Spy'd a bloffom passing fair, That I am for fworn for thee: Thou, for whom ev'n Jove would fwear, And deny himself for Jove, Turning mortal for thy love. This will I fend, and fomething else more plain, Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd note : Long. Dumain, thy love is far from charity, King. Come, Sir, you blufh; as his, your cafe is fuch; [coming forward. You chide at him, offending twice as much. You do not love Maria? Longaville Did never fonnet for her fake compile ; Nor never lay'd his wreathed arms athwart His loving bofom, to keep down his heart: I have been closely fhrowded in this bush, And markt you both, and for you both did blush. I heard your guilty rhimes, obferv'd your fashion ; Saw fighs reek from you, noted well your paffion. Ay Ay me! fays one; O Jove! the other cries; grace [coming forward. O, what a scene of fool'ry have I seen, Where lyes thy grief? O tell me, good Dumain ; King. Too bitter is thy jeft. Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view? Biron. Not you by me, but I betray'd by you. I, that am honeft; I, that hold it fin To break the vow I am engaged in. K z I am betray'd by keeping company King. Soft, whither away fo faft? A true man or a thief, that gallops fo? Biron. I poft from love; good lover, let me go. Jaq. God bless the King! King. What Present haft thou there? Coft. Some certain Treason. The treafon and you go in peace away together. Our Parfon mifdoubts it: it was treafon, he faid. King. Biron, read it over. Where hadst thou it? Jaq. Of Coftard. King. Where hadft thou it? [He reads the letter. Coft. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio. King. How now, what is in you? why doft thou tear it? Biron. A toy, my Liege, a toy: your Grace needs not fear it. Long. It did move him to paffion, and therefore let's hear it. Dum. It is Biron's writing, and here is his name. Biron. Ah, you whorefon loggerhead, you were born to do me fhame. [To Coftard. Guilty, my lord, guilty: I confefs, I confefs. King. What? Biron. That you three fools lack'd me fool to make up the mess. He, Love's Labour's loft. He, he, and you; and you, my liege, and I Biron. True, true; we are four : King. Hence, Sirs, away. 221 Coft. Walk afide the true folk, and let the traitors stay. [Exeunt Coft. and Jaquen. Biron. Sweet lords, fweet lovers, O, let us embrace: As true we are, as flesh and blood can be. The fea will ebb and flow, heaven will fhew his face: We cannot cross the cause why we were born: King. What, did these rent lines fhew fome love of thine? Biron. Did they, quoth you? Who fees the heavenly Rofaline, That (like a rude and favage man of Inde, At the first opening of the gorgeous east) Bows not his vaffal head, and, ftrucken blind, Kiffes the base ground with obedient breast? What peremptory eagle fighted eye Dares look upon the heaven of her brow, That is not blinded by her Majesty? King. What zeal, what fury, hath infpir'd thee now? My love (her mistress) is a gracious moon ; Of all complexions the cull'd Sovereignty Do meet, as at a Fair, in her fair cheek; Where feveral worthies make one dignity; Where nothing wants, that want it felf doth feek. Lend me the flourish, of all gentle tongues; Fie, painted rhetorick! O, fhe needs it not: To things of fale a feller's praise belongs: She paffes praise; the praise, too fhort, doth blot. K 3 A A wither'd hermit, fivefcore winters worn, Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye: And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy; O, who can give an oath? where is a book, That I may fwear, Beauty doth beauty lack, If that fhe learn not of her eye to look? No face is fair, that is not full fo black? King. O paradox, black is the badge of hell: The hue of dungeons, and the fcowl of night; (25) And beauty's creft becomes the heavens well. Biron. Devils fooneft tempt, refembling spirits of light: O, if in black my lady's brow be deckt, It mourns, that Painting and ufurping Hair Should ravish doters with a false aspect : And therefore is fhe 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 it felf black to imitate her brow. Dum. To look like her, are chimney-fweepers black. Long. And fince her time, are colliers counted bright. King. And Ethiops of their sweet complexion crack. (24) Is Ebony like her? O Word divine?] This is the Reading of all the Editions that I have seen: but both Dr. Thirlby and Mr. Warburton concurr'd in reading, (as I had likewife conjectur'd,) o Wood divine! (25) -black is the badge of Hell; The hue of dungeons, and the School of Night.] Black, being the School of Night, is a Piece of Mystery above my Comprehenfion. I had guefs'd, it fhould be, the Stole of Night: but I have preferr'd the Conjecture of my Friend Mr. Warburton, as it comes nearer in Pronunciation to the corrupted Reading, as well as agrees better with the other Images. Dum. |