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Enter the King, BIRON, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN.
King. Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives,
That honour, which shall bate his scythe's keen edge,
Long. I am resolv'd : 'tis but a three years' fast; The mind shall banquet, though the body pine: Fat paunches have lean pates; and dainty bits Make rich the ribs, but bank’rout quite the wits.
Dum. My loving lord, Dumain is mortified ;
Biron. I can but say their protestation over,
Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there:
King. Your oath is pass’d to pass away from these.
Biron. Let me say no, my liege, an if you please; I only swore, to study with your grace, And stay here in your court for three years' space.
Long. You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest.
Biron. By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest.What is the end of study ? let me know. King. Why, that to know, which else we should not
mon sense ?
Biron. Come on then, I will swear to study so,
When I to feast expressly am forbid;
When mistresses from common sense are hid :
Study knows that, which yet it doth not know:
King. These be the stops that hinder study quite, And train our intellects to vain delight.
Biron. Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain, Which, with pain purchas’d, doth inherit pain : As, painfully to pore upon a book,
To seek the light of truth; while truth the while
Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile:
By fixing it upon a fairer eye;
And give him light that was it blinded by.
That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks; Small have continual plodders ever won,
Save base authority from others' books. These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights,
That give a name to every fixed star, Have no more profit of their shining nights,
Than those that walk, and wot not what they are. Too much to know, is, to know nought but fame; And every godfather can give a name.
King. How well he's read, to reason against reading! Dum. Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding ! Long. He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the
weeding. Biron. The spring is near, when green geese are a
Dum. How follows that ?
That bites the first-born infants of the spring. Biron. Well, say I am; why should proud summer
King. Well, sit you out: go home, Biron; adieu !
you: And, though I have for barbarism spoke more,
Than for that angel knowledge you can say, Yet confident I'll keep what I have swore,
And bide the penance of each three years' day. Give me the
let me read the same; And to the strict'st degrees I'll write my name. King. How well this yielding rescues thee from
shame! Biron. [Reads.] Item, That no woman shall come within a mile of my court.And hath this been proclaim'd ?
Long. Four days ago.
Biron. Let's see the penalty. [Reads.]-On pain of losing her tongue.--