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Catb. Not so, my lord, a twelve month and a day, I'll mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers say. Come, when the King doth to my lady come; Then if I have much love, I'll give you some.
Dum. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then.
Biron. Studies my lady? mistress, look on me,
Rof. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Biron,
Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of death!
Res. Why, that's the way to choak a gibing spirit Whose influence is begot of that loose grace, Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools : A jeft's profperity lies in the ear of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it: then, if fickly ears, Deaft with the clamours of their own dear groans, Will hear your idle scorns; continue then,
And I will have you, and that fault withal :
fall, T'll jeft a twelve-month in an Hospital. Prin. Ay, sweet my lord, and fo I take my leave.
[to the King King. No, Madam ; we will bring you on your way. Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old Play : Jack hath not Jill; these ladies' courtefie Might well have made our sport a Comedy.
King. Come, Sir, it wants a twelve-month and a day, And then 'twill end.
Biron. That's too long for a Play.
Arm. Sweet Majesty, vouchsafe me
Arm. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. I am a Votary; I have vow'd to J aquenetta to hold the plough for her sweet love three years. But, most esteem'd Greatness, will you hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled, in praise of the owl and the cuckow ? it should have follow'd in the end of our Show.
King. Call them forth quickly, we will do so.
Enter all, for the Song.
This fide is Hiems, winter.
The SON G.
SPRING. When daizies pied, and violets blue,
And lad mocks all filver white, And cuckow.buds of yellow hue,
Do paint the meadows with delight;
Cuckow! cuckow ! O word of fear,
When shepherds pipe on oaten Araws,
And merry larks are ploughmens' clocks :
And maidens bleach their summer smocks 3;
Cuckow ! cuckow ! O word of fear,
And Dick the bepherd blows his nail;
A merry note,
When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the Parson's faw ; And birds fit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw ;.
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
While greafie Jone doth keel the pot. Arm. The words of Mercury Are harsh after the Songs of Apollo : You, that way; we, this way. [Exeunt omnes,