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Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301]. To look up a word in a dictionary, select the word with your mouse and press 'd' on your keyboard.
Dramatis Personæ.
DUKE of
THE Merchant of Venice.
Jessica above, in boy's cloaths.
Enter Jessica, to them.
Enter Gratiano.
| |||
Dramatis Personæ.
Love's Labour's lost.
Don Adriano de Armado.
Thine in the dearest design of industry,
Enter Armado.
[Footnote:
Next section
FERDINAND, King of Navarre.
Biron [Berowne], Lord, attending upon the King in his retirement.
Longaville, Lord, attending upon the King in his retirement.
Dumain, Lord, attending upon the King in his retirement.
Boyet, Lord, attending upon the Princess of France.
Macard [Mercade], Lord, attending upon the Princess of France.
Don Adriano de Armado, a fantastical Spaniard.
Nathaniel [Sir Nathaniel], a Curate.
Dull, a Constable.
Holofernes, a Schoolmaster.
Costard, a Clown.
Moth, Page to Don Adriano de Armado.
A Forester.
Princess of France.
Rosaline, Lady, attending on the Princess.
Maria, Lady, attending on the Princess.
Catharine [Katharine], Lady, attending on the Princess.
Jaquenetta, a Country Wench.
Officers, and others, Attendants upon the King and Princess.
[Lord]
SCENE, the King of Navarre's Palace, and the Country near it.
Let Fame, that all hunt after in their lives,
Live registred upon our brazen tombs;
And then grace us in the disgrace of death:
When, spight of cormorant devouring time,
Th' endeavour of this present breath may buy
That honour which shall 'bate his scythe's keen edge;
And make us heirs of all eternity.
Therefore, brave Conquerors! for so you are,
That war against your own Affections,
And the huge army of the world's desires;
Our late edict shall strongly stand in force.
Navarre shall be the wonder of the world;
Our Court shall be a little academy,
Still and contemplative in living arts.
You three, Biron, Dumain, and Longaville,
Have sworn for three years' term to live with me,
My fellow Scholars; and to keep those Statutes,
That are recorded in this schedule here.
Your oaths are past, and now subscribe your names:
That his own hand may strike his honour down,
That violates the smallest branch herein:
If you are arm'd to do, as sworn to do,
Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep them too.
I am resolv'd; 'tis but a three years fast:
The mind shall banquet tho' the body pine;
Fat paunches have lean pates; and dainty bits
Make rich the ribs, but bankerout the wits.
My loving lord, Dumain is mortify'd:
The grosser manner of these world's delights
He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves:
To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die;
With all these living in philosophy.
I can but say their protestation over,
So much (dear liege) I have already sworn,
That is, to live and study here three years:
But there are other strict observances;
As, not to see a woman in that term,
Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there.
And one day in a week to touch no food,
And but one meal on every day beside;
The which, I hope, is not enrolled there.
And then to sleep but three hours in the night,
And not be seen to wink of all the day;
(When I was wont to think no harm all night,
And make a dark night too of half the day;)
Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there.
O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep;
Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep.
Your Oath is pass'd to pass away from these.
Let me say, no, my liege, an' if you please;
I only swore to study with your Grace,
And stay here in your Court for three years' space.
You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest.
By yea and nay, Sir, then I swore in jest.
What is the end of study? let me know?
Why, that to know, which else we should not know.
Things hid and barr'd (you mean) from common sense.
Ay, that is study's god-like recompence.
Come on then, I will swear to study so,
To know the thing I am forbid to know;
As thus; to study where I well may dine,
When I to (a) note feast expresly am forbid;
Or study where to meet some mistress fine,
When mistresses from common sense are hid:
Or, having sworn too hard-a-keeping oath,
Study to break it, and not break my troth.
If study's gain be this, and this be so,
Study knows that, which yet it doth not know:
Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say, no.
These be the stops, that hinder study quite;
And train our Intellects to vain delight.
Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain,
Which, with pain purchas'd, doth inherit pain;
As, painfully to pore upon a book,
To seek the light of truth; while truth the while
Doth falsly blind the eye-sight of his look:
Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile;
So, ere you find where light in darkness lies,
Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.
Study me how to please the eye indeed,
By fixing it upon a fairer eye;
Who dazling so, that eye shall be his heed,
And give him light, that it was blinded by.
Study is like the Heavn's glorious Sun,
That will not be deep search'd with sawcy looks;
Small have continual plodders ever won,
Save base authority from others' books.
These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights,
That give a name to every fixed star,
Have no more profit of their shining nights,
Than those that walk and wot not what they are.
&wlquo;1 note
&wlquo;And every godfather can give a name.&wrquo;
How well he's read, to reason against reading!
Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding.
He weeds the corn, and still let's grow the weeding.
The spring is near, when green geese are a breeding.
How follows that?
Fit in his place and time.
In reason nothing.
Something then in rhime.
Biron is like an envious sneaping frost,
That bites the first-born infants of the spring.
Well; say, I am; why should proud summer boast,
Before the birds have any cause to sing?
Why should I joy in an abortive birth?
At Christmas I no more desire a rose,
Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows:
But like of each thing, that in season grows.
So you, to study now it is too late,
Climb o'er the house t'unlock the little gate.
Well, sit you out—Go home, Biron: Adieu!
No, my good lord, I've sworn to stay with you.
And though I have for barbarism spoke more,
Than for that angel knowledge you can say;
Yet confident I'll keep what I have swore,
And 'bide the penance of each three years' day.
Give me the paper, let me read the same;
And to the strict'st decrees I'll write my name.
How well this yielding rescues thee from shame!
Hath this been proclaimed?
Four days ago.
Let's see the penalty.
On pain of losing her tongue:—
[reading.
Who devis'd this penalty?
Marry, that did I.
Sweet lord, and why?
To fright them hence with that dread penalty.
A dangerous law against gentility!
This article, my liege, your self must break;
For, well you know, here comes in embassy
The French King's daughter with your self to speak,
A maid of grace and compleat majesty,
About Surrender up of Aquitain
To her decrepit, sick, and bed-rid father:
Therefore this article is made in vain,
Or vainly comes th' admired Princess hither.
What say you, lords? why, this was quite forgot.
So study evermore is overshot;
While it doth study to have what it would,
It doth forget to do the thing it should:
And when it hath the thing it hunteth most,
'Tis won, as towns with Fire; so won, so lost.
We must, of force, dispense with this decree,
She must lye here on mere necessity.
Necessity will make us all forsworn
Three thousand times within this three years' space:
For every man with his affects is born:
Not by might master'd, but by special grace.
If I break faith, this word shall speak for me:
I am forsworn on meer necessity.—
So to the laws at large I write my name,
And he, that breaks them in the least degree,
Stands in Attainder of eternal shame.
Suggestions are to others, as to me;
But, I believe, although I seem so loth,
I am the last that will last keep his oath.
But is there no quick recreation granted?
Ay, that there is; our Court, you know, is haunted
With a refined traveller of Spain,
A man in all the world's new fashion planted,
That hath a mint of phrases in his brain:
&wlquo;One, whom the musick of his own vain tongue
&wlquo;Doth ravish, like inchanting harmony:
&wlquo;2 note
A man of complements, whom right and wrong
&wlquo;Have chose as umpire of their mutiny.
&wlquo;This child of fancy, that Armado hight,
&wlquo;For interim to our Studies, shall relate
&wlquo;3 note
In high-born words the worth of many a Knight
&wlquo;From tawny Spain, lost in the world's debate.&wrquo;
How you delight, my lords, I know not, I;
But, I protest, I love to hear him lie;
And I will use him for my minstrelsie.
Armado is a most illustrious wight,
A man of fire-new words, fashion's own Knight.
Costard the swain, and he, shall be our sport;
And, so to study, three years are but short.
The manner of it is, I was 4 notetaken in the manner.
And go we, lords, to put in practice that,
Which each to other hath so strongly sworn.
I'll lay my head to any good man's hat,
These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn.
Sirrah, come on.
If she be made of white and red,
Her faults will ne'er be known;
For blushing cheeks by faults are bred,
And fears by pale-white shown;
Then if she fear, or be to blame,
By this you shall not know;
For still her cheeks possess the same,
Which native she doth owe.
Now, Madam, summon up your dearest spirits;
Consider, whom the King your father sends;
To whom he sends, and what's his embassy.
Your self, held precious in the world's esteem,
To parley with the sole inheritor
Of all perfections that a man may owe,
Matchless Navarre; the plea, of no less weight
Than Aquitain, a dowry for a Queen.
Be now as prodigal of all dear grace,
As nature was in making graces dear,
When she did starve the general world beside,
And prodigally gave them all to you.
Good lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean,
Needs not the painted flourish of your praise;
Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye,
Not utter'd by base sale of chapmens' tongues.
I am less proud to hear you tell my worth,
Than you much willing to be counted wise,
In spending thus your wit in praise of mine.
But now, to task the tasker; good Boyet,
You are not ignorant, all-telling fame
Doth noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow,
'Till painful study shall out-wear three years,
No woman may approach his silent Court;
Therefore to us seems it a needful course,
Before we enter his forbidden gates,
To know his pleasure; and in that behalf,
Bold of your worthiness, we single you
As our best-moving fair sollicitor.
Tell him, the daughter of the King of France,
On serious business, craving quick dispatch,
Importunes personal conference with his Grace.
Haste, signifie so much, while we attend,
Like humble-visag'd suitors, his high will.
Proud of imployment, willingly I go.
All pride is willing pride, and yours is so;
Who are the votaries, my loving lords,
That are vow-fellows with this virtuous King?
Longaville is one.
Know ye the man?
I knew him, Madam, at a marriage-feast,
Between lord Perigort and the beauteous heir
Of Jaques Faulconbridge solemnized.
In Normandy saw I this Longaville,
A man of sovereign parts he is esteem'd;
Well fitted in the arts, glorious in arms,
Nothing becomes him ill, that he would well.
The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss,
(If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil,)
Is a sharp wit, match'd with too blunt a will;
Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills
It should spare none, that come within his power.
Some merry-mocking lord, belike; is't so?
They say so most, that most his humours know.
Such short-liv'd wits do wither as they grow.
Who are the rest?
The young Dumain, a well-accomplish'd youth,
Of all that virtue love, for virtue lov'd.
Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill;
For he hath wit to make an ill shape good,
And shape to win grace, tho' he had no wit.
I saw him at the Duke Alanson's once,
And much too little of that good I saw,
Is my report to his great worthiness.
Another of these students at that time
Was there with him, as I have heard a truth;
Biron they call him; but a merrier man,
Within the limit of becoming mirth,
I never spent an hour's talk withal.
His eye begets occasion for his wit;
For every object, that the one doth catch,
The other turns to a mirth-moving jest;
Which his fair tongue (conceit's expositor)
Delivers in such apt and gracious words,
That aged ears play truant at his tales;
And younger hearings are quite ravished;
So sweet and voluble is his discourse.
God bless my ladies, are they all in love,
That every one her own hath garnished
With such bedecking ornaments of praise!
Here comes Boyet.
Now, what admittance, Lord?
Navarre had notice of your fair approach;
And he and his competitors in oath
Were all addrest to meet you, gentle lady,
Before I came: marry, thus much I've learnt,
He rather means to lodge you in the field,
Like one that comes here to besiege his Court,
Than seek a dispensation for his oath,
To let you enter his unpeopled house.
Here comes Navarre.
You shall be welcome, Madam, to my Court.
I will be welcome then; conduct me thither.
Hear me, dear lady, I have sworn an oath.
Our Lady help my lord! he'll be forsworn.
Not for the world, fair Madam, by my will.
Why, Will shall break its will, and nothing else.
Your ladyship is ignorant what it is.
Were my Lord so, his ignorance were wise,
Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance.
I hear, your Grace hath sworn out house-keeping:
'Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my Lord;
Not sin to break it.—
But pardon me, I am too sudden bold:
To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me.
Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my Coming,
And suddenly resolve me in my suit.
Madam, I will, if suddenly I may.
You will the sooner, that I were away;
For you'll prove perjur'd, if you make me stay.
Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?
Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?
I know, you did.
How needless was it then to ask the question?
You must not be so quick.
'Tis long of you, that spur me with such questions.
Your wit's too hot, it speeds too fast, 'twill tire.
Not 'till it leave the rider in the mire.
What time o' day?
The hour, that fools should ask.
Now fair befall your mask!
Fair fall the face it covers!
And send you many lovers!
Amen, so you be none!
Nay, then will I be gone.
Madam, your father here doth intimate
The payment of a hundred thousand crowns;
Being but th' one half of an intire sum,
Disbursed by my father in his wars.
But say, that he, or we, as neither have,
Receiv'd that sum; yet there remains unpaid
A hundred thousand more; in surety of the which,
One part of Aquitain is bound to us,
Although not valu'd to the mony's worth:
If then the King your father will restore
But that one half which is unsatisfy'd,
We will give up our right in Aquitain,
And hold fair friendship with his Majesty:
But that, it seems, he little purposeth,
For here he doth demand to have repaid
An hundred thousand crowns, and not demands,
(a) noteOn payment of an hundred thousand crowns,
To have his title live in Aquitain;
Which we much rather had depart withal,
And have the mony by our father lent,
Than Aquitain so gelded as it is.
Dear Princess, were not his requests so far
From reason's yielding, your fair self should make
A yielding 'gainst some reason in my breast;
And go well satisfied to France again.
You do the King my father too much wrong,
And wrong the reputation of your name,
In so unseeming to confess receipt
Of that, which hath so faithfully been paid.
I do protest, I never heard of it;
And if you prove it, I'll repay it back,
Or yield up Aquitain.
We arrest your word:
Boyet, you can produce acquittances
For such a sum, from special officers
Of Charles his father.
Satisfie me so.
So please your Grace, the packet is not come,
Where that and other specialties are bound:
To morrow you shall have a sight of them.
It shall suffice me; at which interview,
All liberal reason I will yield unto:
Mean time, receive such welcome at my hand,
As honour without breach of honour may
Make tender of, to thy true worthiness.
You may not come, fair Princess, in my gates;
But here, without, you shall be so receiv'd,
As you shall deem your self lodg'd in my heart,
Tho' so deny'd fair harbour in my house:
Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewel;
To morrow we shall visit you again.
Sweet health and fair desires consort your Grace!
Thy own Wish wish I thee, in every place.
Lady, I will commend you to my own heart.
I pray you, do my commendations;
I would be glad to see it.
I would, you heard it groan.
Is the fool sick?
Sick at the heart.
Alack, let it blood.
Would that do it good?
My physick says, ay.
Will you prick't with your eye?
No, poynt, with my knife.
Now God save thy life!
And yours from long living!
I cannot stay thanksgiving.
Sir, I pray you a word: what lady is that same?
The heir of Alanson, Rosaline her name.
A gallant lady; Monsieur, fare you well.
I beseech you, a word: what is she in white?
A woman sometimes, if you saw her in the light.
Perchance, light in the light; I desire her name.
She hath but one for herself; to desire That, were a shame.
Pray you, Sir, whose daughter?
Her mother's, I have heard.
God's blessing on your beard!
Good Sir, be not offended.
She is an heir of Faulconbridge.
Nay, my choller is ended:
She is a most sweet lady.
Not unlike, Sir; that may be.
What's her name in the cap?
Catharine, by good hap.
Is she wedded, or no?
To her will, Sir, or so.
You are welcome, Sir: adieu!
Farewel to me, Sir, and welcome to you.
That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord;
Not a word with him but a jest.
And every jest but a word.
It was well done of you to take him at his word.
I was as willing to grapple, as he was to board.
Two hot sheeps, marry.
And wherefore not ships?
No sheep, (sweet lamb) unless we feed on your lips.
You sheep, and I pasture; shall that finish the jest?
So you grant pasture for me.
Not so, gentle beast;
My lips are no common, though several they be.
Belonging to whom?
To my fortunes and me.
Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, agree.
This civil war of wits were much better us'd
On Navarre and his book-men; for here 'tis abus'd.
If my observation, (which very seldom lies)
By the heart's still rhetorick, disclosed with eyes,
Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.
With what?
With that which we lovers intitle affected.
Your reason?
Why, all his behaviours did make their retire
To the Court of his eye, peeping thorough desire:
His heart, like an agat with your print impressed,
Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed:
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see,
Did stumble with haste in his eye-sight to be:
All senses to that sense did make their repair,
To feel only looking on fairest of fair;
Methought, all his senses were lock'd in his eye,
As jewels in crystal for some Prince to buy;
Who tendring their own worth, from whence they were glasst,
Did point out to buy them, along as you past.
His face's own margent did quote such amazes,
That all eyes saw his eyes inchanted with gazes:
I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his,
An' you give him for my sake but one loving kiss.
Come, to our pavilion: Boyet is dispos'd—
But to speak that in words, which his eye hath disclos'd;
I only have made a mouth of his eye,
By adding a tongue which I know will not lie.
Thou art an old love-monger, and speakest skilfully.
He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of him.
Then was Venus like her mother, for her father is but grim.
Do you hear, my mad wenches?
No.
What then, do you see?
Ay, our way to be gone.
You are too hard for me.
Arm.
The way is but short; away.
As swift as lead, Sir.
Thy meaning, pretty ingenious?
Is not lead of metal heavy, dull and slow?
Minimè, honest master; or rather master, no.
I say, lead is slow.
You are too swift, Sir, to say so.
Is that lead slow, Sir, which is fir'd from a gun?
Sweet smoak of rhetorick!
He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he:
I shoot thee at the swain.
Thump then, and I fly.
A most acute Juvenile, voluble and free of grace;
By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face.
Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place.
My herald is return'd.
A wonder, master, here's a Costard broken in a shin.
Some enigma, some riddle; come, thy l'envoy begin.
No, page, it is an epilogue or discourse, to make plain.
Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain.
The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
Were still at odds, being but three.
There's the moral, now the l'envoy.
I will add the l'envoy; say the moral again.
The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
Were still at odds, being but three.
Until the goose came out of door,
And stay'd the odds by adding four.
A good l'envoy, ending in the goose; would you desire more?
The boy hath sold him a bargain; a goose, that's flat;
Sir, your penny-worth is good, an' your goose be fat.
To sell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and loose.
Let me see a fat l'envoy; I, that's a fat goose.
Come hither, come hither;
How did this argument begin?
By saying, that a Costard was broken in a shin.
Then call'd you for a l'envoy.
True, and I for a plantan;
Thus came the argument in;
Then the boy's fat l'envoy, the goose that you bought,
And he ended the market.
Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth.
I will speak that l'envoy.
Costard running out, that was safely within,
Fell over the threshold and broke my shin.
O stay, slave, I must employ thee:
As thou wilt win my favour, my good knave,
Do one thing for me that I shall intreat.
When would you have it done, Sir?
O, this afternoon.
Well, I will do it, Sir: fare you well.
O, thou knowest not what it is.
I shall know, Sir, when I have done it.
Why, villain, thou must know first.
I will come to your worship to morrow morning.
It must be done this afternoon.
Hark, slave, it is but this:
The Princess comes to hunt here in the park:
And in her train there is a gentle lady;
When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name,
And Rosaline they call her; ask for her,
And to her sweet hand see thou do commend
This seal'd-up counsel. There's thy guerdon; go.
O! and I, forsooth, in love!
I, that have been love's whip;
A very beadle to a humorous sigh:
A critick; nay, a night-watch constable;
A domineering pedant o'er the boy,
Than whom no mortal more magnificent.
This whimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy,
This 4 noteSignior Junio's giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid,
Regent of love-rhimes, lord of folded arms,
Th' anointed Sovereign of sighs and groans:
Leige of all loyterers and malecontents:
Dread Prince of plackets, King of codpieces:
Sole Imperator, and great General
Of trotting parators: (O my little heart!)
5 note
And wear his colours! like a tumbler, stoop!
What? I love! I sue! I seek a wife!
A Woman, that is like a German clock,
Still a repairing; ever out of frame,
And never going aright, being a watch,
But being watch'd, that it may still go right!
Nay, to be perjur'd, which is worst of all:
And, among three, to love the worst of all;
A whitely wanton with a velvet brow,
With two pitch balls stuck in her face for eyes;
Ay, and by heav'n, one that will do the deed,
Tho' Argus were her eunuch and her guard;
And I to sigh for her! to watch for her!
To pray for her! go to:—It is a plague,
That Cupid will impose for my neglect
Of his almighty, dreadful, little, Might.
Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue and groan:
Some men must love my lady, and some Joan.
Was that the King that spurr'd his horse so hard
Against the steep uprising of the hill?
I know not; but, I think, it was not he.
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?
Here by, upon the edge of yonder coppice;
A stand, where you may make the fairest shoot.
I thank my beauty, I am fair, that shoot:
And thereupon thou speak'st the fairest shoot.
Pardon me, madam: for I meant not so.
What, what? first praise me, then again say, no?
O short-liv'd pride! not fair? alack, for wo!
Yes, madam, fair.
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.
Nothing but fair is that, which you inherit.
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;
1 note
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, 2 notethat my heart means no ill.
Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty
Only for praise-sake, when they strive to be
Lords o'er their lords?
Only for praise; and praise we may afford
To any lady, that subdues her lord.
Here comes a member of the commonwealth.
The thickest and the tallest.
The thickest and the tallest? it is so, truth is truth.
3 note
One o' these maids girdles for my waste should be fit.
Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickest here.
What's your will, Sir? what's your will?
I have a letter from Monsieur Biron, to one lady Rosaline.
O thy letter, thy letter: he's a good friend of mine.
Stand aside, good bearer.—4 note
Boyet, you can carve;
Break up this capon.
I am bound to serve.
This letter is mistook, it importeth none here;
It is writ to Jaquenetta.
We will read it, I swear.
Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.
Don Adriano de Armado.
5 noteThus 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.
What plume of feathers is he, that indited this letter?
What vane? what weathercock? did you ever hear better?
I am much deceived, but I remember the stile.
Else your memory is bad, going o'er it ere while.
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.
Thou, fellow, a word:
Who gave thee this letter?
I told you; my lord.
To whom should'st thou give it?
From my lord to my lady.
From which lord to which lady?
From my lord Berown, a good master of mine,
To a lady of France, that he call'd Rosaline.
Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, away.
Here, sweet, put up this; 'twill be thine another day.
[Exit Princess attended.
Who is the shooter? who is the shooter?
Shall I teach you to know?
Ay, my continent of beauty.
Why, she that bears the bow. Finely put off.
My lady goes to kill horns: but if thou marry,
Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry.
Finely put on.—
Well then, I am the shooter.
And who is your Deer?
If we chuse by horns, your self; come not near.
Finely put on, indeed.—
You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the brow.
But she her self is hit lower. Have I hit her now?
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.
By my troth, most pleasant; how both did fit it.
A mark marvellous well shot; for they both did hit it.
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.
Wide o' th' bow-hand; i'faith, your hand is out.
Indeed, a' must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er hit the clout.
An' if my hand be out, then, belike, your hand is in.
Then will she get the upshot by cleaving the pin.
Come, come, you talk greasily; your lips grow foul.
She's too hard for you at pricks, Sir, challenge her to bowl.
I fear too much rubbing; good night my good owl.
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 in-cony 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 handful of Wit;
Ah, heav'ns! it is a most pathetical Nit.
[Exit Costard.
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.
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?
A title to Phœbe, to Luna, to the Moon.
The moon was a month old, when Adam was no more:
And rought not to five weeks, when he came to five-score.
8 noteTh' allusion holds in the exchange.
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.
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
9 noteMakes fifty sores, O note sorel!
Of one sore I an hundred make,
By adding but one more L.
If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?
Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd;
Tho' 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.
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.
so doth
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;
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.
Now in thy likeness one more fool appears.
Ay me! I am forsworn.
Why, he comes in like a Perjure, wearing papers.
In love, I hope; sweet fellowship in shame.
One drunkard loves another of the name.
Am I the first, that have been perjur'd so?
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.
I fear, these stubborn lines lack power to move:
O sweet Maria, Empress of my love,
These numbers will I tear, and write in prose.
O, rhimes are guards on wanton Cupid's hose:
Disfigure not his (a) note slop.
The same shall go.
[he reads the sonnet.
Did not the heavenly rhetorick of thine eye
('Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument)
Persuade 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?
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.
By whom shall I send this?—company? stay.—
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?
O most divine Kate!
O most prophane coxcomb!
By heav'n, the wonder of a mortal eye!
By earth, she is (a) note but corporal; there you lie.
Her amber hairs for foul have amber coted.
An amber-colour'd raven was well noted.
As upright as the cedar.
Stoop, I say;
Her shoulder is with child.
As fair as day.
Ay, as some days; but then no sun must shine.
O that I had my wish!
And I had mine!
And mine too, good Lord!
Amen, so I had mine! Is not that a good word?
I would forget her, but a fever she
Reigns in my blood, and will remembred be.
A fever in your blood! why then, incision
Would let her out in sawcers, sweet misprision.
Once more I'll read the ode, that I have writ.
Once more I'll mark, how love can vary wit.
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 5 notemy true love's festring 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.
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.
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?
6 noteHow will he triumph, geap, and laugh at it?
For all the wealth that ever I did see,
I would not have him know so much by me.
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!
And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys,
And 7 noteCynic 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!
Too bitter is thy jest.
Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view?
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
8 note
With vane-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?
Soft, whither away so fast?
A true man or a thief, that gallops so?
I post from love; good lover, let me go.
God bless the King!
What Present hast thou there?
Some certain Treason.
What makes treason here?
Nay, it makes nothing, Sir.
If it mar nothing neither,
The treason and you go in peace away together.
I beseech your Grace, let this letter be read,
Our Parson misdoubts it: it was treason, he said.
Biron, read it over.
[He reads the letter.
Where hadst thou it?
Of Costard.
Where hadst thou it?
Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.
How now, what is in you? why dost thou tear it?
A toy, my Liege, a toy: your Grace needs not fear it.
It did move him to passion, and therefore let's hear it.
It is Biron's writing, and here is his name.
Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, you were born to do me shame.
[To Costard.
Guilty, my lord, guilty: I confess, I confess.
What?
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.
Now the number is even.
True, true; we are four:
Will these turtles begone?
Hence, Sirs, away.
Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay.
Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, let us embrace:
As true as 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.
What, did these rent lines shew some love of thine?
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?
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.
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 Sovereignty
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.
By heav'n, thy love is black as ebony.
9 noteIs ebony like her? O wood divine!
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?
O paradox, 1 note
black is the badge of hell:
The hue of dungeons, and the scowl of night;
2 note
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.
Her favour turns the fashion of the days,
For native blood is counted painting now;
And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise,
Paints itself black to imitate her brow.
To look like her, are chimney-sweepers black.
And since her time, are colliers counted bright.
And Ethiops of their sweet complexion crack.
Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light.
Your mistresses dare never come in rain,
For fear their colours should be wash'd away.
'Twere good, yours did: for, Sir, to tell you plain,
I'll find a fairer face not wash'd to day.
I'll prove her fair, or talk 'till dooms-day here.
No devil will fright thee then so much as she.
I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear.
Look, here's thy love; my foot and her face see.
O, if the streets were paved with thine eyes,
Her feet were much too dainty for such tread.
O vile! then as she goes, what upward lies
The street should see as she walkt over head.
But what of this, are we not all in love?
Nothing so sure, and thereby all forsworn.
Then leave this chat; and, good Biron, now prove
Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn.
Ay, marry, there;—some flattery for this evil.
O, some Authority how to proceed;
3 noteSome tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil.
Some salve for perjury.
O, 'tis more than need.
Have at you then, Affection's 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 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?
Why, universal plodding prisons up
4 note
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,
5 noteTeaches such duty 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,
6 note
In leaden contemplation have found out
Such fiery numbers, as the prompting eyes
Of beauteous tutors have enrich'd you with?
Other slow arts entirely keep the brain;
And therefore finding barren practisers,
Scarce shew a harvest of their heavy toil.
&plquo;But love, first learned in a lady's eyes,
&plquo;Lives not alone immured in the brain:
&plquo;But with the motion of all elements,
&plquo;Courses as swift as thought in every power;
&plquo;And gives to every power a double power,
&plquo;Above their functions and their offices.
&plquo;It adds a precious Seeing to the eye:
&plquo;A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind!
&plquo;A lover's ear will hear the lowest Sound,
&plquo;When 7 notethe suspicious head of theft is stopt.
&plquo;Love's Feeling is more soft and sensible,
&plquo;Than are the tender horns of cockled snails.&prquo;
Love's Tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in Taste;
For valour, is not Love a Hercules,
Still climbing trees in the Hesperides?
Subtle as Sphinx; as sweet and musical
8 noteAs bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair:
9 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 academies,
That shew, contain, and nourish all the world;
Else none at all in aught proves excellent.
Then fools you were, these women to forswear:
Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools.
For wisdom's sake (a word, that all men love)
Or for love's sake, (1 note
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 fulfils the law;
And who can sever love from charity?
Saint Cupid, then! and, soldiers, to the field!
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.
Now to plain-dealing, lay these glozes by;
Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France?
And win them too; therefore let us devise
Some entertainment for them in their Tents.
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.
Away, away! no time shall be omitted,
That will be time, and may by us be fitted.
Allons! Allons! 2 notesown Cockle reap'd no corn;
And justice always whirls in equal measure;
Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn;
If so, our copper buys no better treasure.
Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart,
If Fairings come thus plentifully in.
A lady wall'd about with diamonds!—
Look you, what I have from the loving King.
Madam, came nothing else along with That?
Nothing but this? yes, as much love in rhyme,
As would be cram'd up in a sheet of paper,
Writ on both sides the leaf, margent and all;
That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name.
That was the way to make his God-head wax,
For he hath been five thousand years a boy.
Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too.
You'll ne'er be friends with him; he kill'd your sister.
He made her melancholy, sad and heavy,
And so she died; had she been light, like you,
Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit,
She might have been a grandam ere she dy'd.
And so may you; for a light heart lives long.
What's your dark meaning, mouse, of this light word?
A light condition, in a beauty dark.
We need more light to find your meaning out.
You'll marr the light, by taking it in snuff:
Therefore I'll darkly end the argument.
Look, what you do; and do it still i'th' dark.
So do not you, for you are a light wench.
Indeed, I weigh not you; and therefore light.
You weigh me not; O, that's, you care not for me.
Great reason; for (a) note past Cure is still past Care.
Well bandied both; a set of wit well play'd.
But, Rosaline, you have a Favour too:
Who sent it? and what is it?
I would, you knew.
And if my face were but as fair as yours,
My favour were as great; be witness this.
Nay, I have Verses too, I thank Biron.
The numbers true, and were the numbring too,
I were the fairest Goddess on the ground.
I am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs.
O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter.
Any thing like?
Much in the letters, nothing in the praise.
Beauteous as ink; a good conclusion.
Fair as a text B in a copy-book.
Ware pencils. How? let me not die your debter,
My red dominical, my golden letter.
O, that your face were not so full of Oes!
Pox of that jest, and I beshrew all shrews:
But what was sent to you from fair Dumaine?
Madam, this glove.
Did he not send you twain?
Yes, Madam; and moreover,
Some thousand verses of a faithful lover.
A huge translation of hypocrisie,
Vildly compil'd, profound simplicity.
This, and these pearls, to me sent Longaville;
The letter is too long by half a mile.
I think no less; dost thou not wish in heart,
The chain were longer, and the letter short?
Ay, or I would these hands might never part.
We are wise girls, to mock our lovers for't.
They are worse fools to purchase mocking so.
That same Biron I'll torture, ere I go.
O, that I knew he were but in by th' week!
How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek,
And wait the season, and observe the times,
And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhimes,
And shape his service all to my behests,
And make him proud to make me proud with jests:
4 note
That he should be my Fool, and I his Fate.
None are so surely caught, when they are catch'd,
As wit turn'd fool; folly, in wisdom hatch'd,
Hath wisdom's warrant, and the help of school;
And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool.
The blood of youth burns not in such excess,
As gravity's revolt to wantonness.
Folly in fools bears not so strong a note,
As fool'ry in the wise, when wit doth dote:
Since all the power thereof it doth apply,
To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity.
Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face.
O, I am stab'd with laughter; where's her Grace?
Thy news, Boyet?
Prepare, Madam, prepare.
Arm, wenches, arm; Encounters mounted are
Against your peace; love doth approach disguis'd,
Armed in arguments; you'll be surpriz'd.
Muster your wits, stand in your own defence,
Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence.
Saint Dennis, to saint Cupid! what are they,
That charge their breath against us? say, scout, say.
Under the cool shade of a sycamore,
I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour;
When, lo! to interrupt my purpos'd Rest,
Toward that shade, I might behold, addrest
The King and his companions; warily
I stole into a neighbour thicket by;
And over-heard, what you shall over-hear:
That, by and by, disguis'd they will be here.
Their Herald is a pretty knavish Page,
That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage.
Action and accent did they teach him there;
Thus must thou speak, and thus thy body bear;
And ever and anon they made a doubt,
Presence majestical would put him out:
For, quoth the King, an Angel shalt thou see;
Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously.
The boy reply'd, an Angel is not evil;
I should have fear'd her, had she been a Devil.—
With that all laugh'd, and clap'd him on the shoulder,
Making the bold wag by their praises bolder.
One rubb'd his elbow thus, and fleer'd, and swore,
A better speech was never spoke before.
Another with his finger and his thumb,
Cry'd, via! we will do't, come what will come.
The third he caper'd and cry'd, all goes well:
The fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell.
With that they all did tumble on the ground,
With such a zealous laughter, so profound,
That in this spleen ridiculous appears,
To check their folly, passion's solemn tears.
But what, but what, come they to visit us?
They do, they do; and are apparell'd thus,
5 noteLike Moscovites, or Russians, as I guess.
Their purpose is to parley, court and dance;
And every one his love-feat will advance
Unto his sev'ral mistress; which they'll know,
By Favours sev'ral, which they did bestow.
And will they so? the gallants shall be taskt;
For, ladies, we will every one be maskt:
And not a man of them shall have the grace,
Despight of suite, to see a lady's face.
Hold, Rosaline; this Favour thou shalt wear,
And then the King will court thee for his Dear:
Hold, take you this, my sweet, and give me thine;
So shall Biron take me for Rosaline,
And change your Favours too; so shall your Loves
Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes.
Come on then, wear the Favours most in sight.
But in this changing, what is your intent?
Th' effect of my intent is to cross theirs;
They do it but in mocking merriment,
And mock for mock is only my intent.
Their several councils they unbosom shall
To loves mistook, and so be mockt withal,
Upon the next occasion that we meet,
With visages display'd, to talk and greet.
But shall we dance, if they desire us to't?
No; to the death, we will not move a foot;
Nor to their pen'd speech render we no grace:
But while 'tis spoke, each turn away her face.
Why, that contempt will kill the Speaker's heart,
And quite divorce his memory from his Part.
Therefore I do it; and I make no doubt,
The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out.
There's no such Sport, as Sport by Sport o'erthrown,
To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own;
So shall we stay, mocking intended game;
And they, well mockt, depart away with shame.
The trumpet sounds; be maskt, the maskers come.
All hail, the richest beauties on the earth!
Beauties, no richer than rich taffata.
A holy parcel of the fairest dames,
That ever turn'd their backs to mortal views.
Their eyes, villain, their eyes.
That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views.
Out—
True; out, indeed.
Out of your favours, heav'nly Spirits, vouchsafe
Not to behold
Once to behold, rogue.
Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes—
With your sun-beamed eyes—
They will not answer to that epithete;
You were best call it daughter-beamed eyes.
They do not mark me, and that brings me out.
Is this your perfectness? be gone, you rogue.
What would these strangers? know their minds, Boyet.
If they do speak our language, 'tis our Will
That some plain man recount their purposes.
Know, what they would.
What would you with the Princess?
Nothing, but peace and gentle visitation.
What would they, say they?
Nothing, but peace and gentle visitation.
Why, That they have; and bid them so be gone.
She says, you have it; and you may be gone.
Say to her, we have measur'd many miles,
To tread a measure with her on the grass.
They say, that they have measur'd many a mile,
To tread a measure with you on this grass.
It is not so. Ask them, how many inches
Is in one mile: if they have measur'd many,
The measure then of one is easily told.
If to come hither you have measur'd miles,
And many miles; the Princess bids you tell,
How many inches doth fill up one mile?
Tell her, we measure them by weary steps.
She hears herself.
How many weary steps
Of many weary miles, you have o'ergone,
Are number'd in the travel of one mile?
We number nothing that we spend for you;
Our duty is so rich, so infinite,
That we may do it still without accompt.
Vouchsafe to shew the sun-shine of your face,
That we (like savages) may worship it.
My face is but a moon, and clouded too.
Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do.
Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine
(Those clouds remov'd) upon our watery eyne.
O vain petitioner, beg a greater matter;
Thou now request'st but moon-shine in the water.
Then in our measure vouchsafe but one change;
Thou bid'st me beg, this begging is not strange.
Play, musick, then; nay, you must do it soon.
Not yet? no dance? thus change I, like the moon.
Will you not dance? how come you thus estrang'd?
You took the moon at full, but now she's chang'd.
Yet still she is the moon, and I the man.
The musick plays, vouchsafe some motion to it.
Our ears vouchsafe it.
But your legs should do it.
Since you are strangers, and come here by chance,
We'll not be nice; take hands;—we will not dance.
Why take you hands then!
Only to part friends;
Curt'sie, sweet hearts, and so the measure ends.
More measure of this measure; be not nice.
We can afford no more at such a price.
Prize your selves then; what buys your company?
Your absence only.
That can never be.
Then cannot we be bought; and so adieu;
Twice to your visor, and half once to you.
If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat.
In private then.
I am best pleas'd with That.
White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee.
Honey, and milk, and sugar, there is three.
Nay then, two treys,; and if you grow so nice,
Methegline, wort, and malmsey;—well run, dice:
There's half a dozen sweets.
Seventh sweet, adieu;
Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you.
One word in secret.
Let it not be sweet.
Thou griev'st my gall.
Gall? bitter—
Therefore meet.
Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word?
Name it.
Fair lady,—
Say you so? fair lord:
Take that for your fair lady.
Please it you;
As much in private; and I'll bid adieu.
What, was your visor made without a tongue?
I know the reason, lady, why you ask.
O, for your reason! quickly, Sir; I long.
You have a double tongue within your mask,
And would afford my speechless vizor half.
Veal, quoth the Dutch man; is not veal calf?
A calf, fair lady?
No, a fair lord calf.
Let's part the word.
No, I'll not be your half;
Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox.
Look, how you butt your self in these sharp mocks!
Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so.
Then die a calf, before your horns do grow.
One word in private with you, ere I die.
Bleat softly then, the butcher hears you cry.
The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen
As is the razor's edge, invincible,
Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen:
Above the sense of sense, so sensible
Seemeth their conference, their conceits have wings;
Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter things.
Not one word more, my maids; break off, break off.
By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff.—
Farewel, mad wenches; you have simple wits.
Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites.
Are these the Breed of wits so wondred at?
Tapers they are with your sweet breaths puft out.
Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross; fat, fat.
O poverty in wit, kingly poor flout!
Will they not (think you) hang themselves to night?
Or ever, but in vizors, shew their faces?
This pert Biron was out of count'nance quite.
O! they were all in lamentable cases.
The King was weeping-ripe for a good word.
Biron did swear himself out of all suit.
Dumain was at my service, and his sword:
No, point, quoth I; my servant straight was mute.
Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his heart;
And, trow you, what he call'd me?
Qualm, perhaps.
Yes, in good faith.
Go, sickness as thou art!
Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps.
But will you hear? the King is my love sworn.
And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me.
And Longaville was for my service born.
Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree.
Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear:
Immediately they will again be here
In their own shapes; for it can never be,
They will digest this harsh indignity.
Will they return?
They will, they will, God knows;
And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows:
Therefore, change Favours; and, when they repair,
Blow, like sweet roses, in this summer air.
How, blow? how, blow? speak to be understood.
&wlquo;6 note
&wlquo;Or angels veil'd in clouds: are roses blown,
&wlquo;Dismaskt, their damask sweet Commixture shewn.&wrquo;
Avaunt, perplexity! what shall we do,
If they return in their own shapes to woo?
Good Madam, if by me you'll be advis'd,
Let's mock them still, as well known, as disguis'd;
Let us complain to them what fools were here,
Disguis'd, like Moscovites, in * noteshapeless gear;
And wonder what they were, and to what end
Their shallow Shows, and Prologue vildly pen'd,
And their rough carriage so ridiculous,
Should be presented at our Tent to us.
Ladies, withdraw, the Gallants are at hand.
Whip to our Tents, as roes run o'er the land.
Fair Sir, God save you! Where's the Princess?
Gone to her Tent.
Please it your Majesty, command me any service to her?
That she vouchsafe me audience for one word.
I will; and so will she, I know my lord.
This fellow picks up wit, as pidgeons peas;
And utters it again, when Jove doth please:
He is wit's pedlar, and retails his wares
At wakes and wassals, meetings, markets, fairs:
And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know,
Have not the grace to grace it with such show.
This Gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve;
Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve.
He can carve too, and lisp: why, this is he,
That kist away his hand in courtesie;
This is the ape of form, Monsieur the nice,
That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice
In honourable terms: nay, he can sing
A mean most mainly; and, in ushering,
Mend him who can; the ladies call him sweet;
The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet.
7 noteThis is the flower, that smiles on every one,
To shew his teeth, as white as whale his bone.—
And consciences, that will not die in debt,
Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet.
A blister on his sweet tongue with my heart,
That put Armado's Page out of his Part!
See, where it comes; 8 note
behaviour, what wert thou,
'Till this man shew'd thee? and what art thou now?
All hail, sweet Madam, and fair time of day!
Fair in all hail is foul, as I conceive.
Construe my speeches better, if you may.
Then wish me better, I will give you leave.
We come to visit you, and purpose now
To lead you to our Court; vouchsafe it then.
This field shall hold me, and so hold your vow:
Nor God, nor I, delight in perjur'd men.
Rebuke me not for That, which you provoke;
9 note
You nick-name virtue; vice you should have spoke:
For virtue's office never breaks mens troth.
Now, by my maiden honour, yet as pure
As the unsully'd lilly, I protest,
A world of torments though I should endure,
I would not yield to be your house's guest:
So much I hate a breaking cause to be
Of heav'nly oaths, vow'd with integrity.
O, you have liv'd in desolation here,
Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame.
Not so, my lord; it is not so, I swear;
We have had pastimes here, and pleasant game.
A mess of Russians left us but of late.
How, Madam? Russians?
Ay, in truth, my lord;
Trim gallants, full of courtship, and of state.
Madam, speak true. It is not so, my lord:
My lady (to the manner of the days)
In courtesie gives undeserving praise.
We four, indeed, confronted were with four
In Russian habit: here they stay'd an hour,
And talk'd apace; and in that hour, my lord,
They did not bless us with one happy word.
I dare not call them fools; but this I think,
When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink.
This jest is dry to me. Fair, gentle, sweet,
Your wit makes wise things foolish; when we greet
With eyes best seeing heaven's fiery eye,
By light we lose light; your capacity
Is of that nature, as to your huge store
Wise things seem foolish, and rich things but poor.
This proves you wise and rich; for in my eye—
I am a fool, and full of poverty.
But that you take what doth to you belong,
It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue.
O, I am yours, and all that I possess.
All the fool mine?
I cannot give you less.
Which of the vizors was it, that you wore?
Where? when? what vizor? why demand you this?
There, then, that vizor, that superfluous Case,
That hid the worse, and shew'd the better face.
We are descried; they'll mock us now downright.
Let us confess, and turn it to a jest.
Amaz'd, my lord? why looks your Highness sad?
Help, hold his brows, he'll swoon: why look you pale?
Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy.
Thus pour the stars down plagues for Perjury.
Can any face of brass hold longer out?
Here stand I, lady, dart thy skill at me;
Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout,
Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance;
Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit;
And I will wish thee never more to dance,
Nor never more in Russian habit wait.
O! never will I trust to speeches pen'd,
Nor to the motion of a school-boy's tongue;
Nor never come in vizor to my friend,
Nor woo in rhime, like a blind harper's song.
Taffata-phrases, silken terms precise,
Three pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation,
Figures pedantical, these summer-flies,
Have blown me full of maggot ostentation:
I do forswear them; and I here protest,
By this white glove, (how white the hand, God knows!)
Henceforth my wooing mind shall be exprest
In russet yeas, and honest kersie noes:
And to begin, wench, (so God help me, law!)
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.
Sans, sans, I pray you.
Yet I have a trick
Of the old rage: bear with me, I am sick.
I'll leave it by degrees: soft, let us see;
Write, Lord have mercy on us, on those three;
They are infected, in their hearts it lyes;
They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes:
These lords are visited, you are not free;
For the lord's tokens on you both I see.
No, they are free, that gave these tokens to us.
Our states are forfeit, seek not to undo us.
It is not so; for how can this be true,
That you stand forfeit, being those that sue?
Peace, for I will not have to do with you.
Nor shall not, if I do as I intend.
Speak for your selves, my wit is at an end.
Teach us, sweet Madam, for our rude transgression
Some fair excuse.
The fairest is confession.
Were you not here, but even now, disguis'd?
Madam, I was.
And were you well advis'd?
I was, fair Madam.
When you then were here,
What did you whisper in your lady's ear?
That more than all the world I did respect her.
When she shall challenge this, you will reject her.
Upon mine honour, no.
Peace, peace, forbear:
Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear.
Despise me, when I break this oath of mine.
I will, and therefore keep it. Rosaline,
What did the Russian whisper in your ear?
Madam, he swore, that he did hold me dear
As precious eye-sight; and did value me
Above this world; adding thereto, moreover,
That he would wed me, or else die my lover.
God give thee joy of him! the noble lord
Most honourably doth uphold his word.
What mean you, Madam? by my life, my troth,
I never swore this lady such an oath.
By heav'n, you did; and to confirm it plain,
You gave me this: but take it, Sir, again.
My faith, and this, to th' Princess I did give;
I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve.
Pardon me, Sir, this jewel did she wear:
And lord Biron, I thank him, is my Dear.
What? will you have me; or your pearl again?
Neither of either: I remit both twain.
I see the trick on't; here was a consent,
(Knowing aforehand of our merriment)
To dash it, like a Christmas comedy.
Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany,
Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some Dick,
That 1 note
To make my lady laugh, when she's dispos'd,
Told our intents before; which once disclos'd,
The ladies did change Favours, and then we,
Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she:
Now to our perjury to add more terror,
We are again forsworn; in will, and error.
Much upon this it is.—And might not You
[To Boyet.
Forestal our sport, to make us thus untrue?
Do not you know my lady's foot by th' squier,
And laugh upon the apple of her eye,
And stand between her back, Sir, and the fire,
Holding a trencher, jesting merrily?
You put our Page out: 2 notego, you are allow'd;
Die when you will, a smock shall be your shrowd.
You leer upon me, do you? there's an eye,
Wounds like a leaden sword.
Full merrily
Hath this brave Manage, this Career, been run.
Lo, he is tilting strait. Peace, I have done.
Enter Costard.
Welcome, pure wit, thou partest a fair fray.
O lord, Sir, they would know
Whether the three Worthies shall come in, or no.
What, are there but three?
No, Sir, but it is vara fine;
For every one pursents three.
And three times three is nine?
We are shame-proof, my lord; and 'tis some policy
To have one Show worse than the King's and his Company.
I say, they shall not come.
Nay, my good lord, let me o'er-rule you now;
That sport best pleases, that doth least know how.
Where zeal strives to content, and the contents
Dies in the zeal of that which it presents;
Their form, confounded, makes most form in mirth;
When great things, labouring, perish in their birth.
A right description of our sport, my lord.
And if these four Worthies in their first Show thrive,
These four will change habits, and present the other five.
There are five in the first Show.
You are deceiv'd, 'tis not so.
The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, the fool, and the boy.
A bare throw at Novum, and the whole world again
Cannot prick out five such, take each one in's vein.
The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain.
I Pompey am—
You lye, you are not he.
I Pompey am—
3 noteWith Libbard's head on knee.
It is Great, Sir; Pompey, surnam'd the Great;
That oft in field, with targe and shield,
Did make my foe to sweat:
And travelling along this coast, I here am come by chance;
And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet Lass of France.
If your ladyship would say, “thanks,—Pompey, I had done.
Great thanks, great Pompey.
When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's Commander;
By east, west, north and south, I spread my conquering might:
My 'Scutcheon plain declares, that I am Alisander.
Your nose says, no, you are not; for it stands too right.
Your nose smells, no, in this, most tender smelling Knight.
The Conqueror is dismaid: proceed, good Alexander.
When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's Commander.
Great Hercules is presented by this imp,
Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed canus;
And when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp,
Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus:
Quoniam, he seemeth in minority;
Ergo, I come with this apology.—
Keep some state in thy Exit, and vanish.
Judas I am.
A Judas!
Not Iscariot, Sir;
Judas I am, ycleped Machabeus.
Judas Machabeus clipt, is plain Judas.
A kissing traitor. How art thou prov'd Judas?
Judas I am.
The more shame for you, Judas.
What mean you, Sir?
To make Judas hang himself.
Begin, Sir, you are my elder.
Well follow'd; Judas was hang'd on an Elder.
I will not be put out of countenance.
Because thou hast no face.
What is this?
A cittern head.
The head of a bodkin.
A death's face in a ring.
The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen.
The pummel of Cæsar's faulchion.
The carv'd-bone face on a flask.
St. George's half-cheek in a brooch.
Ay, and in a brooch of lead.
Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer;
And now, forward; for we have put thee in countenance.
You have put me out of countenance.
False; we have given thee faces.
But you have out-fac'd them all.
An thou wert a lion, we would do so.
Therefore as he is an ass, let him go.
And so adieu, sweet Jude; nay, why dost thou stay?
For the latter end of his name.
For the Ass to the Jude; give it him. Jud-as, away.
This is not generous, not gentle, not humble.
A light for monsieur Judas; it grows dark, he may stumble.
Alas! poor Machabeus, how he hath been baited!
The armipotent Mars, of launces the Almighty,
Gave Hector a gift,—
A gilt nutmeg.
A lemon.
Stuck with cloves.
No, cloven.
The armipotent Mars, of launces the Almighty,
Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion;
A man so breath'd, that certain he would fight ye
From morn 'till night, out of his pavilion.
I am that Flower.
That mint.
That cullambine.
Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue.
Ay, and Hector's a grey-hound.
The sweet War-man is dead and rotten;
Sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the bury'd:
But I will forward with my device;
Sweet Royalty, bestow on me the sense of hearing.
Speak, brave Hector; we are much delighted,
I do adore thy sweet Grace's slipper.
Loves her by the foot.
He may not, by the yard.
This Hector far surmounted Hannibal.
I'm sorry, Madam, for the news I bring
Is heavy in my tongue. The King your father—
Dead, for my life.
Even so: my Tale is told.
Worthies, away; the Scene begins to cloud.
How fares your Majesty?
Boyet, prepare; I will away to night.
Madam, not so; I do beseech you, stay.
Prepare, I say.—I thank you, gracious lords,
For all your fair endeavours; and entreat,
Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe
In your rich wisdom to excuse, or hide,
The liberal opposition of our spirits;
If over-boldly we have borne our selves
In the converse of breath, your gentleness
Was guilty of it. Farewel, worthy lord;
An heavy heart bears not a (a) note nimble tongue:
Excuse me so, coming so short of thanks,
For my great Suit so easily obtain'd.
The extreme part of time extremely forms
All causes to the purpose of his speed;
And often, at his very loose, decides
That, which long Process could not arbitrate.
And though the mourning brow of Progeny
Forbid the smiling courtesie of love,
The holy suit which fain it would convince;
Yet since love's argument was first on foot,
Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it
From what it purpos'd: Since, to wail friends lost,
Is not by much so wholesome, profitable,
As to rejoice at friends but newly found.
I understand you not, my griefs are double.
Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief;
And by these badges understand the King,
For your fair sakes have we neglected time,
Play'd foul Play with our oaths: your beauty, ladies,
Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours
Even to th' 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 subjects as the eye doth rowl,
To every varied object in his glance;
Which party-coated presence of loose love
Put on by us, if, in your heav'nly eyes,
Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities;
Those heav'nly 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 our selves prove false,
By being once false, for ever to be true
To those that make us both; fair ladies, you:
And even that falshood, in it self a sin,
Thus purifies it self, and turns to Grace.
We have receiv'd your letters, full of love;
Your Favours, the embassadors of love:
And in our maiden council rated them
At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesie:
As bumbast, and as lining to the time:
5 note
Have we not been; and therefore met your loves
In their own fashion, like a merriment.
Our letters, Madam, shew'd much more than jest.
So did our looks.
6 noteWe did not quote them so.
Now at the latest minute of the hour,
Grant us your loves.
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 aught, 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 tryal, 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; and 'till that instant shut
My woful self up in a mourning house,
Raining the tears of lamentation,
For the remembrance of my father's death.
If this thou do deny, let our hands part;
Neither intitled in the other's heart.
If this, or more than this, I would deny,
7 noteTo fetter up these powers of mine with rest;
The sudden hand of death close up mine eye!
Hence, ever then, my heart is in thy breast.
8 note[And what to me, my love? and what to me?
You must be purged too, your sins are rank,
Your are attaint with fault and perjury;
Therefore if you my favour mean to get,
A twelve-month shall you spend, and never rest,
But seek the weary beds of people sick.]
But what to me, my love? but what to me?
A wife!—a beard, fair health and honesty;
With three-fold love I wish you all these three.
O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife?
Not so, my lord, a twelve-month and a day,
I'll mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers say.
Come, when the King doth to my lady come;
Then if I have much love, I'll give you some.
I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then.
Yet swear not, lest ye be forsworn again.
What says Maria?
At the twelve-month's end,
I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend.
I'll stay with patience; but the time is long.
The liker you; few taller are so young.
Studies my lady? 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 my love.
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 comparisons and wounding flouts;
Which you on all estates will execute,
That lye 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,
T' enforce the pained Impotent to smile.
To move wild laughter in the throat of death?
It cannot be, it is impossible:
Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.
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 clamours 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.
A twelve-month? well; befall, what will befall,
I'll jest a twelve month in an Hospital.
Ay, sweet my lord, and so I take my leave.
No, Madam; we will bring you on your way.
Our wooing doth not end like an old Play;
Jack hath not Jill; these ladies' courtesie
Might well have made our sport a Comedy.
Come, Sir, it wants a twelve-month and a day,
And then 'twill end.
That's too long for a Play.
Sweet Majesty, vouchsafe me—
Was not that Hector?
That worthy Knight of Troy.
Holla! approach.—
Enter all, for the Song.
This side is Hiems, Winter.
This Ver, the spring: the one maintain'd by the owl,
The other by the cuckow.
Ver, begin.
When daizies pied, and violets blue,
And lady-smocks all silver white,
And cuckow-buds of yellow hue,
9 note
The cuckow then on every Tree
Mocks married men; for thus sings he,
Cuckow!
Cuckow! cuckow! O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!
When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,
And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks:
When turtles tread, and rooks and daws;
And maidens bleach their summer smocks;
The cuckow then on every tree
Mocks married men; for thus sings he,
Cuckow!
Cuckow! cuckow! O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!
When isicles hang by the wall,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail;
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail;
When blood is nipt, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl
Tu-whit! to-whoo!
A merry note,
While greasie Jone doth keel the pot.
When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the Parson's saw;
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw;
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl
Tu-whit! to-whoo!
A merry note,
While greasie Jone doth keel the pot.
The words of Mercury
Are harsh after the Songs of Apollo:
You, that way; we, this way.
Previous section
Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].
