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O, what a scene of foolery I have seen,
King. Too bitter is thy jest.
Biron. Not you by me, but I betray'd to you; I, that am honest; I, that hold it sin To break the vow I am engaged in; I am betray'd, by keeping company With moon-like men, of strange inconstancy. When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme? Or groan for Joan? or spend a minute's time In pruning me? When shall you hear that I Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye, A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist, A leg, a limb?King.
Soft; Whither away so fast?
Enter Jaquenetta and CoSTARD.
What present hast thou there? Cost. Some certain treason.
What makes treason here? Cost. Nay, it makes nothing, sir.
If it mar nothing neither, The treason, and you, go in peace away together.
Jaq. I beseech your grace, let this letter be read; Our parson misdoubts it; 'twas treason, he said.
King. Biron, read it over. [Giving him the letter. Where hadst thou it?
Jaq. Of Costard.
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.
[Picks up the pieces. Biron. Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, [To Cos
TARD,] you were born to do me shame.Guilty, my lord, guilty; I confess, I confess.
up the mess :
Dum. Now the number is even.
True, true; we are four:
Hence, sirs; away.
stay. (Exeunt Costard and Jaquenetta. Biron. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O let us em
brace! As true we are, as flesh and blood can be: The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his face;
Young blood will not obey an old decree: We cannot cross the cause why we were born; Therefore, of all hands must we be forsworn. King. What, did these rent lines show some love
At the first opening of the gorgeous east,
Kisses the base ground with obedient breast? What peremptory eagle-sighted eye
Dares look upon the beaven of her brow, That is not blinded by her majesty? King. What zeal, what fury hath inspir'd theo
She, an attending star, scarce seen a light.
Of all complexions the cull'd sovereignty
Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek; Where several worthies make one dignity;
Where nothing wants, that want itself doth seek. Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues,–
Fie, painted rhetorick! O, she needs it not: To things of sale a seller's praise belongs, She passes praise; then praise too short doth
blot. A wither'd hermit, five-score winters worn,
Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye: Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born,
And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy. 0, 'tis the sun, that maketh all things shine!
King. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony.
A wife of such wood were felicity.
That I may swear, beauty doth beauty lack, If that she learn not of her eye to look:
No face is fair, that is not full so black. King. O paradox! Black is the badge of hell,
The hue of dungeons, and the scowl of night; And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well. Biron. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of
light. O, if in black my lady's brows be deckt,
It mourns, that painting, and usurping hair, Should ravish doters with a false aspéct;
And therefore is she 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 light. Biron. Your mistresses dare never come in rain,
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 see.
[Showing his shoe. 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 she walk'd over head. King. But what of this ? Are we not all in love? Biron. O, nothing so sure; and thereby all for