needs to candles now, for dark is light.
Biron. Your mistresses dare never come in rain,
For frar their colours should he washid away.

King.

you plain,

face see.

Sworn.

King. 'Twere good, yours did; for, sir, to tell But love, first learned in a lady's eyes,

Lives not alone immured in the brain, I'll find a fairer face not wash'd to-day.

But with the motion of all elements Biron. I'll prove her fair, or talk till doomsday Courses as swift as thought in every power, here.

And gives to every power a double power, King. No devil will fright thee then so much as Above their functions and their offices. she.

It adds a precious seeing to the eye; Dum. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear. A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind; Long. Look, here's thy love: my foot and her | A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound,

When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd : Biron. O! if the streets were paved with thine Love's feeling is more soft, and sensible, eyes,

Than are the tender horns of cockled snails : Her feet were much too dainty for such tread. Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste. Dum. () vile! then, as she goes, what upward lies For valour is not love a Hercules; The street should see, as she walk'd over head. Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? King. But what of this? Are we not all in love ? Subtle as sphinx; as sweet, and musical, Biron. O! nothing so sure; and thereby all for As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his bair;

And, when love speaks, the voice of all the gods King. Then leave this chat: and, good Biron, now Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. prove

Never durst poet touch a pen to write, Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn.

Until his ink were temper'd with love's sighs; Dum. Ay, marry, there; some flattery for this O! then his lines would ravish savage ears, evil.

And plant in tyrants mild humility.
Long. O! some authority how to proceed ; From women's eyes this doctrine I derive:
Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil. They sparkle still the right Promethean fire;
Dum. Some salve for perjury.

They are the books, the arts, the Academes,
Biron.

0! 'tis more than need. That show, contain, and nourish all the world, Have at you, then, affection's men at arms.

Else none at all in aught proves excellent. Consider, what you first did swear unto;

Then, fools you were these women to forswear, To fast,--to study,--and to see no woman:

Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools. Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth. For wisdom's sake, a word that all men love, Say, can you fast? your stomachs are too young, Or for love's sake, a word that loves all men, And abstinence engenders maladies.

Or for men's sake, the authors of these women, And where that you have vow'd to study, lords, Or women's sake, by whom we men are men, Io that each of you hath forsworn his book,

Let us once lose our oaths, to find ourselves,
Can you still dream, and pore, and thereon look ? Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths.
For when would you, my lord, or you, or you, It is religion to be thus forsworn;
Have found the ground of study's excellence, For charity itself fulfils the law,
Without the beauty of a woman's face?

And who can sever love from charity ?
From women's eyes this doctrine I derive:

King. Saint Cupid, then! and, soldiers, to the They are the ground, the books, the Academes,

field! From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire. Biron. Advance your standards, and upon them, Why, universal plodding prisons up

lords ! The nimble spirits in the arteries,

Pell-mell, down with them! but be first advis'd, As motion, and long-during action, tires

In conflict that you get the sun of them. The sinewy vigour of the traveller.

Long. Now to plain-dealing: lay these glozes by Now, for not looking on a woman's face,

Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France ? You have in that forsworn the use of eyes,

King. And win them too: therefore, let us devise And study, too, the causer of your vow;

Some entertainment for them in their tents. For where is any author in the world,

Biron. First, from the park let us conduct then Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye?

thither; Learning is but an adjunct to ourself,

Then, homeward, every man attach the hand And where we are, our learning likewise is : Of his fair mistress. In the afternoon Then, when ourselves we see in ladies' eyes, We will with some strange pastime solace them, With ourselves,

Such as the shortness of the time can shape; Do we not likewise see our learning there?

For revels, dances, masks, and merry hours, O! we have made a vow to study, lords,

Fore-run fair Love, strewing her way with flowers. And in that vow we have forsworn our books;

King. Away, away! no time shall be omitted, For when would you, my liege, or you, or you, That will be time, and may by us be fitted. In leaden contemplation have found out

Biron. Allons! allons ! --Sow'd cockle reap'd no Such fiery numbers, as the prompting eyes

corn; Of beauty's tutors have enrich'd you with ?

And justice always whirls in equal measure : Other slow arts entirely keep the brain,

Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsword; And therefore, finding barren practisers,

If so, our copper buys no better treasure. Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil;

(Ereunt. 26

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