Enter Biron, with a paper in his hand, alone.

Biron. The King is hunting the deer, I am courfing my felf. They have pitcht a toil, I am toiling in a pitch; pitch, that defiles; defile! a foul word: well, fet thee down, forrow; for fo they fay the fool faid, 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, the hath one o' my fonnets already; the clown bore it; the fool fent it, and the lady hath it: fweet clown, fweeter fool, sweetest 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, fweet Cupid; thou 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 those fresh morning drops upon the rose,
As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have fmote
The night of dew, that on my cheeks down flows;
Nor fhines the filver moon one half fo bright,

Through the tranfparent bofom of the deep,
As doth thy face through tears of mine give light;
Thou shin'ft in every tear that I do weep;

No

No drop, but as a coach doth carry thee,
So rideft thou triumphing in my woe.
Do but behold the tears that swell in me,

And they thy glory through my grief will fhew;
But do not love thy felf, then 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 shall she know my griefs? I'll drop the paper; Sweet leaves, fhade folly. Who is he comes here? [The King steps afide.

Enter Longaville.

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

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

King. In love, I hope; fweet fellowship in shame. Biron. One drunkard loves another of the name. Long. Am I the first, 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 shape of love's Tyburn, that hangs up fimplicity, Long. I fear, these 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 (a) flop.

Long. The fame fhall go.

[be reads the fonnet.

[(a) flop. Mr. Theobald.—Vulg. Shop. ]

Did not the heavenly rhetorick of thine eye
('Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument)
Perfuade my heart to this false 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 doft fhine,
Exbal'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 so wife To lofe an oath to win a Paradife?

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

A green goose a goddefs: 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,

And wretched fools' fecrets headfully o'er-eye:

More facks to the mill! O heav'ns, I have my wish;
Dumain transform'd four woodcocks in a difh?
Dum. O moft divine Kate!

Biron. O most prophane coxcomb!

[afide.

Dum. By heav'n, the wonder of a mortal eye! Biron. By earth, she is (4) but corporal; there you

[afide.

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

[afide. Dum.

[(a) but corporal, Mr. Theobald-Vulg. not corporal.

Dum. As upright as the cedar.

Biron. Stoop, I fay;

Her fhoulder is with child.

Dum. As fair as day.

[afide.

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

fhine.

Dum. O that I had my wifh!

Long. And I had mine!

King. And mine too, good Lord!

[afide.

[afide.

[afide.

[afide.

Biron. Amen, fo I had mine! Is not that a good

word?

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.

Dumain reads his fonnet.

On a day, (alack, the day!)

Love, whofe month is ever May,
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,
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.
Air, (quoth he) thy cheeks may blow
Air, would 1 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 sweet.
Do not call it fin in me,
That I am forfworn for thee:

[afide

Thou,

Thou, for whom ev'n Jove would fwear,
Juno but an Ethiope were;
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.

5

This will I fend, and fomething else more plain,
That fhall exprefs my true love's feftring 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 blufh, I know,
To be o'er-heard, and taken napping fo.

fuch;

King. Come, Sir, you blush; as his, your cafe is [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 fhrowded 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 me! fays one; O Jove! the other cries; Her hairs were gold, crystal the other's eyes. You would for Paradise break faith and troth; And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath. What will Biron fay, when that he fhall hear A faith infringed, which fuch zeal did swear? How will he fcorn? how will he spend his wit? "How will he triumph, geap, and laugh at it?

5

my true love's fafting pain;] I fhould rather chufe to read feftring, rankling.

6 How will be triumph, LEAP, and laugh at it ?] We should certainly read, GEAF, i. e. jeer, ridicule.

For