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If by me broke, What fool is not so wise,
To lose an oath to win a paradise?

Biron [aside.] 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' the way.

Enter DUMAIN, with a paper.

Long. By whom shall I send this?-Company!


[Stepping aside. Biron [aside.] All hid, all hid, an old infant play : Like a demi-god here sit I in the sky,

And wretched fools' secrets heedfully o'er-eye. More sacks to the mill! O heavens, I have my


Dumain transform'd: four woodcocks in a dish! Dum. O most divine Kate!


O most prophane coxcomb!


Dum. By heaven, the wonder of a mortal eye! Biron. By earth she is but corporal; there you



Dum. Her amber hairs for foul have amber


Biron. An amber-colour'd raven was well noted.

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Biron. Ay, as some days; but then no sun must


Dum. O that I had my wish!



And I had mine!



King. And I mine too, good Lord!

Biron. Amen, so I had mine: Is not that a good



Dum. I would forget her; but a fever she Reigns in my blood, and will remember'd be. Biron. A fever in your blood, why, then incision Would let her out in saucers; Sweet misprision! [Aside.

Dum. Once more I'll read the ode that I have


Biron. Once more I'll mark how love can vary wit. [Aside.

Dum. On a day, (alack the day!)

Love, whose month is ever May,
Spied 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 even Jove would swear,

Juno but an Ethiop were;

And deny himself for Jove,

Turning mortal for thy love.—

This will I send : and something else more plain,
That shall express my true love's fasting pain.
O, would the King, Birón, and Longaville,
Were lovers too! Ill, to example ill,

Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd note;
For none offend, where all alike do dote.

Long. Dumain, [advancing,] thy love is far from

That in love's grief desir'st society:

You may look pale, but I should blush, I know,
To be o'erheard, and taken napping so.

King. Come, sir, [advancing,] you blush; as his
your case is such;

You chide at him, offending twice as much:
You do not love Maria; Longaville
Did never sonnet for her sake compile ;
Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart
His loving bosom, to keep down his heart.
I have been closely shrouded in this bush,
And mark'd you both, and for you both did blush
I heard your guilty rhymes, observ'd your fashion;
Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion:
Ah me! says one; Ŏ Jove! the other cries;
One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other's eyes:
You would for paradise break faith and troth;

[To LONG. And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath. [To DUMAIN. What will Birón say, when that he shall hear A faith infring'd, which such a zeal did swear? How will he scorn? how will he spend his wit? How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it?

For all the wealth that ever I did see,
I would not have him know so much by me.
Biron. Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy. -
Ah, good my liege, I pray thee pardon me :

[Descends from the tree.
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 sonneting.
But are you not asham'd? nay, are you not,
All three of you, to be thus much o'ershot?
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 foolery I have seen,
Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen! 2
O me, with what strict patience have I sat,
To see a king transformed to a gnat!
To see great Hercules whipping a gigg,
And profound Solomon to tune a jigg,
And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys,
And critick 3 Timon laugh at idle toys!
Where lies thy grief, O tell me, good Dumain?
And gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain?
And where my liege's? all about the breast:
A caudle, ho!


Too bitter is thy jest. Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view? Biron. Not you by me, but I betray'd to you; I, that am honest; I, that hold it sin To break the vow I am engaged in; I am betray'd, by keeping company

With moon-like men, of strange inconstancy.

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When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme?
Or groan for Joan? or spend a minute's time?
In pruning 4 me? When shall you hear that I
Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye,
A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist,
A leg, a limb?


Soft; Whither away so fast?

A true man, or a thief, that gallops so?
Biron. I post from love; good lover, let me go.


Jaq. God bless the king!


What present hast thou there?

Cost. Some certain treason.

·King. Cost. Nay, it makes nothing, sir. King. If it mar nothing neither, The treason, and you, go in peace away together. Jaq. I beseech your grace, let this letter be read; Our parson misdoubts it; 'twas treason he said. King. Biron, read it over. [Giving him the letter. Where hadst thou it?

What makes treason here?

Jaq. Of Costard.

King. Where hadst thou it ?

Cost. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio. King. How now! what is in you? why dost thou tear it?

Biron. A toy, my liege, a toy; your grace needs not fear it.

Long. It did move him to passion, and therefore let's hear it.

Dum. It is Biron's writing, and here is his name. [Picks up the pieces.

4 In trimming myself.

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