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You would for paradise break faith and troth;

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

[To DUMAIN. What will Birón say, when that he shall hear A faith infring'd, which such a 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 hypocrisyAh, good my liege, I pray thee pardon me:

[Descends from the tree. Good heart, what grace hast thou, thus to re

prove 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 I have seen,
Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen !2
O me, with what strict patience have I sat,
To see a king transformed to a gnat ! .
To see great Hercules whipping a gigg,
And profound Solomon to tune a jigg,

2 Grief

And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys,
And critick 3 Timon laugh at idle toys !
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 !

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 moon-like men, of strange inconstancy.
When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme ?

for Joan ? or spend a minute's time
In pruning 4 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.

Or groan

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.
King.

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

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Our parson

Jaq. I beseech your grace, let this letter be

read;

misdoubts it; 'twas treason, he said. King. Biron, read it over.

[Giving him the letter. Where hadst thou it?

Jaq. Of Costard.
King. Where hadst 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.

[Picks 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, 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. 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

[Eceunt Cost, and JAQ.

Biron. 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;

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Young blood will 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 heaven-

ly 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 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
Birón :
O, but for my love, day would turn to night!
Of all complexions the cullid 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.

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Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues,

Fye, painted rhetorick! 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. O, if in black my lady's brows be deckt,

It mourns, that painting, and usarping hair, Should ravish doters with a false aspéct;

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,

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