Where lies thy grief, O, tell me, good Dumain?
And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain?
And where my liege's? all about the breast:-
A caudle, ho!

Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view?
Bir. 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 moonlike men, of strange inconstancy.
When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme?
Or groan for Joan? or spend a minute's time
In pruning me? 1 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?

Bir. I post from love: good lover, let me go.

Enter JAQUENETTA and costard.

Jaq. God bless the king!

King. 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.

Where hadst thou it?

Jaq. Of Costard.

King. Where hadst thou it?

[giving him the letter.

Cos. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.

King. How now! what is in you? why dost thou tear it?

Bir. A toy, my liege, a toy; your grace needs not fear it.

Lon. It did move him to passion, and therefore let's hear it.

Dum. It is Biron's writing, and here is his name. [picks up the pieces. Bir. Ah, you whoreson loggerhead! [to Costard.] you were born to do me shame.— Guilty, my lord, guilty; I confess, I confess. King. What?

Bir. 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.
O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you

more.

Dum. Now the number is even.

Bir.

Will these turtles be gone?

True, true; we are four:

King.

Hence, sirs; away.

Cos. Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay. [Exeunt Costard and Jaquenetta. Bir. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, let us em

brace!

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 ?

Bir. 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, strucken 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 inspired thee now?

My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon;

She, an attending star, scarce seen a light. Bir. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Birón: 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 florish 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.
Bir. 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. Bir. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light.

O, if in black my lady's brows be deck'd,

It mourns, that painting, and usurping hair,1 Should ravish doters with a false aspect;

And therefore is she born to make black fair.

1 Alluding to the fashion then prevalent, of wearing false hair, or periwigs.

Her favor 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.

Lon. And, since her time, are colliers counted

bright.

King. And Ethiops of their sweet complexion

crack.

Dum. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is

light.

Bir. Your mistresses dare never come in rain,

For fear their colors should be wash'd away. King. 'Twere good, yours did; for, sir, to tell you plain,

I'll find a fairer face not wash'd to-day.

Bir. I'll prove her fair, or talk till doomsday

here.

King. No devil will fright thee then so much as

she.

Dum, I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear. Lon. Look, here's thy love: my foot and her [showing his shoe.

face see. Bir. O, if the streets were paved with thine eyes, Her feet were much too dainty for such tread ! Dum. O vile! then as she goes, what upward lies The street should see as she walk'd over head. King. But what of this? Are we not all in love? Bir. O, nothing so sure; and thereby all for

sworn.