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, Through the tranfparent bofom of the deep, No No drop, but as a coach doth carry thee, And they thy glory through my grief will fhew; 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. 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. 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 Vows, for thee broke, deferve not punishment: 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; 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, [afide Thou, Thou, for whom ev'n Jove would fwear, 5 This will I fend, and fomething else more plain, Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd note: Long. Dumain, thy love is far from charity, 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 |