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Long. This fame fhall go. [he reads the fonnet.
Did not the heavenly rhetorick of thine eye
('Gainft whom the world cannot hold argument)
Perfuade my heart to this falfe perjury?

Vows, for thee broke, deferve not panifhment:
A woman I forfwore; 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 difgrace in me.
Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is:
Then thou fair fun, which on my earth doft fhine,
Exhal'ft this vapour-vow; in thee it is;

If broken then, it is no fault of mine;
If by me broke, what fool is not fo wife
To lose an oath to win a Paradife?

Biron. This is the liver-vein, which makes flesh a deity;
A green goofe a goddess: pure, pure idolatry.
God amend us, God amend, we are much out o' th' way.

Enter Dumain.

Long. By whom fhall I fend this?

ftay..

company?

Biron. All hid, all hid, an old infant play; Like a demy God, here fit I in the sky,

And wretched fools fecrets headfully o'er-eye;

More facks to the mill! O heav'ns, I have my wifh; Dumain transform'd? four woodcocks in a dish?

Dum. O moft divine Kate !

Biron. O moft prophane coxcomb!

Dum. By heav'n, the wonder of a mortal eye!

[afide.

their shops, flop-hops.- -Shakespeare knew the term, and has made ufe of it in more than one place. 2 Henr. IV.

What faid Mr. Dembledon about the fattin for my short cloak and

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Much ado about Nothing.

there's a French falutation to your

or in the fhape of two countries at once, as a German from

the wafte downward, all flops: &c.

Biron. By earth, fhe is but corporal; there you lie. (28) [al.de.

Dum. Her amber hairs for foul have amber coted.
Biron. An amber-colour'd raven was well noted.

Lafide.

Dum. As upright as the cedar.

Biron. Stoop, I fay;

Her fhoulder is with child.

[afide.

Dum. As fair as day.

Biron. Ay, as fome days; but then no fun muft fhine.

[afide.

Dum. O that I had my with!

Long. And I had mine!

[afide.

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 the

Reigns in my blood, and will remembred be.

Biron. A fever in your blood! why then, incifion Would let her out in fawcers, fweet mifprifion. [afide. Dum. Once more I'll read the ode, that I have writ. Biron. Once more I'll mark, how love can vary wit. [afide.

Dumain reads his fonnet.

On a day, (alack, the day!)
Love, whofe month is ever May,

(28) By earth, he is not, corporal, there you lie ] Dumaine, one of the lovers in fpite of his vow to the contrary, thinking himself alone here, breaks out into fhort foliloquies of admiration on his mistress; end Biron, who ftands behind as an eves-dropper, takes pleasure in contradicting his amorous raptures. But Dumaine was a young Lord: he had no fort of poft in the army: what wit, or allufion, then, can there be in Biron's calling him corporal? I dare warrant, I have re'for'd the poet's true meaning, which is this. Dumaine calls his miftrefs divine, and the wonder of a mortal eye; and Biron in flat terms denies thefe hyperbolical praises. I foarce need hint, that our poet commonly uses corporal, as corporeal. A paffage, very fimiliar to this, occurs before, betwixt Proteus and Valentine, in the Two Gentlemen of

Verona,

Val. Ev'n fhe; and is the not a beav'nly creature ?
Pro. No: but he is an earthly paragon.

K 2

Spy'd

Spy'd a bloffom paffing fair,
Playing in the wanton air:

Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unfeen, 'gan paffage find;
That the lover, fick to death,
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.,
Air, (quoth he) thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph fo!
But, alack, my hand is fworn,
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,
Youth fo apt to pluck a fweet.
Do not call it fin in me,

That I am forfworn for thee:

Thou, for whom ev'n Jove would swear,
Juno but an Ethiop were;

And deny himfelf for Jove,

Turning mortal for thy love.

This will I fend, and fomething elfe more plain,
That shall exprefs my true love's fafting pain:
O, would the King, Biron and Longaville,
Were lovers too! Ill, to example III,

Would from my forehead wipe a pe1jur'd note:
For none offend, where all alike do dote.

Long. Dumain, thy love is far from charity,

That in love's grief defir'ft fociety: [coming forward.
You may look pale; but I fhould blufh, 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 lay'd his wreathed arms athwart
His loving bofom, to keep down his heart?
I have been clofely fhrouded in this bush,
And markt 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

Ay me! fays one; O Jove! the other cries;
Her hairs were gold, cryftal the other's eyes.
You would for Paradife 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 swear?
How will he fcorn? how will he spend his wit?
How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it?
For all the wealth that ever I did fee,

I would not have him know so much by me.
Ah, good my Liege, I pray thee pardon me.
[Coming forward.
Biron. Now ftep I forth to whip hypocrify.
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 Princefs 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'er-fhot?
You found his mote, the King your mote did fee:
But I a beam do find in each of three.
O, what a scene of fool'ry have I feen,
Of fighs, of groans, of forrow, and of teen ?
O me, with what ftrict patience have I fat,
To fee a King transformed 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 critick Timon laugh at idle toys?

Where lies thy grief? O tell me, good Dumain;
And gentle Longa-ville, where lies thy pain?
And where my Liege's? all about the breast?
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 honeft; I, that hold it fin
To break the vow I am engaged in.

I am betray'd by keeping company
With men, like men, of ftrange inconftancy.
When shall you see me write a thing in rhime?
Or groan 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 ftate, 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 treafon here?
Coff. 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 faid.

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.

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

Dum. It is Biron's writing, and here is his name.. Biron. Ah, you whorefon loggerhead, you were born to do me fhame. [To Collard. Guilty, my Lord, guilty: I confefs, I confefs, King. What?

Biron. That you three fools lack'd me fool to make

up the mefs.

He, he, and you; and you, my Liege, and I
Are pick-purfes in love, and we deferve to die.

O, difmifs this audience, and I fhail tell you more.

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