Ah me says one; O Jove! the other cries; [TO LONG. And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath. [To DUMAIN. What will Birón say, when that he shall hear I would not have him know so much by me. [Descends from the tree. Good heart, what grace hast thou, thus to re eyes prove These worms for loving, that art most in love? O, what a scene of foolery I have seen, • Your eyes do make no coaches;] Alluding to a passage in the king's sonnet: "No drop but as a coach doth carry thee." teen!] i. e. grief. To see a king transformed to a gnat!] Biron is abusing the king for his sonneting like a minstrel, and compares him to a gnat, which always sings as it flies. To see great Hercules whipping a gigg, Where lies thy grief, O tell me, good Dumain? King. Biron. Not you by me, but I betray'd to you: I am betray'd, by keeping company With moon-like men, of strange inconstancy. King. Soft; Whither away so fast? A true man, or a thief, that gallops so? Biron. I post from love; good lover, let me go. Enter JAQUENETTA and CoSTARD. Jaq. God bless the king! King. What present hast thou there? What makes treason here? Cost. Some certain treason. King. — critick Timon-] Critic and critical are used by our author in the same sense as cynic and cynical. In pruning me?] A bird is said to prune himself when he picks and sleeks his feathers. a gait, a state,] State, I believe, in the present instance, is opposed to gait (i. e. the motion) and signifies the act of standing. Cost. Nay, it makes nothing, sir. King. If it mar nothing neither, The treason, and you, go in peace away toge ther. Jaq. I beseech your grace, let this letter be read; Our parson misdoubts it; 'twas treason, he said. King. Biron, read it over. Where hadst thou it? Jaq. Of Costard. [Giving him the letter. King. Where hadst thou it? Cost. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio. King. How now! what is in you? why dost thou tear it? Biron. A toy, my liege, a toy; your grace needs 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 CosTARD.] you were born to do me shame.Guilty, my lord, guilty; I confess, I confess. King. What? Biron. That you three fools lack'd me fool to make up the mess: He, he, and you, my liege, and I, Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die. more. Dum. Now the number is even. Biron. Will these turtles be gone? True true; we are four: Hence, sirs; away. King. Biron. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O let us embrace! 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 of thine? Biron. Did they, quoth you? Who sees the heavenly Rosaline, That, like a rude and savage man of Inde, At the first opening of the gorgeous east, Bows not his vassal head; and, strucken blind, Kisses the base ground with obedient breast? What peremptory eagle-sighted eye Dares look upon the heaven of her brow, That is not blinded by her majesty ? King. What zeal, what fury hath inspir'd thee now? My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon; Biron. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Birón : O, but for my love, day would turn to night! 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,— Fye, painted rhetorick! O, she needs it not: To things of sale a seller's praise belongs; She passes praise; then praise too short doth A wither'd hermit, five-score winters worn, And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy. O, 'tis the sun, that maketh all things shine! O, who can give an oath? where is a book? No face is fair, that is not full so black. The hue of dungeons, and the scowl of night; And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well.3 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. 3 And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well.] i. e. the very top, the height of beauty, or the utmost degree of fairness, becomes the heavens. and usurping hair,] i. e. false hair. |