Biron. Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, [To Cos

TARD.) 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. 0, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more. Dum. Now the number is even. 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. 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

a

My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon:

She, an attending star, scarce seen alight.
Biron. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Birón :

O, but for my love, day would turn to night!
Of all complexions the culld sovereignty

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.
O, 'tis the sun that maketh all things shine!

King. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony.
Biron. Is 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. 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.

a

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

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-
King. Then leave this chat; and, good Birón,

now prove
Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn.

face see.

sworn.

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.
Biron.

0, '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 engenders 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 ? 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?

a

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,
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 show a harvest of their heavy toil :
But love, first learned in a lady's eyes,
Lives not alone immured in the brain;
But with the motion of all elements,
Courses as swift as thought in every power;
And gives to every power a double power,
Above their functions and their offices.
It adds a precious seeing to the eye;
A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind;
A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound,
When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd;
Love's feeling is more soft, and sensible,
Than are the tender horns of cockled snails;
Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste:
For valour, is not love a Hercules,
Still climbing trees in the Hesperides?
Subtle as sphinx; as sweet, and musical,
As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair;
And, when love speaks, the voice of all the gods
Makes heaven drowsy 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 women's eyes this doctrine I derive:
They sparkle still the right Promethean fire;
They are the books, the arts, the academes,
That show, contain, and nourish all the world;
Else, none at all in aught proves excellent: