Imatges de pÓgina

and golden cadence of poesy, caret. Ovidius Naso was the man.

And why, indeed, Nafo; but for smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy? the jerks of invention ? imitari, is nothing: fo doth the hound hiş master, the ape his keeper, the try'd horse his rider. But, Damosella Virgin, was this dire&tly to you?

Jaq. Ay, Sir, from one Monsieur Biron, to one of the strange Queen's ladies.

Hol. I will overglance the superscript. To the fnowwhite band of the most beauteous Lady Rosaline. I will look again on the intellect of the letter, for the nomination of the party writing to the person written unto.

Your Ladyship’s in all desired employment, BIRON. This Biron is one of the votaries with the King; and here he hath fram'd a letter to a sequent of the stranger Queen's, which accidentally, or by the way of progres. fion, hath mifcarry'd. Trip and go, my sweet; deliver this paper into the hand of the King; it may concern much; stay not thy compliment; I forgive thy duty: adieu.

Jaq. Good Costard, go with me. Sir, God save Coft. Have with thee, my girl.

[Exeunt Coft, and Jaq. Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very religiously: and as a certain father faith

Hol. Sir, tell not me of the father, I do fear colourable colours. But, to return to the verses; did they please you, Sir Nathaniel ?

Nath. Marvellous well for the pen.

Hol. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain pupil of mine; where if (being repast) it shall please you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, on my privilege I have with the parents of the aforesaid child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto; where will I prove those verses to be very unlearned, neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention. I beseech your fociety.

Nath. And thank you too: for society (faith the text) is the happiness of life.


your life.

· Hol. And, certes, the text most infallibly concludes it. Sir, I do invite you too ; [To Dull.] you shall not say me, Nay: Pauca berba. Away, the gentles are at their game, and we will to our recreation.

[Exeunt. S CE N E IV.

Enter Biron, with a paper in his hand, alone. Biron. The King is hunting the deer, I am courfing myself. They have pitcht a toil, I am toiling in a pitch; pitch, that defiles; defile ! a fouł word: well, set thee down, forrow;' for so they say 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. sheep, it kills me, I a sheep. 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 lye, and lye 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 sonnets already; the clown bore it; the fool sent it, and the lady hath it: sweet clown, sweeter 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 grone !

[He stands aside. Enter the King. King. Ay me !

Biron. Shot, by heav'n ! proceed, sweet Cupid ; thou hast thumpt him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap: in faith, secrets.King [reads.] So sweet a kiss the golden fun gives

not To those fresh morning-drops upon the rofe, As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote

The night of dew, that on my cheeks down flows; Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright, Through the transparent bofom of the deep,


As doth thy face through tears of mine give light;

Thou shin'st 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 swell in me,

And they thy glory thro' my grief will shew;
But do not love thyself, then thou wilt keep
My tears for glasses, and still make me weep.
O Queen of Queens, how far dost thou excel !
No thought can think, no tongue of mortal tell.
How shall she know my griefs? I'll drop the paper ;
Sweet leaves shade folly. Who is he comes here?

[The King steps aside.

Enter Longaville.
What! Longaville! and reading ! listen, 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

King. In love, I hope ; sweet fellowship in shame.
Biron. One drunkard loves another of the name.
Long. Am I the first that have been perjur'd so?
Biron. I could put thee in comfort : not by two that

I know;
Thou mak'st the triumviry, the three-corner-cap of

The shape of love's Tyburn, that hangs up simplicity.

Long. I fear, these stubborn lines lack power to
O fweet Maria, Empress of my love,
These numbers will I tear, and write in prose.
Biron. O, rhimes are guards on wanton Cupid's

hofe :
Disfigure not his flop.

Long. The same shall go. [He reads the fonnet.



[ocr errors]

Did not the hear'enly rhetoric of thine eye.

(Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument) Perfuade my heart to this false perjury?

Vows, for thee broke, deserve not punishment :



[ocr errors]

A woman I forswore; 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 disgrace in me. Vors are but breath, and breath a vapour is;

Then thou fair fun, which en my earth doft line, Exhalft 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 life an oath to win a paradife?

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

deity; A green goose a goddess : pure, pure idolatry. God amend us, God amend, we are much out o'th' way.

Enter Dumain. Long. By whom shall I send this?

-company i stay. Biron. All hid, all hid, an old infant play ; Like a demy-god, here fit I in the sky, And wretched fools' secrets headfully o’er-eye: More facks to the mill! O heav'ns, I have my wish; Dumain transform’d, four woodcocks in a dish ?

Dum. O molt divine Kate !
Biron. O most profane coxcomb!

[afide. Dim. By heav'n the wonder of a mortal eye ! Biron. By earth she is but corporal; there you lye.

[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 shoulder is with child.

Dum. As fair as day.
Biron. Ay, as some days; but then no fun must

Dum. O that I had my wish!
Long. And I had mine!




King. And mine too, good Lord !

[afide. 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, incision Would let her out in fawcers, tweet misprision. [afide. Dam. 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 funnet.
On a day, ( alack, the day ! )
Love whole mouth is ever May,
Spy'd a blolon pasing fair,
Playing in the wanton air :
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, 'gan passage find;
That the lover, fick to death,
Willi'd himself the heaven's breath.
Air, (quoth he), thy cheeks may blow
Air, would I might triumph fo!
But, alack, my hand is fwaan,
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn :
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,
Youth ro apt to pluck a sweet.
Do not call it fin in me,
That I am forsworn for thee:.
Thou, for whom ev'n fove wou'd wear,
Juno but an Ethiope were ;
And deny himself for Jove,

Turning mortal for thy love.
This will I fend, and something else more plain.
That shall express my true love's festring pain;
0, 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 doat.

Long. Dumain, thy love is far from charity,
That in love's grief desir't fociety: [coming firward.


« AnteriorContinua »