KING.
We greet you well, fair princess!

PRINCESS.
We have receiv'd your letters full of love;
Your favours, the embassadors of love;
And in our maiden councils rated them

As courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy:
As bombast, and as lining to the time;
But more devout, than these are our respects,
Have we not been; and therefore met your loves
In their own fashion, like a merriment.

DUMAIN.

Our letters, madam, shew'd much more than jest.

LONGAVILLE.

So did our looks.

ROSALINE.
I wonder much where Biron hides himself. [To the princess aside.

PRINCESS.

Shall I enquire?

ROSALINE.

Not for the world, madam!

BIRON.

O, are you at that sport!

KING.
Now, at the latest minute of the hour,
Grant us your loves.

PRINCESS.
A time, methinks too short
To make a world-without-end bargain in;
No, no, my lord, your grace is perjur'd much,
Full of dear guiltiness; and therefore this—
If for my love (as there is no such cause)
You will do ought, this shall you do for me;
Your oath I will not trust, but go with speed
To some forlorn and naked hermitage,

Remote from all the pleasures of the world;
There stay, until the twelve celestial signs
Have brought about their annual reckoning.
If this austere insociable life
Change not your offer made in heat of blood;
If frosts, and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weeds,
Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love,
But that it bear this trial and last love;
Then, at the expiration of the year,
Come challenge me; challenge me by these deserts;
And by this virgin palm, now kissing thine,
I will be thine; if this thou do deny
Let our hands part, (your grace has heard at large)
Neither intitled in the other's heart.

KING.
If this, or more than this, I wou'd refuse
To flatter up these powers of mine with ease;
The sudden hand of death close up mine eye:
Hence, ever then my heart is in thy breast.

DUMAIN.
But what to me, my love? but what to me?

CATHERINE.
A wife!—a beard, fair health and honesty;
With threefold love I wish you all these three.

DUMAIN.
O, shall I say, I thank you gentle wife?

CATHERINE.
Not so, my lord, a twelve month and a day
I'll mark no words that smoothfac'd wooers speak,
Come, when the king doth to my lady come,
Then if I have much love, I'll think of you.

DUMAIN.
I'll serve true and faithfully till then.

CATHERINE.
Yet swear not, lest you be forsworn, my lord.

LONGAVILLE.
What says Maria?

MARIA.
At the twelve months end,
Perhaps she'll act and think like other folks.

BIRON.
I can hold no longer—Ha! ha! ha!

DUMAIN.
What means the slave? knowest thou where thou art?

BIRON.
Yes, marry, among fools—and women's fools,
Now, Sir, you know me.

KING.
How, Biron!

BIRON.
Yes, and please, my liege, I'm honest Biron;
Honest as day light: mistress look on me,
Behold the window of my heart, mine eye,
What humble suit attends thy answer there;
Impose some service on me for thy love.

ROSALINE.
Oft have I heard of you, my lord Biron,
Before I saw you; and the world's large tongue
Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks,

Full of comparison and wounding flouts;
Which you on all estates will execute,
That lie within the mercy of your wit:
To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain,
And therewithal to win me, if you please
(Without the which I am not to be won)
You shall this twelve month term, from day to day,
Visit the speechless sick, and still converse
With groaning wretches; and your task shall be
With all the fierce endeavour of your wit
To 'nforce the pained impotent to smile.

BIRON.
To move wild laughter in the throat of death,
It cannot be! it is impossible:
Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.

ROSALINE.
Why, that's the way to choak a gibing spirit,
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace,
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools.
A jest's prosperity lies in the ear
Of him that hears it, never in the tongue
Of him that makes it; then, if sickly ears,
Deaft with the clamour of their own dear groans,
Will hear your idle scorns; continue then,
And I will have you, and that fault withal;
But if they will not, throw away that spirit;
And I shall find you empty of that fault,
Right joyful of your reformation.

BIRON.
I cry your mercy; lady, stay a while;
I first must make a speech to these grave signiors.
Have at you then, affections men at arms:
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 engenders maladies.
And where that you have vow'd to study, (lords)
In that each of you hath forsworn his book.
For when wou'd you, my lord, or you, or you,
Have found the ground of study's excellence,
Without the beauty of a woman's face?

LONGAVILLE.
O, some authority how to proceed;
Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil.

BIRON.
Well, 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 ourself,
And where we are, our learning likewise is;
Then, when ourselves 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 wou'd 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?

KING.
Proceed, good Biron; we shall win the day.

BIRON.
Thus love, first learned in a lady's eye,
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.
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?
Subtle Sphinx? as sweet and musical,
As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair;
And when love speaks the voice of all the gods,
Mark Heaven drowsy with the harmony!
For wisdom's sake (a word that all men love)
Or for love's sake (a word that loves all men)
Or for men's sake (the author of these women)
Or women's sake (by whom we men are men)
Let us once lose our oaths, to find ourselves;
Or else we lose ourselves, to keep our oaths.
It is religion to be thus forsworn,
For charity itself fulfils the law;
And who can sever love from charity?

LONGAVILLE.
Biron, w're all indebted to thy tongue.

PRINCESS.
Hold, not so fast; your answers you have had,
Expect no further favour.

BIRON.
No parlying now,
For your fair sakes have we neglected time,
Play'd foul with our oaths: your beauties, ladies,

Have much deform'd us, fashioning our humours
E'en to the opposed end of our intents,
And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous;
As love is full of unbefitting strains,
All wanton as a child, skipping in vain,
Form'd by the eye, and therefore like the eye,
Full of straying shapes, of habits, and of forms,
Varying in subject, as the eye doth roll
To every varied object in his glance;
Which party-coated presence of loose love
Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes,
Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities;
Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults,
Suggested us to make them: therefore, ladies,
Our love being yours, the error that love makes
Is likewise yours. We to ourselves prove false
By being once false, for ever to prove true
To those that make us both, fair ladies, you;
And e'en that falshood, in itself a sin,
Thus purifies itself, and turns to grace.

KING.
Can you, renown'd for so much gentleness,
Kindle so warm a passion, and not pity us?

BIRON.
Come, come, let me question them, my liege,
Now, madam, if you wish to find us true,
Did not these ladies, of their own free will,
Confess their loves? as Costard, I o'erheard them;
Catherine, can you deny this charge?

CATHERINE.
Biron, I know
Your humour is as keen as polish'd steel,
But wit, my lord, may over-shoot itself,

BIRON.
Then each man to his mistress, and he that cannot win her, deserves her not.
Rosaline, your hand!

ROSALINE.
But not my heart.

BIRON.
Nay, prithee child, no affectation now—
Believe me too, I am a fickle swain,
I am not used to love whole months or years.

ROSALINE.
A man, my lord, who cannot love a year,
Is ne'er entitled to a woman's love;
A man, my lord, who will not be a slave
To all the fickle humours of a woman,
Now, cringing, fawning, begging, suing, praying,
Now dying, sighing, languishing, despairing,
Can never hope to win a woman's love.

BIRON.
Have mercy, Lord—how mad these women are!

ROSALINE.
These, Sir, and twenty other things like these,
So strange and so fantastical we are,
You must endure with patience.

BIRON.
I must—
Madam, farewell, I humbly take my leave;
I shall offend no more—

ROSALINE.
Nay, Biron, stay—
I meant—

BIRON.
And, I mean too—

ROSALINE.
What! what! my lord!

BIRON.
Never again to think of womankind.

ROSALINE.
Perhaps, Sir—

BIRON.
Madam, speak on—

ROSALINE.
Cannot you guess?

BIRON.
I have no judgment, madam, in divining.

ROSALINE.
Perhaps—I was but joking.

BIRON.
Then, madam, your hand, and with your hand your heart;
To France I will attend you.

ROSALINE.
There, my lord;
An easy conquest, as a man cou'd wish for.

BIRON.
Let us move forward. My liege, you see how
Woman yields, when woo'd in proper terms;
We are as fond already as two doves:

Come, Rosaline, my wife, be gay and merry.
I have promised, my lords, to visit France.

KING.
To-morrow then we will attend the Princess,
And her fair attendants, each as a lover;
Leaving our books, and our academies,
As idle pomp without a woman's love.
What say you lords?

DUMAIN.
It is agreed, my liege.

LONGAVILLE.
And, I, my lords, as willingly submit.

KING.
The ladies too will give us their consent.

PRINCESS.
We shall not disobey, what you command. Enter ARMADO.

ARMADO.

Anointed, I implore so much expence of thy royal breath, as will utter a brace of words.

PRINCESS.

Does this man serve God?

BIRON.

Why ask you?

PRINCESS.

He speaks not like a man of God's making.

ARMADO.

That's all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch; for I protest, I am exceeding fantastical and ingenious; as it is the king's most sweet pleasure and affection, to congratulate you, in your pavilion here; now by the salt wave of the Mediterranean, I have invented a sweet touch, a quick venew of wit; snip, snap, quick and home; it rejoiceth my intellect.—

BIRON.

God help thy intellect!—but to the purpose, my trusty knight—let us see the fruits of thy industry and ingenuity.—

ARMADO.

I obey.

PRINCESS.

Sir, you have our thanks; this is a noble entertainment.—

KING.

I am glad it pleased you, madam.

ARMADO.

Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me—

KING.

What says my valiant knight?

ARMADO.

I will kiss thy royal finger, and so bespeak thy hearing. I am a votary; I do profess much veneration

for thy edict, but then I am a lover, and do confess much affection for Jaquenetta. If I keep my vow, I lose my love, and in losing my love, I lose myself—and in losing myself, I shall be an unqualified Student, and in being so, I must of course break my oath—

BIRON.

Ha! ha! ha! proceed, my courteous knight: methinks, madam, the man speaks reason now.

ROSALINE.

Love, you know, my lord, can work wonders.

ARMADO.

Well, Jaquenetta; be humble and modest, humble, because a person of most rare endowments is enamour'd with thee—and modest, because it is the best virtue a woman can possess.

KING.

More, I prithee, knight, more.

BIRON.

My liege, an if you please, the knight shall entertain us on the road; our time is short.

KING.

Act your own pleasure.

BIRON.

Come, ladies, shall we proceed.

PRINCESS.

With all our hearts.

KING.
Well, madam, we will bring you on your way.

BIRON.
Our wooing now doth end like an old play;
Jack hath his ill; these ladies' courtesie
Hath nobly made our sport a Comedy. End of the Last ACT.

EPILOGUE. To be spoken by Rosaline.

Well, gentlemen, what think you of our art?
  No vows, you find, can shield a lover's heart:
What are your musty maxims drawn from books,
When put in competition with our looks?
Can youths, immur'd in colleges, deny
The force of smiles, the rhetoric of the eye?
See some gay spark, most fam'd for high renown,
Quit the dull college, and the tatter'd gown,
To shine among the belles and beaux in town.
At first, indeed, he wildly stares about,
As if from Bedlam, he had just stole out:
With modest blushing he attacks the fair,
A very Cymon in his gait and air:
Well, 'tis agreed—deny it, if you can—
We spoil the scholar—but we make the man.

  A Grecian fopling in these modern days,
From our academy claims all his praise,
And reaps his stock of learning from our school,
A wit with us; at you know where—a fool.—
We form your critics, and your bards inspire,
Wits without judgment; poets without fire.
But jokes apart—shall we confess our pow'r?
Howe'er we triumph in the marriage hour
Your men of sense with pleasure we obey,
Nor wish to contradict their sovereign sway;
Pleas'd to consent, as they are pleas'd to rule,
But prove mere rebels to a stubborn fool:
Learn hence, ye fair, whene'er you choose for life
A man of sense will make the happy wife.—

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