Long. This fame fhall go. [he reads the fonnet. Vows, for thee broke, deferve not panifhment: Thou being a goddess, I forfwore not thee. Thy grace, being gain'd, cures all difgrace in me. If broken then, it is no fault of mine; Biron. This is the liver-vein, which makes flesh a deity; 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 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. 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!) (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 ? K 2 Spy'd Spy'd a bloffom paffing fair, Through the velvet leaves the wind, That I am forfworn for thee: Thou, for whom ev'n Jove would swear, And deny himfelf for Jove, Turning mortal for thy love. This will I fend, and fomething elfe more plain, Would from my forehead wipe a pe1jur'd note: Long. Dumain, thy love is far from charity, That in love's grief defir'ft fociety: [coming forward. King. Come, Sir, you blush; as his, your cafe is fuch; Ay Ay me! fays one; O Jove! the other cries; I would not have him know so much by me. Where lies thy grief? O tell me, good Dumain; 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 am betray'd by keeping company 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. Jaq. God bless the King! King. What prefent haft thou there? Coft. Some certain treafon. 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 O, difmifs this audience, and I fhail tell you more. |