You may look pale; but I fhould blush, I know,
To be o'er-heard, and taken napping fo,

King. Come, Sir, you blush; as his, your cafe is
fuch;
[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 laid his wreathed arms athwart
His loving bofom, to keep down his heart?
I have been closely fhrowded in this bush,
And mark'd 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, cryftal 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 fwear ?
How will he fcorn? How will he spend his wit?
How will he triumph, geap, and laugh at it;
For all the wealth that ever I did fee,

I would not have him know fo much by me,
Biron. Now fter I forth to whip hypocrify.
Ah, good my Liege, I pray thee, pardon me.
[coming forward.
Good heart, what grace has thou thus to reprove
These worms for loving, that are 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;
Tufh; none but minstrels like of fonnetting.
But are you not afham'd? nay, are you not
All three of you, to be thus much o'erfhot?
You found his mote, the King your mote did fee
But I a beam do find in each of three.
O, what a fcene of fool'ry have I feen,
Of fighs, of groans, of forrow, and of teen ?
O me, with what strict patience have I fat,
To fee a king transform'd to a knot!
To fee great Hercules whipping a gigg,
And profound Solomon tuning a jigg!

And Neftor play at pufh-pin with the boys,
And Cynic 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 breaft?
A candle, hoa!

King. Too bitter is thy jeft.

Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view?

Biron. Not you by me, but I betray'd by you. I that am honest, I that hold it fin

To break the vow I am engaged in,

I am betray'd by keeping company
With vane-like men, of ftrange inconftancy.
When fhall you see me write a thing in rhime ?
Or grone for Joan? or spend a minute's time
In pruning me? when fhall you hear, that I
Will praife a hand, a foot, a face, an eye,
A gate, a state, a brow, a breast, a waste,
A leg, a limb?

King. Soft, whither away fo faft?

A true man or a thief, that gallops fo?

Biron. I poft from love; good lover, let me go.

Enter Jaquenetta and Coftard.

Jaq. God bless the King!

King. What prefent haft thou there?

Coft. Some certain treafon.

King. What makes treason here?
Coft. Nay, it makes nothing, Sir.
King. If it mar nothing neither,

The treafon and you go in peace away together. Jaq. I befeech your Grace, let this letter be read, Our Parfon mifdoubts it: it was treafon, he said. King. Biron, read it over.

Where hadft thou it?

Jaq. Of Coftard.

King. Where hadft thou it?

[He reads the letter.

Coft. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.

King. How now, what is in you? why doft thou

tear it?

Biron. A toy, my Liege, a toy your Grace needs

not fear it.

VOL. II.

Long.

Long. It did move him to paffion, and therefore let's

hear it.

Dum. It is Eiron's writing, and here is his name. Biren. Ah, you whorefcn loggerhead, you were born to do me thame. [ Coftard.

Guilty, my Lord, guilty: I confefs, I confefs.

King. What?

Kiron. That you three fools lack'd me fool to make up the mess.

He, he, and you; and you my Liege, and I
Are pick-purfes in leve, and we deferve to die.
O, difmifs this audience, and I fhall tell you more.
Dum. Now the number is even.

Biron. True, true; we are four:
Will thefe turtles be gone? -

King. Hence, Sirs, away.

Coff. Walk afide the true folk, and let the traitors [Exeunt Colt. and Jaquen.

flay.

Biron. Sweet Lords, fweet lovers, O, let us embrace:

As true we are as flesh and blood can be.

The fea will ebb and flow, heaven will fhew his face :
Young blood doth not obey an old decree.

We cannot crofs the caufe why we were born,
Therefore of all hands muft we be forfworn.

King. What, did thefe rent lines fhew fome love of thine?

Biron. Did they, quoth you? Who fees the heavenly Rofaline,

That (like a rude and favage man of Inde,

At the first opening of the gorgeous eaft) Bows not his vaffal head, and, ftrucken blind, Kiffes the bafe ground with obedient breast ?

What peremptory cagle-fighted cye

Dares lock upon the heaven of her brow,

That is not blinded by her majefy?

King. What zeal, what fury, hath infpir'd thee now? My love (her miftrefs) is a gracious moon; She (an attending ftar) fearce feen a light. Biron. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Biron. O, but for my love, day would turn to night.

Of all complexions the cull'd fovereignty

Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek;

Where

Where feveral worthies make one dignity;

Where nothing wants, that want itself doth feek. Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues;

Fie, painted rhetoric! O, the needs it not: To things of fale a feller's praife belongs:

She paffes praife; the praife, too fhort, doth blot, A wither'd hermit, fivefcore winters worn,

Might thake off fifty, looking in her eye:
Beauty doth varnifh age, as if now-born,

And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy;
O, 'tis the fan that maketh all things fhine.
King. By heav'n, thy love is black as ebony..
Biron. Is ebony like her? O wood divine!
A wife of fuch wood were felicity.

O, who can give aħ oath where is a book,
That I may fwear, Beauty doth beauty lack,.
If that the learn not of her eye to lock?

No face is fair, that is not full fo black?
King. O paradox, black is the badge of hell:
The hue of dungeons, and the fcowl of night;
And beauty's crete becomes the heav'ns well.
Biron. Devils fooneft tempt, refembling fpirits of
light:

O, if in black my Lady's brow be deckt,

It mourns, that painting and ufurping hair Should ravifh doaters with a falfe afpect:

And therefore is the 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 difpraife,

Paints itfelf black to imitate her brow. Dum. To look like her are chimney-fweepers black. Long. And fince her time are colliers counted bright. King. And Ethiops of their fweet complexion crack. Dum. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light. Biron. Your miftreffes dare never come in rain,

For fear their colours fhould be wath'd away. King. 'Twere good, your's did: for, Sir, to tell you plain,

I'll find a fairer face not wash'd to-day.

Biron. I'll prove her fair, or talk till dooms-day

King. No devil will fright thee then fo much as she. Dum. I never knew man hold vile stuff fo dear. Long. Look, here's thy love; my foot and her face fee.

Biron. O, if the ftreets were paved with thine eyes, Her feet were much too dainty for such tread. Dum. O vile! then as fhe goes, what upward lies The ftreet fhould fee as fhe walk'd over-head. King. But what of this, are we not all in love? Biron. Nothing fo fure, and thereby all forfworn. King. Then leave this chat; and good Biron now prove

Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn.

Dum. Ay, marry, there; fome flattery for this evil.

Long. O, fome authority how to proceed; Some tricks, fome quillets, how to cheat the devil. Dum. Some falve for perjury.

Biron. O, 'tis more than need.

Have at you then, Affection's men at arms;
Confider what you first did fwear unto :
To faft, to ftudy, and to fee no woman;
Flat treafon 'gainst the kingly state of youth.
Say, can you faft? your stomachs are too young:
And abftinence ingenders maladies.

And where that you have vow'd to study, (Lords),
In that each of you hath forfworn his book,
Can you ftill dream, and pore, and thereon look?
For when would you, my Lord, or you, or you,
Have found the ground of ftudy's excellence,
Without the beauty of a woman's face?
Why, univerfal plodding prifons up
The nimble fpirits in the arteries;
As motion and long-during action tires
The finewy vigour of the traveller.
Now, for not looking on a woman's face,
You have in that forfworn the use of eyes;
And ftudy too, the caufer of your vow.
For where is any author in the world
Teaches fuch duty as a woman's eye
Learning is but an adjunct to ourself;
And where we are, our learning likewise is.

?

Then,