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For all the wealth that ever I did fee,
Biron. Now step I forth to whip hypocrisie.
[coming forward. Good heart, what grace haft thou thus to reprove These worms for loving, that art 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;
King. Too bitter is thy jest.
Biron. Not you by me, but I betray'd by you.
CRITIC Timon--] ought evidently to be cynic.
When shall you see me write a thing in rhime?
King. Soft, whither away fo faft?
Enter Jaquenetta and Costard.
King. If it mar nothing neither,
Jaq. I beseech your Grace, let this letter be read, Our Parson misdoubts it: it was treason, he said.
King. Biron, read it over. [He reads the letter. Where hadft thou it?
Jaq. Of Coftard.
not fear it. Long. It did move him to passion, and therefore
let's hear it. Dum. It is Biron's writing, and here is his name. Biron. Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, you were born to do me shame.
[Tó Coftard. Guilty, my lord, guilty: I confess, I confess.
up the mess. Vol. II,
He, he, and you; and you, my liege, and I
Biron. True, true; we are four :
King. Hence, Sirs, away. Cost. Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay.
[Exeunt Coft. and Jaquen. Biron. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, let us embrace:
As true aś we are, as flesh and blood can be. The sea will ebb and flow, heaven will shew his face:
Young blood doth not obey an old decree. We cannot cross the cause why we were born, Therefore of all hands must we be forfworn. King. What, did these rent lines fhew fome love of
At the first opening of the gorgeous eaft)
Kisses the base ground with obedient breaft? What peremptory eagle-fighted eye
Dares look upon the heaven of her brow,
O, but for my love, day would turn to night. Of all complexions the culld Sovereignty
Do meet, as at a Fair, in her fair cheek; Where several worthies make one dignity;
Where nothing wants, that want it self doth feek.
Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues ;
Fie, painted rhetorick! O, she needs it not :
She passes praise; the praise, too short, doth blot,
Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye:
And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy;
King. By heav'n, thy love is black as ebony,
A wife of such wood were felicity.
That I may swear, Beauty doth beauty lack,
No face is fair, that is not full so black?
The hue of dungeons, and the scowl of night;
9 Is ebony like her? O WORD divine ! ] We should read, O wood divine.
black is the badge of hell: The hue of dungeons, and the SCHOOL of night ;] We Thould read, the scowl of night, i. e. the frown.
2 And beauty's CREST becomes the heavens well.] This is a contention between two lovers about the preference of a black or white beauty. But, in this reading, he who is contending for the white, takes for granted the thing in dispute ; by saying, that white is the cres of beauty. His adversary had just as much season to call black so. The question debated between them being which was the crest of beauty, black or white. Shakespear çould never write so absurdly: Nor has the Oxford Editor at all mended the matter by substituting dress for cref. We should read,
And beauty's Crete becomes the heavens well, i, e. beauty's white from sreta. In this reading the third line is a VOL. II,
O, if in black my lady's brow be deckt,
It mourns, that Painting and usurping Hair Should ravish doters with a false aspect :
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 dispraise,
Paints itself black to imitate her brow. Dum. To look like her, are chimney-sweepers
black. Long. And since her time, are colliers counted
bright. King. And Ethiops of their sweet complexion crack. Dum. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is
For fear their colours should be wash'd away. King. 'Twere good, yours 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
here. King. No devil will fright thee then so much as
she. Dum. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear. Long. Look, here's thy love ; my foot and her face
fee. Biron. O, if the streets were paved with thine
eyes, Her feet were much too dainty for such tread. Dum. O vile! then as she goes, what upward lies
The street should see as the walkt over head.
proper antithesis to the firit. I suppose the blunder of the tranfcriber arose from hence, the french word crefie in that pronun. ciation and orthography is créte, which he understanding, and knowing nothing of the other signification of crete from creta, critically altered it to the English way of spelling, crefte.