# Shakespeare - First Folio facsimile (1910)/Loves Labour's lost/Act 4

Actus Quartus.
Enter the Princesse, a Forrester, her Ladies, and her Lords.
Qu.
Was that the King that spurd his horse so hard, Against the steepe vprising of the hill?
Boy.
I know not, but I thinke it was not he.
Qu.
Who ere a was, a shew'd a mounting minde: Well Lords, to day we shall haue our dispatch, On Saterday we will returne to France. Then Forrester my friend, Where is the Bush That we must stand and play the murtherer in?
For.
Hereby vpon the edge of yonder Coppice, A stand where you may make the fairest shoote.
Qu.
I thanke my beautie, I am faire that shoote, And thereupon thou speak'st the fairest shoote.
For.
Pardon me Madam, for I meant not so.
Qu.
What, what? First praise me, & then again say no. O short liu'd pride. Not faire? alacke for woe.
For.
Yes Madam faire.
Qu.
Nay, neuer paint me now, Where faire is not, praise cannot mend the brow. Here (good my glasse) take this for telling true: Faire paiment for foule words, is more then due.
For.
Nothing but faire is that which you inherit.
Qu.
See, see, my beautie will be sau'd by merit. O heresie in faire, fit for these dayes, A giuing hand, though foule, shall haue faire praise. But come, the Bow: Now Mercie goes to kill, And shooting well, is then accounted ill: Thus will I saue my credit in the shoote, Not wounding, pittie would not let me do't: If wounding, then it was to shew my skill, That more for praise, then purpose meant to kill. And out of question, so it is sometimes: Glory growes guiltie of detested crimes, When for Fames sake, for praise an outward part, We bend to that, the working of the hart. As I for praise alone now seeke to spill The poore Deeres blood, that my heart meanes no ill.
Boy.
Do not curst wiues hold that selfe-soueraigntie Onely for praise sake, when they striue to be Lords ore their Lords?
Qu.
Onely for praise, and praise we may afford, To any Lady that subdewes a Lord.
Enter Clowne.
Boy.
Here comes a member of the common-wealth.
Clo.
God dig-you-den all, pray you which is the head Lady?
Qu.
Thou shalt know her fellow, by the rest that haue no heads.
Clo.
Which is the greatest Lady, the highest?
Qu.
The thickest, and the tallest.
Clo.
The thickest, & the tallest: it is so, truth is truth. And your waste Mistris, were as slender as my wit, One a these Maides girdles for your waste should be fit. Are not you the chiefe woman? You are the thickest here?
Qu.
What's your will sir? What's your will?
Clo.
I haue a Letter from Monsier Berowne, To one Lady Rosaline.
Qu.
O thy letter, thy letter: He's a good friend of mine. Stand a side good bearer. Boyet, you can carue, Breake vp this Capon.
Boyet.
I am bound to serue. This Letter is mistooke: it importeth none here: It is writ to Iaquenetta.
Qu.
We will read it, I sweare. Breake the necke of the Waxe, and euery one giue eare.
Boyet reades.
BY heauen, that thou art faire, is most infallible: true that thou art beauteous, truth it selfe that thou art louely: more fairer then faire, beautifull then beautious, truer then truth it selfe: haue comiseration on thy heroicall Vassall. The magnanimous and most illustrate King Cophetua set eie vpon the pernicious and indubitate Begger Zenelophon: and he it was that might rightly say, Veni, vidi, vici: Which to annothanize in the vulgar, O base and obscure vulgar; videliset, He came, See, and ouercame: hee came one; see, two; ouercame three: Who came? the King. Why did he come? to see. Why did he see? to ouercome. To whom came he? to the Begger. What saw he? the Begger. Who ouercame he? the Begger. The conclusion is victorie: On whose side? the King: the captiue is inricht: On whose side? the Beggers. The catastrophe is a Nuptiall: on whose side? the Kings: no, on both in one, or one in both. I am the King (for so stands the comparison) thou the Begger, for so witnesseth thy lowlinesse. Shall I command thy loue? I may. Shall I enforce thy loue? I could. Shall I entreate thy loue? I will. What, shalt thou exchange for ragges, roabes: for tittles titles, for thy selfe mee. Thus expecting thy reply, I prophane my lips on thy foote, my eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thy euerie part.
Thine in the dearest designe of industrie, Don Adriana de Armatho.
Thus dost thou heare the Nemean Lion roare, Gainst thee thou Lambe, that standest as his pray: Submissiue fall his princely feete before, And he from forrage will incline to play. But if thou striue (poore soule) what art thou then? Foode for his rage, repasture for his den.
Qu.
What plume of feathers is hee that indited this Letter? What veine? What Wethercocke? Did you euer heare better?
Boy.
I am much deceiued, but I remember the stile.
Qu.
Else your memorie is bad, going ore it erewhile.
Boy.
This Armado is a Spaniard that keeps here in court A Phantasime, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport To the Prince and his Booke-mates.
Qu.
Thou fellow, a word. Who gaue thee this Letter?
Clow.
I told you, my Lord.
Qu.
To whom should'st thou giue it?
Clo.
From my Lord to my Lady.
Qu.
From which Lord, to which Lady?
Clo.
From my Lord Berowne, a good master of mine, To a Lady of France, that he call'd Rosaline.
Qu.
Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come Lords away. Here sweete, put vp this, 'twill be thine another day.Exeunt.
Boy.
Who is the shooter? Who is the shooter?
Rosa.
Shall I teach you to know.
Boy.
I my continent of beautie.
Rosa.
Why she that beares the Bow. Finely put off.
Boy.
My Lady goes to kill hornes, but if thou marrie, Hang me by the necke, if hornes that yeare miscarrie. Finely put on.
Rosa.
Well then, I am the shooter.
Boy.
And who is your Deare?
Rosa.
If we choose by the hornes, your selfe come not neare. Finely put on indeede.
Maria.
You still wrangle with her Boyet, and shee strikes at the brow.
Boyet.
But she her selfe is hit lower: Haue I hit her now.
Rosa.
Shall I come vpon thee with an old saying, that was a man when King Pippin of France was a little boy, as touching the hit it.
Boyet.
So I may answere thee with one as old that was a woman when Queene Guinouer of Brittaine was a little wench, as touching the hit it.
Rosa.
Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it, Thou canst not hit it my good man.
Boy.
I cannot, cannot, cannot: And I cannot, another can. Exit.
Clo.
By my troth most pleasant, how both did fit it.
Mar.
A marke marueilous well shot, for they both did hit.
Boy.
A mark, O marke but that marke: a marke saies my Lady. Let the mark haue a pricke in't, to meat at, if it may be.
Mar.
Wide a'th bow hand, yfaith your hand is out.
Clo.
Indeede a' must shoote nearer, or heele ne're hit the clout.
Boy.
And if my hand be out, then belike your hand is in.
Clo.
Then will shee get the vpshoot by cleauing the is in.
Ma.
Come, come, you talke greasely, your lips grow foule.
Clo.
She's too hard for you at pricks, sir challenge her to boule.
Boy.
I feare too much rubbing: good night my good Oule.
Clo.
By my soule a Swaine, a most simple Clowne. Lord, Lord, how the Ladies and I haue put him downe. O my troth most sweete iests, most inconie vulgar wit, When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it were, so fit. Armathor ath to the side, O a most dainty man. To see him walke before a Lady, and to beare her Fan. To see him kisse his hand, and how most sweetly a will sweare: And his Page atother side, that handfull of wit, Ah heauens, it is most patheticall nit. Sowla, sowla. Exeunt. Shoote within.
Enter Dull, Holofernes, the Pedant and Nathaniel.
Nat.
Very reuerent sport truely, and done in the testimony of a good conscience.
Ped.
The Deare was (as you know) sanguis in blood, ripe as a Pomwater who now hangeth like a Iewell in the eare of Celo the skie; the welken the heauen, and anon falleth like a Crab on the face of Terra, the soyle, the land, the earth.
Curat.Nath.
Truely M. Holofernes, the epythithes are sweetly varied like a scholler at the least: but sir I assure ye, it was a Bucke of the first head.
Hol.
Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.
Dul.
'Twas not a haud credo, 'twas a Pricket.
Hol.
Most barbarous intimation: yet a kinde of insinuation, as it were in via, in way of explication facere: as it were replication, or rather ostentare, to show as it were his inclination after his vndressed, vnpolished, vneducated, vnpruned, vntrained, or rather vnlettered, or ratherest vnconfirmed fashion, to insert againe my haud credo for a Deare.
Dul.
I said the Deare was not a haud credo, 'twas a Pricket.
Hol.
Twice sod simplicitie, bis coctus, O thou monster Ignorance, how deformed doost thou looke.
Nath.
Sir hee hath neuer fed of the dainties that are bred in a booke. He hath not eate paper as It were: He hath not drunke inke. His intellect is not replenished, hee is onely an animall, onely sensible in the duller parts: and such barren plants are set before vs, that we thankfull should be: which we taste and feeling, are for those parts that doe fructifie in vs more then he. For as it would ill become me to be vaine, indiscreet, or a foole; So were there a patch set on Learning, to see him in a Schoole. But omne bene say I, being of an old Fathers minde, Many can brooke the weather, that loue not the winde.
Dul.
You two are book-men: Can you tell by your wit, What was a month old at Cains birth, that's not fiue weekes old as yet?
Hol.
Dictisima goodman Dull, dictisima goodman Dull.
Dul.
What is dictima?
Nath.
A title to Phebe, to Luna, to the Moone.
Hol.
The Moone was a month old when Adam was no more. And wrought not to fiue-weekes when he came to fiue-score. Th' allusion holds in the Exchange.
Dul.
'Tis true indeede, the Collusion holds in the Exchange.
Hol.
God comfort thy capacity, I say th' allusion holds in the Exchange.
Dul.
And I say the polusion holds in the Exchange: for the Moone is neuer but a month old: and I say beside that, 'twas a Pricket that the Princesse kill'd.
Hol.
Sir Nathaniel, will you heare an extemporall Epytaph on the death of the Deare, and to humour the ignorant call'd the Deare, the Princesse kill'd a Pricket.
Nath.
Perge, good M. Holofernes, perge, so it shall please you to abrogate scurilitie.
Hol.
I will something affect a letter, for it argues facilitie.
The prayfull Princesse pearst and prickt' a prettie pleasing Pricket, Some say a Sore, but not a sore, till now made sore with shooting. The Dogges did yell, put ell to Sore, then Sorrell iumps from thicket: Or Pricket-sore, or else Sorell, the people fall a hooting. If Sore be sore, than ell to Sore, makes fiftie sores O sorell: Of one sore I an hundred make by adding but one more L.
Nath.
A rare talent.
Dul.
If a talent be a claw, looke how he clawes him with a talent.
Nath.
This is a gift that I haue simple: simple, a foolish extrauagant spirit, full of formes, figures, shapes, obiects, Ideas, apprehensions, motions, reuolutions. These are begot in the ventricle of memorie, nourisht in the wombe of primater, and deliuered vpon the mellowing of occasion: but the gift is good in those in whom it is acute, and I am thankfull for it.
Hol.
Sir, I praise the Lord for you, and so may my parishioners, for their Sonnes are well tutor'd by you, and their Daughters profit very greatly vnder you: you are a good member of the common-wealth.
Nath.
Me hercle, If their Sonnes be ingenuous, they
shall want no instruction: If their Daughters be capable, I will put it to them. But Vir sapis qui pauca loquitur, a soule Feminine saluteth vs.
Enter Iaquenetta and the Clowne.
Iaqu.
God giue you good morrow M. Person.
Nath.
Master Person, quasi Person? And if one should be perst, Which is the one?
Clo.
Marry M. Schoolemaster, hee that is likest to a hogshead.
Nath.
Of persing a Hogshead, a good luster of conceit in a turph of Earth, Fire enough for a Flint, Pearle enough for a Swine: 'tis prettie, it is well.
Iaqu.
Good Master Parson be so good as reade mee this Letter, it was giuen mee by Costard, and sent mee from Don Armatho: I beseech you read it.
Nath.
Facile precor gellida, quando pecas omnia sub vmbra ruminat, and so forth. Ah good old Mantuan, I may speake of thee as the traueiler doth of Venice, vemchie, vencha, que non te vnde, que non te perreche. Old Mantuan, old Mantuan. Who vnderstandeth thee not, vt re sol la mi fa: Vnder pardon sir, What are the contents? or rather as Horrace sayes in his, What my soule verses.
Hol.
I sir, and very learned.
Nath.
Let me heare a staffe, a stanze, a verse, Lege domine. If Loue make me forsworne, how shall I sweare to loue? Ah neuer faith could hold, if not to beautie vowed. Though to my selfe forsworn, to thee Ile faithfull proue. Those thoughts to mee were Okes, to thee like Osiers bowed. Studie his byas leaues, and makes his booke thine eyes. Where all those pleasures liue, that Art would comprehend. If knowledge be the marke, to know thee shall suffice. Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee co[m]mend. All ignorant that soule, that sees thee without wonder. Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire; Thy eye Ioues lightning beares, thy voyce his dreadfull thunder. Which not to anger bent, is musique, and sweete fire. Celestiall as thou art, Oh pardon loue this wrong, That sings heauens praise, with such an earthly tongue.
Ped.
You finde not the apostraphas, and so misse the accent. Let me superuise the cangenet.
Nath.
Here are onely numbers ratified, but for the elegancy, facility, & golden cadence of poesie caret: Ouiddius Naso was the man. And why in deed Naso, but for smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy? the ierkes of inuention imitarie is nothing: So doth the Hound his master, the Ape his keeper, the tyred Horse his rider: But Damosella virgin, Was this directed to you?
Iaq.
I sir from one mounsier Berowne, one of the strange Queenes Lords.
Nath.
I will ouerglance the superscript. To the snow-white hand of the most beautious Lady Rosaline. I will looke againe on the intellect of the Letter, for the nomination of the partie written to the person written vnto. Your Ladiships in all desired imployment, Berowne.
Ped.
Sir Holofernes, this Berowne is one of the Votaries with the King, and here he hath framed a Letter to a sequent of the stranger Queens: which accidentally, or by the way of progression, hath miscarried. Trip and goe my sweete, deliuer this Paper into the hand of the King, it may concerne much: stay not thy complement, I forgiue thy duetie, adue.
Maid.
Good Costard go with me: Sir God saue your life.
Cost.
Haue with thee my girle. Exit.
Hol.
Sir you haue done this in the feare of God very religiously: and as a certaine Father saith
Ped.
Sir tell not me of the Father, I do feare colourable colours. But to returne to the Verses, Did they please you sir Nathaniel?
Nath.
Marueilous well for the pen.
Peda.
I do dine to day at the fathers of a certaine Pupill of mine, where if (being repast) it shall please you to gratifie the table with a Grace, I will on my priuiledge I haue with the parents of the foresaid Childe or Pupill, vndertake your bien venuto, where I will proue those Verses to be very vnlearned, neither sauouring of Poetrie, Wit, nor Inuention. I beseech your Societie.
Nat. And thanke you to: for societie (saith the text) is the happinesse of life.
Peda.
And certes the text most infallibly concludes it. Sir I do inuite you too, you shall not say me nay: pauca verba. Away, the gentles are at their game, and we will to our recreation. Exeunt.
Enter Berowne with a Paper in his hand, alone.
Bero.
The King he is hunting the Deare, I am coursing my selfe. They haue pitcht a Toyle, I am toyling in a pytch, pitch that defiles; defile, a foule word: Well, set thee downe sorrow; for so they say the foole said, and so say I, and I the foole: Well proued wit. By the Lord this Loue is as mad as Aiax, it kils sheepe, it kils mee, I a sheepe: Well proued againe a my side. I will not loue; if I do hang me: yfaith I will not. O but her eye: by this light, but for her eye, I would not loue her; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I doe nothing in the world but lye, and lye in my throate. By heauen I doe loue, and it hath taught mee to Rime, and to be mallicholie: and here is part of my Rime, and heere my mallicholie. Well, she hath one a'my Sonnets already, the Clowne bore it, the Foole sent it, and the Lady hath it: sweet Clowne, sweeter Foole, sweetest Lady. By the world, I would not care a pin, if the other three were in. Here comes one with a paper, God giue him grace to grone.
He stands aside.The King entreth.
Ay mee!
Ber.
Shot by heauen: proceede sweet Cupid, thou hast thumpt him with thy Birdbolt vnder the left pap: in faith secrets.
King.
So sweete a kisse the golden Sunne giues not, To those fresh morning drops vpon the Rose, As thy eye beames, when their fresh rayse haue smot. The night of dew that on my cheekes downe flowes. Nor shines the siluer Moone one halfe so bright, Through the transparent bosome of the deepe, As doth thy face through teares of mine giue light: Thou shin'st in euery teare that I doe weepe, No drop, but as a Coach doth carry thee: So ridest thou triumphing in my woe. Do but behold the teares that swell in me, And they thy glory through my griefe will show:
But doe not loue thy selfe, then thou wilt keepe My teares for glasses, and still make me weepe. O Queene of Queenes, how farre dost thou excell, No thought can thinke, nor tongue of mortall tell. How shall she know my griefes? Ile drop the paper. Sweete leaues shade folly. Who is he comes heere?
Enter Longauile.The King steps aside.
What Longauill, and reading: listen eare.
Ber.
Now in thy likenesse, one more foole appeare.
Long.
Ay me, I am forsworne.
Ber.
Why he comes in like a periure, wearing papers.
Long.
In loue I hope, sweet fellowship in shame.
Ber.
One drunkard loues another of the name.
Lon.
Am I the first that haue been periur'd so?
Ber.
I could put thee in comfort, not by two that I know, Thou makest the triumphery, the corner cap of societie, The shape of Loues Tiburne, that hangs vp simplicitie.
Lon.
I feare these stubborn lines lack power to moue. O sweet Maria, Empresse of my Loue, These numbers will I teare, and write in prose.
Ber.
O Rimes are gards on wanton Cupids hose, Disfigure not his Shop.
Lon.
He reades the Sonnet.
Did not the heauenly Rhetoricke of thine eye, 'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument, Perswade my heart to this false periurie? Vowes for thee broke deserue not punishment. A Woman I forswore, but I will proue, Thou being a Goddesse, I forswore not thee. My Vow was earthly, thou a heauenly Loue. Thy grace being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me. Vowes are but breath, and breath a vapour is. Then thou faire Sun, which on my earth doest shine, Exhalest this vapor-vow, in thee it is: If broken then, it is no fault of mine: If by me broke, What foole is not so wise, To loose an oath, to win a Paradise?
Ber. This is the liuer veine, which makes flesh a deity. A greene Goose, a Goddesse, pure pure Idolatry. God amend vs, God amend, we are much out o'th' way.
Enter Dumaine.
By whom shall I send this (company?) Stay.
Bero.
All hid, all hid, an old infant play, Like a demie God, here sit I in the skie, And wretched fooles secrets heedfully ore-eye. More Sacks to the myll. O heauens I haue my wish, Dumaine transform'd, foure Woodcocks in a dish.
Dum.
O most diuine Kate.
Bero.
O most prophane coxcombe.
Dum.
By heauen the wonder of a mortall eye.
Bero.
By earth she is not, corporall, there you lye.
Dum.
Her Amber haires for foule hath amber coted.
Ber.
An Amber coloured Rauen was well noted.
Dum.
As vpright as the Cedar.
Ber.
Stoope I say, her shoulder is with-child.
Dum.
As faire as day.
Ber.
I as some daies, but then no sunne must shine.
Dum.
O that I had my wish?
Lon.
And I had mine.
Kin.
And mine too good Lord.
Ber.
Amen, so I had mine: Is not that a good word?
Dum.
I would forget her, but a Feuer she Raignes in my bloud, and will remembred be.
Ber.
A Feuer in your bloud, why then incision Would let her out in Sawcers, sweet misprision.
Dum.
Once more Ile read the Ode that I haue writ.
Ber.
Once more Ile marke how Loue can varry Wit.
Dumane reades his Sonnet.
Loue, whose Month is euery May, Spied a blossome passing faire, Playing in the wanton ayre: Through the Veluet, leaues the winde, All vnseene, can passage finde. That the Louer sicke to death, Wish himselfe the heauens breath. Ayre (quoth he) thy cheekes may blowe, Ayre, would I might triumph so. But alacke my hand is sworne, Nere to plucke thee from thy throne: Vow alacke for youth vnmeete, Youth so apt to plucke a sweet. Doe not call it sinne in me, That I am forsworne for thee. Thou for whom Ioue would sweare, Iuno but an Æthiop were, And denie himselfe for Ioue. Turning mortall for thy Loue.
This will I send, and something else more plaine. That shall expresse my true-loues fasting paine. O would the King, Berowne and Longauill, Were Louers too, ill to example ill, Would from my forehead wipe a periur'd note: For none offend, where all alike doe dote.
Lon.
Dumaine, thy Loue is farre from charitie, That in Loues griefe desir'st societie: You may looke pale, but I should blush I know, To be ore-heard, and taken napping so.
Kin.
Come sir, you blush: as his, your case is such, You chide at him, offending twice as much. You doe not loue Maria? Longauile, Did neuer Sonnet for her sake compile; Nor neuer lay his wreathed armes athwart His louing bosome, to keepe downe his heart. I haue beene closely shrowded in this bush, And markt you both, and for you both did blush. I heard your guilty Rimes, obseru'd your fashion: Saw sighes reeke from you, noted well your passion. Aye me, sayes one! O Ioue, the other cries! On her haires were Gold, Christall the others eyes. You would for Paradise breake Faith and troth, And Ioue for your Loue would infringe an oath. What will Berowne say when that he shall heare Faith infringed, which such zeale did sweare. How will he scorne? how will he spend his wit? How will he triumph, leape, and laugh at it? For all the wealth that euer I did see, I would not haue him know so much by me.
Bero.
Now step I forth to whip hypocrisie. Ah good my Liedge, I pray thee pardon me. Good heart, What grace hast thou thus to reproue These wormes for louing, that art most in loue? Your eyes doe make no couches in your teares. There is no certaine Princesse that appeares. You'll not be periur'd, 'tis a hatefull thing: Tush, none but Minstrels like of Sonnetting. But are you not asham'd? nay, are you not
All three of you, to be thus much ore'shot? You found his Moth, the King your Moth did see: But I a Beame doe finde in each of three. O what a Scene of fool'ry haue I seene. Of sighes, of grones, of sorrow, and of teene: O me, with what strict patience haue I sat, To see a King transformed to a Gnat? To see great Hercules whipping a Gigge, And profound Salomon tuning a Iygge? And Nestor play at push-pin with the boyes, And Critticke Tymon laugh at idle toyes. Where lies thy griefe? O tell me good Dumaine; And gentle Longauill, where lies thy paine? And where my Liedges? all about the brest: A Candle hoa!
Kin.
Too bitter is thy iest. Are wee betrayed thus to thy ouer-view?
Ber.
Not you by me, but I betrayed to you. I that am honest, I that hold it sinne To breake the vow I am ingaged in. I am betrayed by keeping company With men, like men of inconstancie. When shall you see me write a thing in rime? Or grone for Ioane? or spend a minutes time, In pruning mee, when shall you heare that I will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye: a gate, a state, a brow, a brest, a waste, a legge, a limme.
Kin.
Soft, Whither a-way so fast? A true man, or a theefe, that gallops so.
Ber.
I post from Loue, good Louer let me go.
Enter Iaquenetta and Clowne.
God blesse the King.
Kin.
What Present hast thou there?
Clo.
Some certaine treason.
Kin.
What makes treason heere?
Clo.
Nay it makes nothing sir.
Kin.
If it marre nothing neither, The treason and you goe in peace away together.
Iaqu.
I beseech your Grace let this Letter be read, Our person mis-doubts it: it was treason he said.
Kin.
Berowne, read it ouer. He reades the Letter.
Kin. Where hadst thou it?
Iaqu.
Of Costard.
King.
Where hadst thou it?
Cost.
Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.
Kin.
How now, what is in you? why dost thou tear it?
Ber.
A toy my Liedge, a toy: your grace needes not feare it.
Long.
It did moue him to passion, and therefore let's heare it.
Dum.
It is Berowns writing, and heere is his name.
Ber.
Ah you whoreson loggerhead, you were borne to doe me shame. Guilty my Lord, guilty: I confesse, I confesse.
Kin.
What?
Ber.
That you three fooles, lackt mee foole, to make vp the messe. He, he, and you: and you my Liedge, and I, Are picke-purses in Loue, and we deserue to die. O dismisse this audience, and I shall tell you more.
Dum.
Now the number is euen.
Berow.
True true, we are fowre: will these Turtles be gone?
Kin.
Hence sirs, away.
Clo.
Walk aside the true folke, & let the traytors stay.
Ber.
Sweet Lords, sweet Louers, O let vs imbrace, As true we are as flesh and bloud can be, The Sea will ebbe and flow, heauen will shew his face: Young bloud doth not obey an old decree. We cannot crosse the cause why we are borne: Therefore of all hands must we be forsworne.
King.
What, did these rent lines shew some loue of thine?
Ber.
Did they, quoth you? Who sees the heauenly Rosaline, That (like a rude and sauage man of Inde.) At the first opening of the gorgeous East, Bowes not his vassall head, and strooken blinde, Kisses the base ground with obedient breast? What peremptory Eagle-sighted eye Dares looke vpon the heauen of her brow, That is not blinded by her maiestie?
Kin.
What zeale, what furie, hath inspir'd thee now? My Loue (her Mistres) is a gracious Moone, Shee (an attending Starre) scarce seene a light.
Ber.
My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Berowne. O, but for my Loue, day would turne to night, Of all complexions the cul'd soueraignty, Doe meet as at a faire in her faire cheeke, Where seuerall Worthies make one dignity, Where nothing wants, that want it selfe doth seeke. Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues, Fie painted Rethoricke, O she needs it not, To things of sale, a sellers praise belongs: She passes prayse, then prayse too short doth blot. A withered Hermite, fiuescore winters worne, Might shake off fiftie, looking in her eye: Beauty doth varnish Age, as if new borne, And giues the Crutch the Cradles infancie. O 'tis the Sunne that maketh all things shine.
King.
By heauen, thy Loue is blacke as Ebonie.
Berow.
Is Ebonie like her? O word diuine? A wife of such wood were felicite. O who can giue an oth? Where is a booke? That I may sweare Beauty doth beauty lacke, If that she learne not of her eye to looke: No face is faire that is not full so blacke.
Kin.
O paradoxe, Blacke is the badge of hell, The hue of dungeons, and the Schoole of night: And beauties crest becomes the heauens well.
Ber.
Diuels soonest tempt resembling spirits of light. O if in blacke my Ladies browes be deckt, It mournes, that painting vsurping haire Should rauish doters with a false aspect: And therfore is she borne to make blacke, faire. Her fauour turnes the fashion of the dayes, For natiue bloud is counted painting now: And therefore red that would auoyd dispraise, Paints it selfe blacke, to imitate her brow.
Dum.
To look like her are Chimny-sweepers blacke.
Lon.
And since her time, are Colliers counted bright.
King.
And Æthiops of their sweet complexion crake.
Dum.
Dark needs no Candles now, for dark is light.
Ber.
Your mistresses dare neuer come in raine, For feare their colours should be washt away.
Kin.
'Twere good yours did: for sir to tell you plaine, Ile finde a fairer face not washt to day.
Ber.
Ile proue her faire, or talke till dooms-day here.
Kin.
No Diuell will fright thee then so much as shee.
Duma.
I neuer knew man hold vile stuffe so deere.
Lon.
Looke, heer's thy loue, my foot and her face see.
Ber.
O if the streets were paued with thine eyes,
Her feet were much too dainty for such tread.
Duma.
O vile, then as she goes what vpward lyes? The street should see as she walk'd ouer head.
Kin.
But what of this, are we not all in loue?
Ber.
O nothing so sure, and thereby all forsworne.
Kin.
Then leaue this chat, & good Berown now proue Our louing lawfull, and our fayth not torne.
Dum.
I marie there, some flattery for this euill.
Long.
O some authority how to proceed, Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the diuell.
Dum. Some salue for periurie,
Ber.
O 'tis more then neede. Haue at you then affections men at armes, Consider what you first did sweare vnto: To fast, to study, and to see no woman: Flat treason against the Kingly state of youth. Say, Can you fast? your stomacks are too young: And abstinence ingenders maladies. And where that you haue vow'd to studie (Lords) In that each of you haue forsworne his Booke. Can you still dreame and pore, and thereon looke. For when would you my Lord, or you, or you, Haue found the ground of studies excellence, Without the beauty of a womans face; From womens eyes this doctrine I deriue, They are the Ground, the Bookes, the Achadems, From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire. Why, vniuersall plodding poysons vp The nimble spirits in the arteries, As motion and long during action tyres The sinnowy vigour of the trauailer. Now for not looking on a womans face, You haue in that forsworne the vse of eyes: And studie too, the causer of your vow. For where is any Author in the world, Teaches such beauty as a womans eye: Learning is but an adiunct to our selfe, And where we are, our Learning likewise is. Then when our selues we see in Ladies eyes, With our selues. Doe we not likewise see our learning there? O we haue made a Vow to studie, Lords, And in that vow we haue forsworne our Bookes: For when would you (my Leege) or you, or you? In leaden contemplation haue found out Such fiery Numbers as the prompting eyes, Of beauties tutors haue inrich'd you with: Other slow Arts intirely keepe the braine: And therefore finding barraine practizers, Scarce shew a haruest of their heauy toyle. But Loue first learned in a Ladies eyes, Liues not alone emured in the braine: But with the motion of all elements, Courses as swift as thought in euery power, And giues to euery power a double power, Aboue their functions and their offices. It addes a precious seeing to the eye: A Louers eyes will gaze an Eagle blinde. A Louers eare will heare the lowest sound. When the suspicious head of theft is stopt. Loues feeling is more soft and sensible, Then are the tender hornes of Cockle Snayles. Loues tongue proues dainty, Bachus grosse in taste, For Valour, is not Loue a Hercules? Still climing trees in the Hesperides. Subtill as Sphinx, as sweet and musicall, As bright Apollo's Lute, strung with his haire. And when Loue speakes, the voyce of all the Gods, Make heauen drowsie with the harmonie. Neuer durst Poet touch a pen to write, Vntill his Inke were tempred with Loues sighes: O then his lines would rauish sauage eares, And plant in Tyrants milde humilitie. From womens eyes this doctrine I deriue. They sparcle still the right promethean fire, They are the Bookes, the Arts, the Achademes, That shew, containe, and nourish all the world. Else none at all in ought proues excellent. Then fooles you were these women to forsweare: Or keeping what is sworne, you will proue fooles, For Wisedomes sake, a word that all men loue: Or for Loues sake, a word that loues all men. Or for Mens sake, the author of these Women: Or Womens sake, by whom we men are Men. Let's once loose our oathes to finde our selues, Or else we loose our selues, to keepe our oathes: It is religion to be thus forsworne. For Charity it selfe fulfills the Law: And who can seuer loue from Charity.
Kin.
Saint Cupid then, and Souldiers to the field.
Ber.
Aduance your standards, & vpon them Lords, Pell, mell, downe with them: but be first aduis'd, In conflict that you get the Sunne of them.
Long.
Now to plaine dealing, Lay these glozes by, Shall we resolue to woe these girles of France?
Kin.
And winne them too, therefore let vs deuise, Some entertainment for them in their Tents.
Ber.
First from the Park let vs conduct them thither, Then homeward euery man attach the hand Of his faire Mistresse, in the afternoone We will with some strange pastime solace them: Such as the shortnesse of the time can shape, For Reuels, Dances, Maskes, and merry houres, Fore-runne faire Loue, strewing her way with flowres.
Kin.
Away, away, no time shall be omitted, That will be time, and may by vs be fitted.
Ber.
Alone, alone sowed Cockell, reap'd no Corne, And Iustice alwaies whirles in equall measure: Light Wenches may proue plagues to men forsworne, If so, our Copper buyes no better treasure. Exeunt.
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