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Biron. Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, [To Cos
TARD.) you were born to do me shame. Guilty, my lord, guilty; I confess, I confess.
make up the mess : He, he, and you, my liege, and I, Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die. 0, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more. Dum. Now the number is even. Biron.
True, true; we are four :
Hence, sirs; away. Cost. Walk aside the true folk, and let the trai. tors stay
[Exeunt Cost. and Jac. Biron. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O let us em
brace ! As true we are, as flesh and blood can be: The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his face;
Young blood will not obey an old decree : We cannot cross the cause why we were born ; Therefore, of all hands must we be forsworn. King. What, did these rent lines show some lové
of thine ? Biron. Did they, quoth you? Who sees the
heavenly Rosaline, That like a rude and savage man of Inde,
At the first opening of the gorgeous east, Bows not his vassal head; and, strucken blind,
Kisses the base ground with obedient breast ? What peremptory eagle-sighted eye
Dares look upon the heaven of her brow, That is not blinded by her majesty ? King. What zeal, what fury hath inspir'd thee
My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon:
She, an attending star, scarce seen alight.
O, but for my love, day would turn to night!
Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek; Where several worthies make one dignity;
Where nothing wants, that want itself doth seek. Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues,
Fye, painted rhetorick ! O, she needs it not : To things of sale a seller's praise belongs; She passes praise; then praise too short doth
blot. A wither'd hermit, five-score 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.
King. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony.
A wife of such wood were felicity.
That I may swear, beauty doth beauty lack, If that she learn not of her eye to look :
No face is fair, that is not full so black. King. O paradox! Black is the badge of hell,
The hue of dungeons, and the scowl of night; And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well. Biron. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of
light. O, if in black my lady's brows be deckt,
It mourns, that painting, and usurping hair, Should ravish doters with a false aspéct;
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. Dum. To look like her, are chimney-sweepers
black. Long. And since her time, are colliers counted
bright. King. And Ethiops of their sweet complexion
crack. Dum. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is
light. Biron. Your mistresses dare never come in rain,
For fear their colours should be wash'd away.. King. 'Twere good, yours did; for, sir, to tell you
plain, I'll find a fairer face not wash'd to-day. Biron. I'll prove her fair, or talk till dooms-day
here. King. No devil will fright thee then so much as
she. Dum. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear. Long. Look, here's thy love: my foot and her
[Showing his shoe. Biron. O, if the streets were paved with thine
eyes, Her feet were much too dainty for such tread! Dum. O vile! then as she goes, what upward
Dum. Ay, marry, there;- — some flattery for this
evil. Long. O, some authority how to proceed; Some tricks, some quillets 5, how to cheat the devil.
Dum. Some salve for perjury.
0, 'tis more than need ? -
stomachs are too young;
you still dream, and pore, and thereon look ? For when would you, my lord, or you, or you, Have found the ground of study's excellence, Without the beauty of a woman's face ? From women's eyes this doctrine I derive; They are the ground, the books, the academes, From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire, Why, universal plodding prisons up The nimble spirits in the arteries ; As motion, and long during action, tires The sinewy vigour of the traveller. Now, for not looking on a woman's face, You have in that forsworn the use of eyes ; And study too, the causer of your vow : For where is any author in the world, Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye? Learning is but an adjunct to 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 ;