Biron. Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, [To CosTARD.] you were born to do me shame.Guilty, my lord, guilty; I confess, I confess. King. What? Biron. That you three fools lack'd me fool to make up the mess: He, he, and you, my liege, and I, Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die. Biron. True, true; we are four: Will these turtles be gone? King. Hence, sirs; away. Cost. Walk aside the true folk, and let the trai[Exeunt CoST. and Jac. Biron. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O let us em tors stay. 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 love of thine? Biron. Did they, quoth you? Who sees the heavenly Rosaline, That like a rude and savage man of Inde, At the first opening of the gorgeous east, Bows not his vassal head; and, strucken blind, Kisses the base ground with obedient breast? What peremptory eagle-sighted eye Dares look upon the heaven of her brow, That is not blinded by her majesty? King. What zeal, what fury hath inspir'd thee now? My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon: Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek; 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 A wither'd hermit, five-score winters worn, And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy. O, who can give an oath? where is a book? That I may swear, beauty doth beauty lack, If that she learn not of her eye to look: No face is fair, that is not full so black. King. O paradox! Black is the badge of hell, The hue of dungeons, and the scowl of night; 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. face see. Biron. O, if the streets were paved with thine eyes, Her feet were much too dainty for such tread ! Dum. O vile! then as she goes, what upward lies The street should see as she walk'd over head. King. But what of this? Are we not all in love? Biron. O, nothing so sure; and thereby all for sworn. King. Then leave this chat; and, good Birón, now prove Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn. Dum. Ay, marry, there; ― some flattery for this Long. O, some authority how to proceed; Some tricks, some quillets 5, how to cheat the devil. Dum. Some salve for perjury. Biron. O, 'tis more than need? Have at you then, affection's men at arms: Consider what you first did swear unto; To fast, to study, and to see no woman ;- And where that you have vow'd to study, lords, The nimble spirits in the arteries; O, we have made a vow to study, lords; Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? |