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Long. This fame shall go. The reads the fonnet,
Did not the heavenly rhetorick of thine eye

('Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument) Perfuade my heart to this false perjury ?

Vows, for thee broke, deserve not panishment:
A woman I forswore ; but I will prove,

Thou being a goddess, I forfwore not thee.
My vow was earthy, thou a heav'niy love:

Thy grace, being gain’d, cures all disgrace in me.
Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is :

Then thou fair fun, which on my earth doft Mine,
Exhal'st this vapour-vow; in thee it is;

If broken then, it is no fault of mine;
If by me broke, what fool is not so wife

To lose an oath to win a Paradise
Biron. This is the liver-vein, which makes flesh a deity;
A green goose a goddess : pure, pure idolatry,
God amend us, God amend, we are much out oth' way.

Enter Dumain. Long. By whom shall I send this? -company?

Biron. All hid, all hid, an old infant play ;
Like a demy God, here fit I in the sky,
And wretched fools secrets headfully o'er-eye:
More facks to the mill! O heav'ns, I have my wish;
Dumain transform’d: four woodcocks in a dish?

Dum. O most divine Kate !
Biron. O most prophane coxcomb!

[afide. Dum. By hear'n, the wonder of a mortal eye! their shops, flop-shops. --Shakespeare knew the term, and has made use of it in mcie than one place. 2 Henr. IV.

What said Mr. Dumbledon about the lattin for my short cloak and

Romeo and Juliet. Signior Romeo, bon jourg. -there's a Frericb falutation to your French Mop. Much ado about Nothing.

or in the shape of two countries at once, as a German from she waste downward, all pops : &C.

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Biron. By earth, she is but corporal; there you lie. (28)

[a/.de. Dum. Her anber hairs for foul have amber coted. Biron. An amber-colour'd raven was well noted.

(afide. Dum. As upright as the cedar.

Biron. Stoop, I say ; Her shoulder is with child.

{afide. Dum. As fair as day. Biron. Ay, as some days; but then no sun must fine.

{aside. Dum. O that I had my with! Long. And I had miné !

[afide. King. And mine too, good Lord!

afd. Biron. Amen, so I had mine! Is not that a good word?

{ande. 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, incision
Would let her out in fawcers, sweet inisprision. [afide.

Dum. Once more I'll read the ode, that I have writ.
Biron, Once more I'll mark, how love can vary wit.

Dumain reads his sonnet.
On a day, (alack, the day!)

Love, whole month is ever May,
(28) By earth, she is not, corporal, there you lie ] Dunaire, one of
the lovers in spite of his vow to the contrary, thinking himself alone
here, breaks out into short soliloquies of admiration on his mistress;
end Biron, who stands behind as an eves-dropper, takes pleasure in con-
tradicting his amorous raptures. But Dumaine was a young Lord: he
had no sort of poft in the army: what wit, or allusion, then, can
there be in Biron's calling him corporal? I dare warrant, I have re-
fror'd the poet's true meaning, which is this. Dumaine calls his mis.
tress divine, and the wonder of a mortal eye; and Biron in lat terms
denies these-hyperbolical praises. I scarce need hint, that our poet
commonly uses corporal, as corporeal. A paffage, very fimiliar to this,
occurs before, bet wixt Proteus and Valentine, in the Two Gentlemen of

Val, Ev'n The; and is the not a beav’rly creatare?
Pro, No: but the is an earthly paragon.



Spy'd a bloffom pafing fair,
Playing in the wanton air:
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unteen, 'gan partage find;
That the lover, fick to death,
Wim'd himself the heaven's breath.,
Air, (quoth he) thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so!
But, alack, my hand is sworn,
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,
Youth so apt to pluck a sweet.
Do not call it fin in me,
That I ain forfworn for thee:
Thou, for whom ev'n Yove would swear,
Juno but an Ethiop were ;
And deny nimself for Jove,

Turning mortal for thy love,
This will I send, and something else more plain,
That shall express my true love's fasting pain :
O, vould the King, Biron and Longaville,
Were lovers too! ill, to example ill,
Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd note :
For none offend, where all alike do dote.

Long. Dumain, thy love is far from charity,
'That in love's grief desir'it fociety: coming forward.
You may look pale; but I should blush, I know,
To be o'er-heard, and taken napping fo.
King. Come, Sir, you bluih; as his, your case is such;

{coming forward.
You chide at him, offending twice as much.
You do not love Maria? Longaville
Did never sonnet for her fake compile.
Nor never lay'd his wreathed arms athwart
His loving bosom, to keep down his heart?
I have been closely shrouded in this bush,
And markt you both, and for you both did blush.
I heard your guilty rhimes, observ’d your fashion ;
Saw fighs reek from you, noted well your passion.



Ay me! says one ; O Jove! the other cries;
Her hairs were gold, crystal the other's eyes.
You would for Paradise break faith and troth;
And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath.
What will Biron say, when that he fhall hear
A faith infringed, which such zeal did swear?
How will he scorn? how will he spend his wit ?
How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it?
For all the wealth that ever I did see,
I would not have him know so much by me.
Ah, good my Liege, I pray thee pardon me.

[Coming forward.
Biron. Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy.
Good heart, what grace haft thou thus to reprove
These worms for loving, that art most in love i

do make no coaches in your tears,
There is no certain Princess that appears?
You'll not be perjur'd, 'tis a hateful thing ;
Tuh; none but minstrels like of sonnetting.
But are you not asham’d? nay, are you not
All three of you, to be thus much o'er-shot ?
You found his mote, the King your mote did see:
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 sorrow, and of teen?
O me, with what strict patience have I fat,
To see a King transformed to a knot!
To see great Hercules whipping a gigg,
And profound Solomon tuning a jigg?
And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys,
And crítick Timon laugh at idle toys

Where lies thy grief? O tell me, good Dumain;
And gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain.
And where my Liege's ? all about the breast?
A candle, hoa!

King. Too bitter is thy jest.
Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view ?

Biron. Not you by me, but I betray'd by you.
I, that am honeft; ), that hold it sin
To break the vow I am engaged in.

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I am betray'd by keeping company
With men, like men, of strange 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 praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye,
A gate, a state, 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 Costard.
Jaq. God bless the King !
King. What present hast thou there?
Colt. Some certain treason.
King. What makes treason here?
Coff. Nay, it makes nothing, Sir.
King. If it mar nothing neither,
The treason and you go in peace away together.

Jag. 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 tbe letter Where hadft thou it?

Jaq. Of Coftard.
King. Where hadft thou it ?
Coft. 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. Biron. Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, you were born to do me shame.

(To Coltard. Guilty, my Lord, guilty: I confefs, I confefs,

King. What?
Biron. That you three fools lack'd me fool to inake

up the mefs.
He, he, and you; and you, my Liege, and I
Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die.
O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more.


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