Cath. Not so, my lord, a twelve-month and a day, Dum. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then. Mar. At the twelve-month's end, Long. I'll stay with patience ; but the time is long. Biron. Studies my lady ? mistress, look on me, Ros. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Biron, you for a man replete with mocks ; of your wit: Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of death? Rof: Why, that's the way to choak a gibing spirit, your And And I will have you, and that fault withal : fall, I'll jest a twelve-month in an Hospital. Prin. Ay, sweet my lord, and so I take my leave. [to the King. King. No, Madam ; we will bring you on your way. Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old Play ; Jack hath not Jill; these ladies' courtesie Might well have made our sport a Comedy. King. Come, Sir, it wants a twelve-month and a day, And then 'twill end. Biron. That's too long for a Play. Enter Armado. Arm. Sweet Majefty, vouchsafe me Arm. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. I am a Votary; I have vow'd to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her sweet love three years. But, moft esteemid Greatness, will you hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled, in praise of the owl and the cuckow ? it should have follow'd in the end of our Show. King. Call them forth quickly, we will do so. Enter all, for the Song. This fide is Hiems, winter. This Ver, the spring : the one maintain'd by the owl, The other by the cuckow. Ver, begin. The The SON G. SPRING. And lady-smocks all filver white, Do paint the meadows with delight ; Cuckow ! cuckow ! O word of fear, When shepherds pipe on oaten fraws, And merry larks are ploughmens' clocks: And maidens bleach their summer smocks; Cuckow ! cuckow ! O word of fear, W I N T E R. 1 When ificles hang by the wall, And Dick the Depherd blows his nail; And milk comes frozen home in pail; A merry note, When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the Parson's faw.;. When When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, A merry note, While greafie Jone doth keel the pot. Arm. The words of Mercury Are harsh after the Songs of Apollo : You, that way; we, this way. [Exeunt omnes. AS |