pitch; pitch, that defiles; defile! a foul word: well, et thee down; forrow; for fo they fay the fool said, 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 fheep. 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 lie, and lie 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, tweetest 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 groan! {He ftands afide.

King. Ay me!

Enter the King.

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

King. [reads. So fweet a kifs the golden fun gives not
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 fhi..es the filver moon one half fo bright,

Through the transparent bufom of the deep,
As doth thy face through tears of mine give lights
Thou fhin'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 through my grief will fhew;
But do not love thyfelf, ther 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

How fhall fhe know my griefs? I'll drop the paper: Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here? [The King fieps afide.

Enter Longaville.

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

Biron. Why, he comes in like a Perjure, wearing papers. (26)

King. In love, I hope; fweet fellowship in flame. Biron. One drunkard loves another of the name. Long. Am I the firft, 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 fhape of love's Tyburn, that hangs up fimplicity.

Long. I fear, thefe stubborn lines lack power to move: O fweet Maria, Emprefs of my love,

These numbers will I tear, and write in profe.

Biron. O, rhimes are guards on wanton Cupid's hofe: Disfigure not his flop. (27)

Long.

(26.) Why be comes in like a perjur'd, wearing papers.] All the editions, that I have feen, give us a nonfenfical adjective here, except the firft old Folio, and a Quarto impreffion of this play publish'd in 1623 in both which it is rightly, as I have regulated the text, a perjure. So in the troublefome reign of K. Jobn, in two parts.

But now black-fpotted perjure as he is.

In like manner the French make a fubftantive of this word, un parjure: i. e. a forfworn wretch.

(27) Ob, rbimes are guards on wanton Cupid's bofe;

Disfigure not bis fhop.] All the editions happen to concur in this error; but what agreement in fenfe is there betwixt Cupid's bofe and his fhop? or, what relation can thofe two terms have to one another? or, what, indeed, can be understood by Cupid's fhop? It must undoubtedly be corrected, as I have reform'd the text. Slops are large and wide-kneed breeches, the garb in fashion in our author's days, as we may obferve from old family pictures; but they are now worn only by boors and fea-faring men and we have dealers whofe fole bufinefs it is to furnish the failors with shirts, jackets, &c. who are call'd, flop-men ; and VOL. IL

:

K

their

Long. This fame fhall go..

[he reads the fonnet. Did not the heavenly rhetorick 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 goddess, 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 doth shine,
Exhal'ft 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 lose an oath to win a Paradife ?

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

A green goofe a goddess: pure, pure idolatry.

God amend us, God amend, we are much out o'th'way.

Enter Dumain.

Long. By whom fhall I fend this?

ftay.

company;

Biron. All hid, all hid, an old infant play; Like a demy God, here fit I in the sky,

my with

And wretched fools fecrets heedfully o'er-eye :
More facks to the mill! O heav'ns, I have
Dumain transform'd ? four woodcocks in a dish ?
Dum. O moft divine Kate!

Biron. O moft prophane coxcomb!

Dum. By heav'n, the wonder of a mortal eye!

their fhops, flop-hops.

;

[afide.

-Shakespeare knew the term, and has made

use of it in more than one place. 2 Henr. IV.

What faid Mr. Dombledon about the fattin for my fhort cloak and

flops?

Romeo and Juliet.

Signior Romeo, bon jour ;

French flop.

Much ado about Nothing.

-there's a French falutation to your

or in the shape of two countries at once, as a German from

the waist downward, all flops &c.

Biron. By earth, she is but corporal; there you lie. (28)

[afide.

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

[afide.

Dum. As upright as the cedar.

Biron. Stoop, I fay;

Her fhoulder is with child.

[afide.

Dum. As fair as day.

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

[afide.

Dum. O that I had my wish!

Long. And I had mine!

[afide.

King. And mine too, good Lord!

Lafide.

Biron. Amen, fo I had mine; Is not that a good word?

[afide.

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 writ. Biron. Once more I'll mark, how love can vary wit. [afide.

Dumain reads his fonnet.

On a day, (alack, the day!)

Love, whose month is ever May.

(28) By earth, he is not, corporal, there you lie ] Dumaine, one of the lovers in fpite of his vow to the contrary, thinking himself alone here, breaks out into fhort foliloquies of admiration on his mistress and Biron, who stands behind as an eves-dropper, takes pleasure in contradicting his amorous raptures. But Dumaine was a young Lord: he had no fort of poft in the army: what wit, or allufion, then, can there be in Biron's calling him corporal? I dare warrant, I have reftor'd the poet's true meaning, which is this. Dumaine calls his miftress divine, and the wonder of a mortal eye; and Biron in flat terms denies thefe hyperbolical praises. I fcarce need hint, that our poet commonly uses corporal, as corporeal. A paffage, very fimilar to this, occurs before, betwixt Proteus and Valentine, in the Two Gentlemen of Verona.

Val. Ev'n fhe; and is fhe not a heav'nly creature ?
Pro. No: but he is an earthly paragon.
K 2

Spy'd

Spy'd a bloffom paffing fair,
Playing in the wanton air:

Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unfeen, 'gan paffage 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 would swear,
Juno but an Ethiop were;

And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.

This will I fend, and fomething elfe more plain,
That fhall exprefs. 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. Dumain, thy love is far from charity,
That in love's grief defir'ft fociety:

[coming forward. You may look pale; but I fhould blush, I know,

To be o'er-heard, and taken napping fo.

King. Come, Sir, you blufh; as his, your cafe is fuch:

[coming forward.

You chide at him, offending twice as much.

You do not love Maria? Longaville
Did never fonnet for her fake compile.
Nor never lay'd his wreathed arms athwart
His loving bofom, to keep down his heart?
I have been closely shrouded in this bush,
And markt you both, and for you both did blush.
I heard your guilty rhimes, obferv'd your fashion;
Saw fighs reek from you, noted well your paffion.

Ay