Scene 1
SCENE, a Pavilion in the Park near the Palace.
Enter the Princess, Rosaline, Maria, Catharine, Lords, Attendants, and a Forester.
Princess.
Was that the King, that spur'd his horse so hard
Against the steep uprising of the hill?
-- 122 --
Boyet.
I know not; but, I think, it was not he.
Prin.
Who e'er he was, he shew'd a mounting mind.
Well, lords, to day we shall have our dispatch;
On Saturday we will return to France.
Then Forester, my friend, where is the bush,
That we must stand and play the murtherer in?
For.
Here by, upon the edge of yonder coppice;
A stand, where you may make the fairest shoot.
Prin.
I thank my beauty, I am fair, that shoot:
And thereupon thou speak'st the fairest shoot.
For.
Pardon me, madam: for I meant not so.
Prin.
What, what? first praise me, then again say, no?
O short-liv'd pride! not fair? alack, for wo!
For.
Yes, madam, fair.
Prin.
Nay, never paint me now;
Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow.
Here, good my glass, take this for telling true;
Fair payment for foul words is more than due.
For.
Nothing but fair is that, which you inherit.
Prin.
See, see, my beauty will be sav'd by merit.
O heresie in fair, fit for these days!
A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.
But come, the bow; now mercy goes to kill,
And shooting well is then accounted ill.
Thus will I save my credit in the shoot,
Not wounding, Pity would not let me do't:
If wounding, then it was to shew my Skill;
That more for praise, than purpose, meant to kill.
And, out of question, so it is sometimes;
Glory grows guilty of detested crimes;
When for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part,
We bend to that the working of the heart.
As I for praise alone now seek to spill
The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill.
Boyet.
Do not curst wives hold that self-soveraignty
Only for praise-sake, when they strive to be
Lords o'er their lords?
Prin.
Only for praise; and praise we may afford
To any lady, that subdues her lord.
-- 123 --
Enter Costard.
Boyet.
Here comes a member of the commonwealth.
Cost.
God dig-you-den all; pray you, which is the
head lady?
Prin.
Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest
that have no heads.
Cost.
Which is the greatest lady, the highest?
Prin.
The thickest and the tallest.
Cost.
The thickest and the tallest? it is so, truth is truth.
An your waste, mistress, were as slender as my wit,
One o' these maids girdles for your waste should be fit.
Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickest here.
Prin.
What's your will, Sir? what's your will?
Cost.
I have a letter from Monsieur Biron, to one lady Rosaline.
Prin.
O thy letter, thy letter: he's a good friend of mine.
Stand aside, good bearer.—Boyet, you can carve;(19) note
Break up this capon.
Boyet.
I am bound to serve.
This letter is mistook, it importeth none here;
It is writ to Jaquenetta.
Prin.
We will read it, I swear.
Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.
-- 124 --
Boyet reads.
By heaven, that thou art fair, is most infallible;
true, that thou art beauteous; truth it self, that
thou art lovely; more fairer than fair, beautiful than
beauteous, truer than truth it self; have commiseration
on thy heroical vassal. The magnanimous and
most illustrate King Cophetua set eye upon the pernicious
and indubitate beggar Zenelophon; and he it was
that might rightly say, veni, vidi, vici; which to anatomize
in the vulgar, (O base and obscure vulgar!)
videlicet, he came, saw, and overcame; he came, one;
saw, two; overcame, three. Who came? the King.
Why did he come? to see. Why did he see? to overcome.
To whom came he? to the beggar. What
saw he? the beggar. Who overcame he? the beggar.
The conclusion is victory; on whose side? the King's;
the captive is inrich'd: on whose side? the beggar's.
The catastrophe is a nuptial: on whose side? the
King's? no, on both in one, or one in both: I am
the King, (for so stands the comparison) thou the
beggar, for so witnesseth thy lowliness. Shall I command
thy love? I may. Shall I enforce thy love? I
could. Shall I entreat thy love? I will. What shalt
thou exchange for rags? robes; for tittles? titles: for
thy self? me. Thus expecting thy reply, I prophane
my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy picture, and my
heart on thy every part.
Thine in the dearest design of industry,
Don Adriano de Armado.
Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar
'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey;
Submissive fall his princely feet before,
And he from forage will incline to play.
But if thou strive (poor soul) what art thou then?
Food for his rage, repasture for his den.
Prin.
What plume of feathers is he, that indited this letter?
What vane? what weathercock? did you ever hear better?
-- 125 --
Boyet.
I am much deceived, but I remember the stile.
Prin.
Else your memory is bad, going o'er it ere while.
Boyet.
This Armado is a Spaniard that keeps here in Court,
A phantasme, a monarcho, and one that makes sport
To the Prince and his book-mates.
Prin.
Thou, fellow, a word:
Who gave thee this letter?
Cost.
I told you; my lord.
Prin.
To whom should'st thou give it?
Cost.
From my lord to my lady.
Prin.
From which lord to which lady?
Cost.
From my lord Berown, a good master of mine,
To a lady of France, that he call'd Rosaline.
Prin.
Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, away.
Here, sweet, put up this; 'twill be thine another day.
[Exit Princess attended.
Boyet.
Who is the shooter? who is the shooter?
Rosa.
Shall I teach you to know?
Boyet.
Ay, my continent of beauty.
Rosa.
Why, she that bears the bow. Finely put off.
Boyet.
My lady goes to kill horns: but if thou marry,
Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry.
Finely put on.—
Rosa.
Well then; I am the shooter.
Boyet.
And who is your Deer?
Rosa.
If we chuse by horns, your self; come not near.
Finely put on, indeed.—
Mar.
You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the brow.
Boyet.
But she her self is hit lower. Have I hit her now?
Rosa.
Shall I come upon thee with an old saying,
that was a man when King Pippin of France was a
little boy, as touching the hit it.
Boyet.
So I may answer thee with one as old, that
was a woman when Queen Guinover of Britain was a
little wench, as touching the hit it.
-- 126 --
Rosa.
Thou can'st not hit it, hit it, hit it.
[Singing.
Thou can'st not hit it, my good man.
Boyet.
An I cannot, cannot, cannot;
An I cannot, another can.
[Exit Rosa.
Cost.
By my troth, most pleasant; how both did fit it.
Mar.
A mark marvellous well shot; for they both did hit it.
Boyet.
A mark? O, mark but that mark! a mark, says my lady;
Let the mark have a prick in't, to meet at, if it may be.
Mar.
Wide o' th' bow-hand; i'faith, your hand is out.
Cost.
Indeed, a' must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er hit the clout.
Boyet.
An if my hand be out, then belike your hand is in.
Cost.
Then will she get the upshot by cleaving the pin.
Mar.
Come, come, you talk greasily; your lips grow foul.
Cost.
She's too hard for you at pricks, Sir, challenge her to bowl.
Boyet.
I fear too much rubbing; good night, my good owl.
[Exeunt all but Costard.
Cost.
By my soul, a swain; a most simple clown.
Lord, Lord! how the ladies and I have put him down!
O' my troth, most sweet jests, most incony vulgar wit,
When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it were, so fit.
Armado o' th' one side,—O, a most dainty man;
To see him walk before a lady, and to bear her fan.
To see him kiss his hand, and how most sweetly he will swear:
And his Page o' t'other side, that handfull of Wit;
Ah, heav'ns! it is a most pathetical Nit.
[Exit Costard.
-- 127 --
[Shouting within.
Enter Dull, Holofernes, and Sir Nathaniel.
Nath.
Very reverend sport, truly; and done in the
testimony of a good Conscience.
Hol.
The deer was (as you know) sanguis, in blood;
ripe as a pomwater, who now hangeth like a jewel in
the ear of Cœlo, the sky, the welkin, the heav'n; and
anon falleth like a crab on the face of Terra, the soil,
the land, the earth.
Nath.
Truly, master Holofernes, the epithets are
sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least: but, Sir, I
assure ye, it was a buck of the first head.
Hol.
Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.
Dull.
'Twas not a haud credo, 'twas a pricket.
Hol.
Most barbarous intimation; yet a kind of insinuation,
as it were in via, in way of explication; facere,
as it were, replication; or rather, ostentare, to show,
as it were, his inclination; after his undressed, unpolished,
uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or rather unlettered,
or ratherest unconfirmed fashion, to insert
again my haud credo for a deer.
Dull.
I said, the deer was not a haud credo; 'twas a
pricket.
Hol.
Twice sod simplicity, bis coctus; O thou monster
ignorance, how deformed dost thou look?
Nath.
Sir, he hath never fed on the dainties that
are bred in a book. He hath not eat paper, as it
were; he hath not drunk ink. His intellect is not replenished.
He is only an animal, only sensible in the
duller parts;(20) note and such barren plants are set before
-- 128 --
us, that we thankful should be for those parts, (which
we taste and feel, ingradare) that do fructify in us,
more than He.
For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, or a fool;
So were there a patch set on learning, to see him in a school.
But omne bene, say I; being of an old father's mind,
Many can brook the weather, that love not the wind.
Dull.
You two are book-men; can you tell by your wit,
What was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not five weeks old as yet?
Hol.
Dictynna, good-man Dull; Dictynna, good-man
Dull.
Dull.
What is Dictynna?
Nath.
A title to Phœbe, to Luna, to the Moon.
Hol.
The moon was a month old, when Adam was no more:
And rought not to five weeks, when he came to five-score.
Th' allusion holds in the exchange.
Dull.
'Tis true, indeed; the collusion holds in the
exchange.
Hol.
God comfort thy capacity! I say, the allusion
holds in the exchange.
Dull.
And I say, the pollution holds in the exchange;
for the moon is never but a month old; and I say
beside, that 'twas a pricket that the Princess kill'd.
Hol.
Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal epitaph
on the death of the deer? and to humour the
ignorant, I have call'd the deer the Princess kill'd, a
pricket.
Nath.
Perge, good master Holofernes, perge; so it shall
please you to abrogate scurrility.
Hol.
I will something affect the letter; for it argues
facility.
The praiseful Princess pierc'd and prickt
A pretty pleasing pricket.
Some say, a sore; but not a sore,
'Till now made sore with shooting.
-- 129 --
The dogs did yell; put L to sore,
Then sorel jumpt from thicket;
Or pricket sore, or else sorel,
The people fall a hooting.
If sore be sore, then L to sore
Makes fifty sores, O sorel!
Of one sore I an hundred make,
By adding but one more L.
Nath.
A rare talent!
Dull.
If a talent be a claw, look how he claws him
with a talent.
Hol.
This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a
foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, shapes,
objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions.
These are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourish'd
in the womb of pia mater, and deliver'd upon the
mellowing of occasion; but the gift is good in those
in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it.
Nath.
Sir, I praise the lord for you, and so may
my parishioners; for their sons are well tutor'd by you,
and their daughters profit very greatly under you;
you are a good member of the common-wealth.
Hol.
Mehercle, if their sons be ingenuous, they shall
want no instruction: if their daughters be capable, I
will put it to them. But vir sapit, qui pauca loquitur;
a soul feminine saluteth us.
Enter Jaquenetta, and Costard.
Jaq.
God give you good morrow, master Parson.
Hol.
Master Parson, quasi Person. And if one should
be pierc'd, which is the one?
Cost.
Marry, master school-master, he that is likest
to a hogshead.
Hol.
Of piercing a hogshead; a good Lustre of conceit
in a turf of earth, fire enough for a flint, pearl
enough for a swine: 'Tis pretty; it is well.
Jaq.
Good master Parson, be so good as read me
this letter; it was given me by Costard, and sent me
from Don Armathos. I beseech you, read it.
-- 130 --
Hol.
Fauste, precor, gelidâ(21) note quando pecus omne sub umbrâ
Ruminat, and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan, I may
speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice; Vinegia,
Vinegia! qui non te vedi, ei non te pregìa(22) note. Old
Mantuan, old Mantuan! Who understandeth thee not,
loves thee not:—ut re sol la mi fa. Under pardon, Sir,
what are the contents? or rather, as Horace says in his:
What! my soul ! verses?(23) note
Nath.
Ay, Sir, and very learned.
Hol.
Let me hear a staff, a stanza, a verse; Lege,
Domine.
Nath.
If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?
Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd;
Though to my self forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove;
Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bow'd.
Study his biass leaves, and makes his book thine eyes;
Where all those pleasures live, that art would comprehend:
If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;
Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee commend.
-- 131 --
All ignorant that Soul, that sees thee without wonder:
Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire;
Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful thunder;
Which, not to anger bent, is musick, and sweet fire.
Celestial as thou art, Oh pardon, love, this wrong,
That sings heav'n's praise with such an earthly tongue.
Hol.
You find not the Apostrophes, and so miss the accent.
Let me supervise the canzonet(24) note
. Here are
only numbers ratify'd(25) note
; but for the elegancy, facility,
-- 132 --
and golden cadence of poesie, caret: Ovidius Naso
was the man. And why, indeed, Naso; but for smelling
out the odoriferous flowers of fancy? the jerks of
invention? imitari, is nothing: so doth the hound his
master, the ape his keeper, the try'd horse his rider:
But Damosella Virgin, was this directly to you?
Jaq.
Ay, Sir, from one Monsieur Biron, to one of
the strange Queen's Ladies.
Hol.
I will overglance the superscript. To the snow-white
hand of the most beauteous lady Rosaline. I will
look again on the intellect of the letter, for the nomination
of the party writing, to the person written
unto.
Your Ladyship's in all desir'd employment, Biron.
This Biron is one of the votaries with the King; and
here he hath fram'd a letter to a sequent of the stranger
Queen's, which accidentally, or by the way of progression,
hath miscarry'd. Trip and go, my sweet;
deliver this paper into the hand of the King; it may
concern much; stay not thy complement; I forgive
thy duty: adieu.
Jaq.
Good Costard, go with me. Sir, God save your
life.
Cost.
Have with thee, my girl.
[Exe. Cost. and Jaq.
Nath.
Sir, you have done this in the fear of God,
very religiously: and as a certain father saith—.
Hol.
Sir, tell not me of the father, I do fear colourable
colours. But, to return to the verses; did they
please you, Sir Nathaniel?
Nath.
Marvellous well for the pen.
Hol.
I do dine to day at the father's of a certain pupil
of mine; where if (being repast) it shall please you
to gratifie the table with a grace, I will, on my privilege
I have with the parents of the aforesaid child or
pupil, undertake your ben venuto; where will I prove
-- 133 --
those verses to be very unlearned, neither savouring of
poetry, wit, nor invention. I beseech your society.
Nath.
And thank you too: for society (saith the
text) is the happiness of life.
Hol.
And, certes, the text most infallibly concludes
it. Sir, I do invite you too; [To Dull.] you shall
not say me, nay: Pauca verba. Away, the gentles
are at their game, and we will to our recreation.
[Exeunt.
Enter Biron, with a paper in his hand, alone.
Biron.
The King is hunting the deer, I am coursing
my self. They have pitcht a toil, I am toiling in a
pitch; pitch, that defiles; defile! a foul word: well,
set thee down, sorrow; for so they say the fool said,
and so say I, and I the fool. Well prov'd wit. By
the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax, it kills sheep,
it kills me, I a sheep. Well prov'd again on my side.
I will not love; if I do, hang me; i'faith, I will not.
O, but her eye: by this light, but for her eye, I would
not love; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing
in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven,
I do love; and it hath taught me to rhime, and to be
melancholy; and here is part of my rhime, and here
my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my sonnets already;
the clown bore it; the fool sent it, and the lady
hath it: sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady!
by the world, I would not care a pin if the other three
were in. Here comes one with a paper; God give
him grace to groan!
[he stands aside.
Enter the King.
King.
Ay me!
Biron.
Shot, by heav'n! proceed, sweet Cupid; thou
hast thumpt him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap:
in faith, secrets.—
King. [reads.]
So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not
To those fresh morning drops upon the rose,
As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote
The night of dew, that on my cheeks down flows;
-- 134 --
Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright,
Through the transparent bosom of the deep,
As doth thy face through tears of mine give light;
Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep;
No drop, but as a coach doth carry thee,
So ridest thou triumphing in my woe.
Do but behold the tears that swell in me,
And they thy glory through my grief will shew;
But do not love thy self, then thou wilt keep
My tears for glasses, and still make me weep.
O Queen of Queens, how far dost thou excel!
No thought can think, no tongue of mortal tell.—
How shall she know my griefs? I'll drop the paper;
Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here?
[the King steps aside.
Enter Longaville.
What! Longaville! and reading! listen, ear.
Biron.
Now in thy likeness one more fool appears.
Long.
Ay me! I am forsworn.
Biron.
Why, he comes in like a Perjure, wearing papers.(26) note
King.
In love, I hope; sweet fellowship in shame.
Biron.
One drunkard loves another of the name.
Long.
Am I the first, that have been perjur'd so?
Biron.
I could put thee in comfort: not by two that I know;
Thou mak'st the triumviry, the three-corner-cap of society,
The shape of love's Tyburn, that hangs up simplicity.
Long.
I fear, these stubborn lines lack power to move:
O sweet Maria, Empress of my love,
-- 135 --
These numbers will I tear, and write in prose.
Biron.
O, rhimes are guards on wanton Cupid's hose:
Disfigure not his slop.(27) note
Long.
This same shall go.
[he reads the sonnet.
Did not the heavenly rhetorick of thine eye
('Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument)
Perswade my heart to this false perjury?
Vows, for thee broke, deserve not punishment:
A woman I forswore; but I will prove,
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee.
My vow was earthy, thou a heav'nly love:
Thy grace, being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me.
Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is:
Then thou fair sun, which on my earth dost shine,
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 wise
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 o' th' way.
-- 136 --
Enter Dumain.
Long.
By whom shall I send this?—company? stay.—
Biron.
All hid, all hid, an old infant play;
Like a demy God, here sit I in the sky,
And wretched fools secrets headfully o'er-eye:
More sacks 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!
[aside.
Dum.
By heav'n, the wonder of a mortal eye!
Biron.
By earth, she is but corporal; there you lie.(28) note
[aside.
Dum.
Her amber hairs for foul have amber coted.
Biron.
An amber-colour'd raven was well noted.
[aside.
Dum.
As upright as the cedar.
Biron.
Stoop, I say;
Her shoulder is with child.
[aside.
Dum.
As fair as day.
Biron.
Ay, as some days; but then no sun must shine.
[aside.
Dum.
O that I had my wish!
Long.
And I had mine!
[aside.
King.
And mine too, good Lord!
[aside.
Biron.
Amen, so I had mine! Is not that a good word?
[aside.
-- 137 --
Dum.
I would forget her, but a fever she
Reigns in my blood, and will remembred be.
Biron.
A fever in your blood! why then, incision
Would let her out in sawcers, sweet misprision.
[aside.
Dum.
Once more I'll read the ode, that I have writ.
Biron.
Once more I'll mark, how love can vary wit.
[aside.
Dumain reads his sonnet.
On a day, (alack, the day!)
Love, whose month is ever May,
Spy'd a blossom passing fair,
Playing in the wanton air:
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, 'gan passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish'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 sin in me,
That I am forsworn for thee:
Thou, for whom ev'n Jove would swear,
Juno but an Ethiope were;
And deny himself 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, would 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'st society:
[coming forward.
You may look pale; but I should blush, I know,
To be o'er-heard, and taken napping so.
-- 138 --
King.
Come, Sir, you blush; 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 sake compile.
Nor never lay'd his wreathed arms athwart
His loving bosom, to keep down his heart?
I have been closely shrowded in this bush,
And markt you both, and for you both did blush.
I heard your guilty rhimes, observ'd your fashion;
Saw sighs 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 shall 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.
Biron.
Now step I forth to whip hypocrisie.
Ah, good my Liege, I pray thee, pardon me.
[Coming forward.
Good heart, what grace hast 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 Princess that appears?
You'll not be perjur'd, 'tis a hateful thing;
Tush; 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 seen,
Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen?
O me, with what strict patience have I sat,
To see a King transformed to a Knot!
To see great Hercules whipping a gigg,
And profound Solomon tuning a jigg?
-- 139 --
And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys,
And Critick Timon laugh at idle toys?
Where lyes thy grief? O tell me, good Dumain;
And gentle Longaville, where lyes 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 honest; I, that hold it sin
To break the vow I am engaged in.
I am betray'd by keeping company
With men, like men, of strange inconstancy,
When shall you see me write a thing in rhime?
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 gate, a state, a brow, a breast, a waste,
A leg, a limb?
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?
Cost.
Some certain treason.
King.
What makes treason here?
Cost.
Nay, it makes nothing, Sir.
King.
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: it was treason, he said.
King.
Biron, read it over,
[He reads the letter.
Where hadst thou it?
Jaq.
Of Costard.
King.
Where hadst thou it?
Cost.
Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.
King.
How now, what is in you? why dost thou tear it?
-- 140 --
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 Costard.
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; 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.
Dum.
Now the number is even.
Biron.
True, true; we are four:
Will these turtles be gone?
King.
Hence, Sirs, away.
Cost.
Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay.
[Exeunt Cost. and Jaquen.
Biron.
Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, let us imbrace:
As true we are, as flesh and blood can be.
The sea will ebb and flow, heaven will shew his face:
Young blood doth 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 shew 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;
She (an attending star) scarce seen a light.
-- 141 --
Biron.
My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Biron.
O, but for my love, day would turn to night.
Of all complexions the cull'd Soveraignty,
Do meet, as at a Fair, in her fair cheek;
Where several worthies make one dignity;
Where nothing wants, that want it self 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, the praise too short doth blot.
A wither'd hermit, fivescore 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;
O, 'tis the sun, that maketh all things shine.
King.
By heav'n, thy love is black as ebony.
Biron.
Is ebony like her? O wood divine!(29) note
A wife of such wood were felicity.
O, who can give an oath? where is a book,
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;(30) note
And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well.
Biron.
Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light:
O, if in black my lady's brow be deckt,
It mourns, that Painting and usurping Hair
Should ravish doters with a false aspect:
And therefore is she born to make black fair.
-- 142 --
Her Favour turns the fashion of the days,
For native blood is counted painting now;
And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise,
Paints it self 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 washt away.
King.
'Twere good, yours did: for, Sir, to tell you plain,
I'll find a fairer face not washt 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.
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 walkt over head.
King.
But what of this, are we not all in love?
Biron.
Nothing so sure, and thereby all forsworn.
King.
Then leave this chat; and, good Biron, now prove
Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn.
Dum.
Ay, marry, there;—some flattery for this evil.
Long.
O, some authority how to proceed;
Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil.
Dum.
Some salve for perjury.
Biron.
O, 'tis more than need.
Have at you then, Affection's Men at arms;(31) note
-- 143 --
Consider, what you first did swear unto:
To fast, to study, and to see no woman;
Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth.
Say, can you fast? your stomachs are too young:
And abstinence ingenders maladies.
And where that you have vow'd to study, (Lords)
In That each of you hath forsworn his book.
Can you still dream, and pore, and thereon look?
For when would you, my Lord, or you, or you,
Have found the ground of Study's excellence,
Without the beauty of a woman's face?
From womens eyes this doctrine I derive;
They are the ground, the book, the academies,
From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire:
Why, universal plodding prisons up
The nimble spirits in the arteries;
As motion and long-during action tires
The sinewy vigour of the traveller.
Now, for not looking on a woman's face,
You have in That forsworn the use of eyes;
And Study too, the causer of your vow.
For where is any author in the world,
Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye?
Learning is but an adjunct to our self,
And where we are, our Learning likewise is.
Then, when our selves we see in ladies eyes,
Do we not likewise see our Learning there?
O, we have made a vow to study, lords;
And in that vow we have forsworn our books:
For when would you, my liege, or you, or you,
In leaden contemplation have found out
Such fiery numbers, as the prompting eyes
Of beauty's tutors have enrich'd you with?
-- 144 --
Other slow arts entirely keep the brain;
And therefore finding barren practisers,
Scarce shew a harvest of their heavy toil.
But love, first learned in a lady's eyes,
Lives not alone immured in the brain:
But with the motion of all elements,
Courses as swift as thought in every power;
And gives to every power a double power,
Above their functions and their offices.
It adds a precious Seeing to the eye:
A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind!
A lover's ear will hear the lowest Sound,
When the suspicious head of thrift is stopt.(32) note
Love's Feeling is more soft and sensible,
Than are the tender horns of cockled snails.
Love's Tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in Taste;
For Savour, is not Love a Hercules?
Still climbing trees in the Hesperides.(33) note
-- 145 --
Subtle as Sphinx; as sweet and musical
As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair:
And when Love speaks the voice of all the Gods,(34) note
Mark, Heaven drowsie with the harmony!
Never durst Poet touch a pen to write,
Until his ink were temper'd with love's sighs;
O, then his lines would ravish savage ears,
And plant in tyrants mild humility.—
From womens eyes this doctrine I derive:
They sparkle still the right Promethean fire,
They are the books, the arts, the academes,
That shew, contain, and nourish all the world;
Else none at all in ought proves excellent.
Then fools you were, these women to forswear:
-- 146 --
Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools.
For wisdom's sake (a word, that all men love)
Or for love's sake, (a word, that loves all men;)
Or for mens sake, (the author of these women;)
Or womens sake, (by whom we men are men;)
Let us once lose our oaths, to find our selves;
Or else we lose our selves, to keep our oaths.
It is religion to be thus forsworn,
For charity it self fullfills the law;
And who can sever love from charity?
King.
Saint Cupid then! and, soldiers, to the field!
Biron.
Advance your standards, and upon them, Lords;
Pell-mell, down with them; but be first advis'd,
In conflict that you get the sun of them.
Long.
Now to plain-dealing, lay these glozes by;
Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France?
King.
And win them too; therefore let us devise
Some entertainment for them in their Tents.
Biron.
First, from the Park let us conduct them thither;
Then homeward every man attach the hand
Of his fair mistress; in the afternoon
We will with some strange pastime solace them,
Such as the shortness of the time can shape:
For revels, dances, masks, and merry hours,
Forerun fair love, strewing her way with flowers.
King.
Away, away! no time shall be omitted,
That will be time, and may by us be fitted.
Biron.
Allons! allons! sown Cockle reap'd no corn;(35) note
And justice always whirls in equal measure;
Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn;
If so, our copper buys no better treasure.
[Exeunt.
-- 147 --
Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
