This page is referenced by:

• 1 2016-11-13T11:56:33-08:00 Act IV 8 Loves Labours Lost Act IV plain 2016-12-15T14:22:42-08:00 Scene 1
  Enter the Princess, a Forester, her Ladies, Boyet andher other Lords.
   
  PRINCESS
  Was that the King that spurred his horse so hard
  Against the steep uprising of the hill?
  FORESTER
  I know not, but I think it was not he.
  PRINCESS
  Whoe’er he was, he showed a mounting mind.—
  Well, lords, today we shall have our dispatch.                                       5
  Or Saturday we will return to France.—
  Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush
  That we must stand and play the murderer in?
  FORESTER
  Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice,
  A stand where you may make the fairest shoot.                                  10
  PRINCESS
  I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot,
  And thereupon thou speakst “the fairest shoot.”
  FORESTER
  Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so.
  PRINCESS
  What, what? First praise me, and again say no?
  O short-lived pride. Not fair? Alack, for woe!                                    15
  FORESTER
  Yes, madam, fair.
  PRINCESS  Nay, never paint me now.
  Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow.
  Here, good my glass, take this for telling true.
  She gives him money.
  Fair payment for foul words is more than due.                                    20
  FORESTER
  Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.
  PRINCESS
  See, see, my beauty will be saved by merit.
  O heresy in fair, fit for these days!
  A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.
  But come, the bow. He hands her a bow. Now                                   25
  mercy goes to kill,
  And shooting well is then accounted ill.
  Thus will I save my credit in the shoot:
  Not wounding, pity would not let me do ’t;
  If wounding, then it was to show my skill,                                           30
  That more for praise than purpose meant to kill.
  And out of question so it is sometimes:
  Glory grows guilty of detested crimes,
  When for fame’s sake, for praise, an outward part,
  We bend to that the working of the heart;                                            35
  As I for praise alone now seek to spill
  The poor deer’s blood, that my heart means no ill.
  BOYET
  Do not curst wives hold that self sovereignty
  Only for praise’ sake when they strive to be
  Lords o’er their lords?                                                                              40
  PRINCESS
  Only for praise; and praise we may afford
  To any lady that subdues a lord.
   
  Enter Clown Costard.
   
  BOYET
  Here comes a member of the commonwealth.
  COSTARD  God dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is the
  head lady?                                                                                               45
  PRINCESS  Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that
  have no heads.
  COSTARD  Which is the greatest lady, the highest?
  PRINCESS  The thickest and the tallest.
  COSTARD
  The thickest and the tallest: it is so, truth is                                         50
  truth.
  An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit,
  One o’ these maids’ girdles for your waist should be
  fit.
  Are not you the chief woman? You are the thickest                           55
  here.
  PRINCESS  What’s your will, sir? What’s your will?
  COSTARD  I have a letter from Monsieur Berowne to
  one Lady Rosaline.
  PRINCESS
  O, thy letter, thy letter! He’s a good friend of mine.                          60
  Stand aside, good bearer.—Boyet, you can carve.
  Break up this capon.
  BOYET, taking the letter I am bound to serve.This letter is mistook; it importeth none here.It is writ to Jaquenetta.                                                                             65
  PRINCESS  We will read it, I swear.
  Break the neck of the wax, and everyone give ear.
  BOYET reads.  By heaven, that thou art fair is most infallible, true that thou art beauteous, truth itself that thou art lovely. More fairer than fair, beautiful                       70 than beauteous, truer than truth itself, have commiseration on thy heroical vassal. The magnanimous and most illustrate King Cophetua set eye upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon; and he it was that might rightly say “Veni, vidi, vici,” which to                  75 annothanize in the vulgar (O base and obscure vulgar!) videlicet, “He came, see, and overcame”: He came, one; see, two; overcame, three. Who came? The King. Why did he come? To see. Why did he see? To overcome. To whom came he? To the beggar. What                       80 saw he? The beggar. Who overcame he? The beggar. The conclusion is victory. On whose side? The King’s. The captive is enriched. On whose side? The beggar’s. The catastrophe is a nuptial. On whose side? The King’s—no, on both in one, or one in both. I am                     85 the King, for so stands the comparison; thou the beggar, for so witnesseth thy lowliness. Shall I command thy love? I may. Shall I enforce thy love? I could. Shall I entreat thy love? I will. What shalt thou exchange for rags? Robes. For tittles? Titles. For thyself?           90 Me. Thus expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thy every part. Thine, in the dearest design of industry, Don Adriano de Armado.  95             Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar                ’Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey.             Submissive fall his princely feet before,                And he from forage will incline to play.             But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou then?                 100             Food for his rage, repasture for his den.
  PRINCESS
  What plume of feathers is he that indited this letter?
  What vane? What weathercock? Did you ever hear
  better?
  BOYET
  I am much deceived but I remember the style.                                  105
  PRINCESS
  Else your memory is bad, going o’er it erewhile.
  BOYET
  This Armado is a Spaniard that keeps here in court,
  A phantasime, a Monarcho, and one that makes
  sport
  To the Prince and his bookmates.                                                        110
  PRINCESS, to Costard  Thou, fellow, a word.
  Who gave thee this letter?
  COSTARD  I told you: my lord.
  PRINCESS
  To whom shouldst thou give it?
  COSTARD  From my lord to my                                                             115
  lady.
  PRINCESS  From which lord to which lady?
  COSTARD
  From my Lord Berowne, a good master of mine,
  To a lady of France that he called Rosaline.
  PRINCESS
  Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, away.                           120
  To Rosaline. Here, sweet, put up this; ’twill be
  thine another day.
  The Princess, Katherine, Lords, and
  Forester exit. Boyet, Rosaline, Maria,
  and Costard remain.
  BOYET
  Who is the shooter? Who is the shooter?
  ROSALINE  Shall I
  teach you to know?                                                                             125
  BOYET
  Ay, my continent of beauty.
  ROSALINE  Why, she that bears the bow.
  Finely put off.
  BOYET
  My lady goes to kill horns, but if thou marry,
  Hang me by the neck if horns that year miscarry.                            130
  Finely put on.
  ROSALINE
  Well, then, I am the shooter.
  BOYET  And who is your deer?
  ROSALINE
  If we choose by the horns, yourself come not near.
  Finely put on, indeed.                                                                            135
  MARIA
  You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at
  the brow.
  BOYET
  But she herself is hit lower. Have I hit her now?
  ROSALINE  Shall I come upon thee with an old saying,
  that was a man when King Pippen of France was a                      140
  little boy, as touching the hit it?
  BOYET  So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a
  woman when Queen Guinover of Britain was a little
  wench, as touching the hit it.
  ROSALINE sings
              Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it,                                              145
              Thou canst not hit it, my good man.
  BOYET sings
              An I cannot, cannot, cannot,
              An I cannot, another can.
  Rosaline exits.
  COSTARD
  By my troth, most pleasant. How both did fit it!
  MARIA
  A mark marvelous well shot, for they both did hit                           150
  it.
  BOYET
  A mark! O, mark but that mark. “A mark,” says my
  lady.
  Let the mark have a prick in ’t to mete at, if it may
  be.                                                                                                           155
  MARIA
  Wide o’ the bow hand! I’ faith, your hand is out.
  COSTARD
  Indeed, he must shoot nearer, or he’ll ne’er hit the
  clout.
  BOYET, to Maria
  An if my hand be out, then belike your hand is in.
  COSTARD
  Then will she get the upshoot by cleaving the pin.                           160
  MARIA
  Come, come, you talk greasily. Your lips grow foul.
  COSTARD, to Boyet
  She’s too hard for you at pricks, sir. Challenge her
  to bowl.
  BOYET
  I fear too much rubbing. Good night, my good owl.
  Boyet and Maria exit.
   
  COSTARD
  By my soul, a swain, a most simple clown.                                       165
  Lord, Lord, how the ladies and I have put him
  down.
  O’ my troth, most sweet jests, most incony vulgar
  wit,
  When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it                         170
  were, so fit.
  Armado o’ th’ one side, O, a most dainty man!
  To see him walk before a lady and to bear her fan.
  To see him kiss his hand, and how most sweetly he
  will swear.                                                                                            175
  And his page o’ t’ other side, that handful of wit!
  Ah heavens, it is a most pathetical nit.
  Shout within.
  Sola, sola!
  He exits.
   
  Scene 2
  Enter Dull the Constable, Holofernes the Pedant, and
  Nathaniel the Curate.
   
  NATHANIEL  Very reverend sport, truly, and done in the
  testimony of a good conscience.
  HOLOFERNES  The deer was, as you know, sanguis, in
  blood, ripe as the pomewater, who now hangeth
  like a jewel in the ear of caelo, the sky, the welkin,                          5
  the heaven, and anon falleth like a crab on the face
  of terra, the soil, the land, the earth.
  NATHANIEL  Truly, Master Holofernes, the epithets are
  sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least. But, sir, I
  assure you, it was a buck of the first head.                                        10
  HOLOFERNES  Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.
  DULL  ’Twas not a haud credo, ’twas a pricket.
  HOLOFERNES  Most barbarous intimation! Yet a kind of
  insinuation, as it were, in via, in way, of explication;
  facere, as it were, replication, or rather, ostentare, to                     15
  show, as it were, his inclination, after his undressed,
  unpolished, uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or
  rather unlettered, or ratherest, unconfirmed fashion,
  to insert again my haud credo for a deer.
  DULL  I said the deer was not a haud credo, ’twas a                             20
  pricket.
  HOLOFERNES  Twice-sod simplicity, bis coctus!
  O thou monster ignorance, how deformed dost thou
  look!
  NATHANIEL
  Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are bred                              25
  in a book.
  He hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk
  ink. His intellect is not replenished. He is only an
  animal, only sensible in the duller parts.
  And such barren plants are set before us that we                                30
  thankful should be—
  Which we of taste and feeling are—for those parts
  that do fructify in us more than he.
  For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet,
  or a fool,                                                                                                  35
  So were there a patch set on learning, to see him in
  a school.
  But omne bene, say I, being of an old father’s mind:
  Many can brook the weather that love not the wind.
  DULL
  You two are bookmen. Can you tell me by your wit                          40
  What was a month old at Cain’s birth that’s not
  five weeks old as yet?
  HOLOFERNES  Dictynna, goodman Dull, Dictynna,
  goodman Dull.
  DULL  What is “dictima”?                                                                          45
  NATHANIEL
  A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon.
  HOLOFERNES
  The moon was a month old when Adam was no
  more.
  And raught not to five weeks when he came to
  fivescore.                                                                                                 50
  Th’ allusion holds in the exchange.
  DULL  ’Tis true indeed. The collusion holds in the
  exchange.
  HOLOFERNES  God comfort thy capacity! I say, th’ allusion
  holds in the exchange.                                                                           55
  DULL  And I say the pollution holds in the exchange, for
  the moon is never but a month old. And I say besides
  that, ’twas a pricket that the Princess killed.
  HOLOFERNES  Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal
  epitaph on the death of the deer? And, to humor                             60
  the ignorant, call I the deer the Princess killed a
  pricket.
  NATHANIEL  Perge, good Master Holofernes, perge, so it
  shall please you to abrogate scurrility.
  HOLOFERNES  I will something affect the letter, for it                       65
  argues facility.
  The preyful princess pierced and pricked
  a pretty pleasing pricket,
     Some say a sore, but not a sore till now made
     sore with shooting.                                                                             70
  The dogs did yell. Put “l” to “sore,” then sorel
  jumps from thicket,
     Or pricket sore, or else sorel. The people fall
     a-hooting.
  If sore be sore, then “L” to “sore” makes fifty                                    75
  sores o’ sorel.
  Of one sore I an hundred make by adding but one
  more “L.”
  NATHANIEL  A rare talent.
  DULL, aside  If a talent be a claw, look how he claws                          80
  him with a talent.
  HOLOFERNES  This is a gift that I have, simple, simple—
  a foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms,
  figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions,
  revolutions. These are begot in the ventricle                                    85
  of memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater,
  and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion. But
  the gift is good in those in whom it is acute, and I
  am thankful for it.
  NATHANIEL  Sir, I praise the Lord for you, and so may                     90
  my parishioners, for their sons are well tutored by
  you, and their daughters profit very greatly under
  you. You are a good member of the
  commonwealth.
  HOLOFERNES  Mehercle, if their sons be ingenious,                          95
  they shall want no instruction; if their daughters be
  capable, I will put it to them. But Vir sapis qui pauca
  loquitur. A soul feminine saluteth us.
   
  Enter Jaquenetta and the Clown Costard.
   
  JAQUENETTA, to Nathaniel  God give you good morrow,
  Master Person.                                                                                     100
  HOLOFERNES  Master Person, quasi pierce one. And
  if one should be pierced, which is the one?
  COSTARD  Marry, Master Schoolmaster, he that is likeliest
  to a hogshead.
  HOLOFERNES  Of piercing a hogshead! A good luster                    105
  of conceit in a turf of earth; fire enough for a flint,
  pearl enough for a swine. ’Tis pretty, it is well.
  JAQUENETTA, to Nathaniel  Good Master Parson, be so
  good as read me this letter. It was given me by
  Costard, and sent me from Don Armado. I beseech                      110
  you, read it.
  She hands Nathaniel a paper, which he looks at.
  HOLOFERNES
              Facile precor gelida quando peccas omnia sub umbra.
  Ruminat—
  and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan! I may speak of
  thee as the traveler doth of Venice:                                                  115
              Venetia, Venetia,
              Chi non ti vede, non ti pretia.
  Old Mantuan, old Mantuan! Who understandeth
  thee not, loves thee not. (He sings.) Ut, re, sol, la,
  mi, fa. (To Nathaniel.) Under pardon, sir, what are                      120
  the contents? Or rather, as Horace says in his—
  (Looking at the letter.) What, my soul, verses?
  NATHANIEL  Ay, sir, and very learned.
  HOLOFERNES   Let me hear a staff, a stanza, a verse,
  Lege, domine.                                                                                       125
  NATHANIEL, reads
              If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?
                 Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed!
              Though to myself forsworn, to thee I’ll faithful prove.
                 Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers
     bowed.                                                                                                130
              Study his bias leaves and makes his book thine eyes,
                 Where all those pleasures live that art would
     comprehend.
              If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice.
                 Well-learnèd is that tongue that well can thee                   135
     commend.
              All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder;
                 Which is to me some praise that I thy parts admire.
              Thy eye Jove’s lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful
  thunder,                                                                                                 140
                 Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire.
              Celestial as thou art, O, pardon love this wrong,
              That sings heaven’s praise with such an earthly tongue.
  HOLOFERNES  You find not the apostrophus, and so
  miss the accent. Let me supervise the canzonet.                            145
  He takes the paper. Here are only numbers ratified,
  but, for the elegancy, facility, and golden cadence of
  poesy—caret. Ovidius Naso was the man. And why
  indeed “Naso,” but for smelling out the odoriferous
  flowers of fancy, the jerks of invention? Imitari is                       150
  nothing: so doth the hound his master, the ape his
  keeper, the tired horse his rider.—But damosella
  virgin, was this directed to you?
  JAQUENETTA  Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Berowne, one
  of the strange queen’s lords.                                                              155
  HOLOFERNES  I will overglance the superscript: “To
  the snow-white hand of the most beauteous Lady
  Rosaline.” I will look again on the intellect of the
  letter for the nomination of the party writing to
  the person written unto: “Your Ladyship’s in all                          160
  desired employment, Berowne.” Sir Nathaniel, this
  Berowne is one of the votaries with the King, and
  here he hath framed a letter to a sequent of the
  stranger queen’s: which accidentally, or by the way
  of progression, hath miscarried. To Jaquenetta.                            165
  Trip and go, my sweet. Deliver this paper into the
  royal hand of the King. It may concern much. Stay
  not thy compliment. I forgive thy duty. Adieu.
  JAQUENETTA  Good Costard, go with me.—Sir, God
  save your life.                                                                                       170
  COSTARD  Have with thee, my girl.
  Costard and Jaquenetta exit.
  NATHANIEL  Sir, you have done this in the fear of God
  very religiously; and, as a certain Father saith—
  HOLOFERNES  Sir, tell not me of the Father. I do fear
  colorable colors. But to return to the verses: did                           175
  they please you, Sir Nathaniel?
  NATHANIEL  Marvelous well for the pen.
  HOLOFERNES  I do dine today at the father’s of a certain
  pupil of mine, where if, before repast, it shall
  please you to gratify the table with a grace, I will,                       180
  on my privilege I have with the parents of the
  foresaid child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto;
  where I will prove those verses to be very unlearned,
  neither savoring of poetry, wit, nor invention.
  I beseech your society.                                                                       185
  NATHANIEL  And thank you too; for society, saith the
  text, is the happiness of life.
  HOLOFERNES  And certes the text most infallibly concludes
  it. To Dull. Sir, I do invite you too. You shall
  not say me nay. Pauca verba. Away! The gentles are                  190
  at their game, and we will to our recreation.
  They exit.
   
  Scene 3
  Enter Berowne with a paper in his hand, alone.
   
  BEROWNE  The King, he is hunting the deer; I am
  coursing myself. They have pitched a toil; I am
  toiling in a pitch—pitch that defiles. Defile! A foul
  word. Well, “set thee down, sorrow”; for so they
  say the fool said, and so say I, and I the fool. Well                           5
  proved, wit. By the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax.
  It kills sheep, it kills me, I a sheep. Well proved
  again, o’ my side. I will not love. If I do, hang me. I’
  faith, I will not. O, but her eye! By this light, but for
  her eye I would not love her; yes, for her two eyes.                        10
  Well, I do nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my
  throat. By heaven, I do love, and it hath taught me to
  rhyme, and to be melancholy. And here is part of my
  rhyme, and here my melancholy. Well, she hath one
  o’ my sonnets already. The clown bore it, the fool                         15
  sent it, and the lady hath it. Sweet clown, sweeter
  fool, sweetest lady. By the world, I would not care a
  pin, if the other three were in. Here comes one with
  a paper. God give him grace to groan.
  He stands aside.
   
  The King entereth with a paper.
   
  KING  Ay me!                                                                                               20
  BEROWNE, aside  Shot, by heaven! Proceed, sweet
  Cupid. Thou hast thumped him with thy birdbolt
  under the left pap. In faith, secrets!
  KING reads
              So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not
                 To those fresh morning drops upon the rose                         25
              As thy eyebeams, when their fresh rays have smote
                 The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows.
              Nor shines the silver moon one-half so bright
                 Through the transparent bosom of the deep
              As doth thy face, through tears of mine, give light.                 30
                 Thou shin’st in every tear that I do weep.
              No drop but as a coach doth carry thee;
                 So ridest thou triumphing in my woe.
              Do but behold the tears that swell in me,
                 And they thy glory through my grief will show.                    35
              But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep
              My tears for glasses, and still make me weep.
              O queen of queens, how far dost thou excel
              No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell.
   
  How shall she know my griefs? I’ll drop the paper.                           40
  Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here?
   
  Enter Longaville, with papers. The King steps aside.
   
  What, Longaville, and reading! Listen, ear. BEROWNE, aside Now, in thy likeness, one more fool appear!
  LONGAVILLE  Ay me! I am forsworn.
  BEROWNE, aside
  Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearing papers!                              45
  KING, aside
  In love, I hope! Sweet fellowship in shame.
  BEROWNE, aside
  One drunkard loves another of the name.
  LONGAVILLE
  Am I the first that have been perjured so?
  BEROWNE, aside
  I could put thee in comfort: not by two that I know.
  Thou makest the triumviry, the corner-cap of                                     50
  society,
  The shape of love’s Tyburn, that hangs up simplicity.
  LONGAVILLE
  I fear these stubborn lines lack power to move.
  Reads. O sweet Maria, empress of my love—
  These numbers will I tear and write in prose.                                      55
  He tears the paper.
  BEROWNE, aside
  O, rhymes are guards on wanton Cupid’s hose.
  Disfigure not his shop!
  LONGAVILLE, taking another paper  This same shall go.
  (He reads the sonnet.)
              Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,
                 ’Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument,                  60
              Persuade my heart to this false perjury?
                 Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment.
              A woman I forswore, but I will prove,
                 Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee.
              My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love.                              65
                 Thy grace being gained cures all disgrace in me.
              Vows are but breath, and breath a vapor is.
                 Then thou, fair sun, which on my Earth dost
     shine,
              Exhal’st this vapor-vow; in thee it is.                                        70
                 If broken, then, it is no fault of mine.
              If by me broke, what fool is not so wise
              To lose an oath to win a paradise?
  BEROWNE, aside
  This is the liver vein, which makes flesh a deity,
  A green goose a goddess. Pure, pure idolatry.                                     75
  God amend us, God amend. We are much out o’ th’
  way.
  LONGAVILLE
  By whom shall I send this?—Company? Stay.
  He steps aside.
   
  Enter Dumaine, with a paper.
   
  BEROWNE, aside
  All hid, all hid—an old infant play.
  Like a demigod here sit I in the sky,                                                     80
  And wretched fools’ secrets heedfully o’ereye.
  More sacks to the mill. O heavens, I have my wish.
  Dumaine transformed! Four woodcocks in a dish.
  DUMAINE  O most divine Kate!
  BEROWNE, aside  O most profane coxcomb!                                        85
  DUMAINE
  By heaven, the wonder in a mortal eye!
  BEROWNE, aside
  By Earth, she is not, corporal. There you lie.
  DUMAINE
  Her amber hairs for foul hath amber quoted.
  BEROWNE, aside
  An amber-colored raven was well noted.
  DUMAINE
  As upright as the cedar.                                                                            90
  BEROWNE, aside  Stoop, I say.
  Her shoulder is with child.
  DUMAINE  As fair as day.
  BEROWNE, aside
  Ay, as some days, but then no sun must shine.
  DUMAINE
  O, that I had my wish!                                                                              95
  LONGAVILLE, aside  And I had mine!
  KING, aside  And mine too, good Lord!
  BEROWNE, aside
  Amen, so I had mine. Is not that a good word?
  DUMAINE
  I would forget her, but a fever she
  Reigns in my blood, and will remembered be.                                  100
  BEROWNE, aside
  A fever in your blood? Why, then incision
  Would let her out in saucers! Sweet misprision.
  DUMAINE
  Once more I’ll read the ode that I have writ.
  BEROWNE, aside
  Once more I’ll mark how love can vary wit.
  DUMAINE reads his sonnet.
              On a day—alack the day!—                                                      105
              Love, whose month is ever May,
              Spied a blossom passing fair,
              Playing in the wanton air.
              Through the velvet leaves the wind,
              All unseen, can passage find;                                                   110
              That the lover, sick to death,
              Wished himself the heaven’s breath.
              “Air,” quoth he, “thy cheeks may blow.
              Air, would I might triumph so!”
              But, alack, my hand is sworn                                                    115
              Ne’er to pluck thee from thy thorn.
              Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,
              Youth so apt to pluck a sweet.
              Do not call it sin in me
              That I am forsworn for thee—                                                  120
              Thou for whom Jove would swear
              Juno but an Ethiope were,
              And deny himself for Jove,
              Turning mortal for thy love.
  This will I send, and something else more plain                               125
  That shall express my true love’s fasting pain.
  O, would the King, Berowne, and Longaville
  Were lovers too! Ill to example ill
  Would from my forehead wipe a perjured note,
  For none offend where all alike do dote.                                            130
  LONGAVILLE, coming forward
  Dumaine, thy love is far from charity,
  That in love’s grief desir’st society.
  You may look pale, but I should blush, I know,
  To be o’er-heard and taken napping so.
  KING, coming forward
  To Longaville. Come, sir, you blush! As his, your                           135
  case is such.
  You chide at him, offending twice as much.
  You do not love Maria? Longaville
  Did never sonnet for her sake compile,
  Nor never lay his wreathèd arms athwart                                           140
  His loving bosom to keep down his heart?
  I have been closely shrouded in this bush
  And marked you both, and for you both did blush.
  I heard your guilty rhymes, observed your fashion,
  Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion.                         145
  “Ay, me!” says one. “O Jove!” the other cries.
  One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other’s eyes.
  To Longaville. You would for paradise break faith
  and troth,
  To Dumaine. And Jove, for your love, would                                   150
  infringe an oath.
  What will Berowne say when that he shall hear
  Faith infringed, which such zeal did swear?
  How will he scorn, how will he spend his wit!
  How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it!                                       155
  For all the wealth that ever I did see,
  I would not have him know so much by me.
  BEROWNE, coming forward
  Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy.
  Ah, good my liege, I pray thee pardon me.
  Good heart, what grace hast thou thus to reprove                             160
  These worms for loving, that art most in love?
  Your eyes do make no coaches; in your tears
  There is no certain princess that appears.
  You’ll not be perjured, ’tis a hateful thing!
  Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting!                                       165
  But are you not ashamed? Nay, are you not,
  All three of you, to be thus much o’ershot?
  To Longaville. You found his mote, the King your
  mote did see,
  But I a beam do find in each of three.                                                 170
  O, what a scene of fool’ry have I seen,
  Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen!
  O me, with what strict patience have I sat,
  To see a king transformèd to a gnat!
  To see great Hercules whipping a gig,                                                175
  And profound Solomon to tune a jig,
  And Nestor play at pushpin with the boys,
  And critic Timon laugh at idle toys.
  Where lies thy grief, O tell me, good Dumaine?
  And gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain?                                     180
  And where my liege’s? All about the breast!
  A caudle, ho!
  KING  Too bitter is thy jest.
  Are we betrayed thus to thy overview?
  BEROWNE
  Not you to me, but I betrayed by you.                                                185
  I, that am honest, I, that hold it sin
  To break the vow I am engagèd in.
  I am betrayed by keeping company
  With men like you, men of inconstancy.
  When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme?                               190
  Or groan for Joan? or spend a minute’s time
  In pruning me? When shall you hear that I
  Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye,
  A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist,
  A leg, a limb—                                                                                        195
   
  Enter Jaquenetta, with a paper, and Clown Costard.
  Berowne begins to exit.
   
  KING  Soft, whither away so fast?
  A true man, or a thief, that gallops so?
  BEROWNE
  I post from love. Good lover, let me go.
  JAQUENETTA
  God bless the King.
  KING  What present hast thou there?                                                     200
  COSTARD
  Some certain treason.
  KING  What makes treason here?
  COSTARD
  Nay, it makes nothing, sir.
  KING  If it mar nothing neither,
  The treason and you go in peace away together.                              205
  JAQUENETTA
  I beseech your Grace, let this letter be read.
  Our person misdoubts it. ’Twas treason, he said.
  KING
  Berowne, read it over.
  Berowne reads the letter.
  To Jaquenetta. Where hadst thou it?
  JAQUENETTA  Of Costard.                                                                    210
  KING, to Costard  Where hadst thou it?
  COSTARD  Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.
  Berowne tears the paper.
  KING, to Berowne
  How now, what is in you? Why dost thou tear it?
  BEROWNE
  A toy, my liege, a toy. Your Grace needs not fear it.
  LONGAVILLE
  It did move him to passion, and therefore let’s hear                        215
  it.
   
  DUMAINE, picking up the papers
  It is Berowne’s writing, and here is his name.
  BEROWNE, to Costard
  Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, you were born to do
  me shame.—
  Guilty, my lord, guilty. I confess, I confess.                                      220
  KING  What?
  BEROWNE
  That you three fools lacked me fool to make up
  the mess.
  He, he, and you—and you, my liege—and I
  Are pickpurses in love, and we deserve to die.                                 225
  O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more.
  DUMAINE
  Now the number is even.
  BEROWNE  True, true, we are four.
  Pointing to Jaquenetta and Costard. Will these
  turtles be gone?                                                                                    230
  KING  Hence, sirs. Away.
  COSTARD
  Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay.
  Jaquenetta and Costard exit.
  BEROWNE
  Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, let us embrace.
     As true we are as flesh and blood can be.
  The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his face;                            235
     Young blood doth 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?
  BEROWNE
  Did they, quoth you? Who sees the heavenly                                    240
  Rosaline
  That, like a rude and savage man of Ind
     At the first op’ning of the gorgeous East,
  Bows not his vassal head and, strucken blind,
     Kisses the base ground with obedient breast?                                245
  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 inspired thee now?
  My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon,                                        250
     She an attending star scarce seen a light.
  BEROWNE
  My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Berowne.
     O, but for my love, day would turn to night!
  Of all complexions the culled sovereignty
     Do meet as at a fair in her fair cheek.                                              255
  Where several worthies make one dignity,
     Where nothing wants that want itself doth seek.
  Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues—
     Fie, painted rhetoric! O, she needs it not!
  To things of sale a seller’s praise belongs.                                         260
     She passes praise. Then praise too short doth blot.
  A withered hermit, fivescore winters worn,
     Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye.
  Beauty doth varnish age, as if newborn,
     And gives the crutch the cradle’s infancy.                                      265
  O, ’tis the sun that maketh all things shine!
  KING
     By heaven, thy love is black as ebony.
  BEROWNE
  Is ebony like her? O word divine!
     A wife of such wood were felicity.
  O, who can give an oath? Where is a book,                                       270
     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 school of night,                                275
  And beauty’s crest becomes the heavens well.
  BEROWNE
     Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light.
  O, if in black my lady’s brows be decked,
     It mourns that painting and usurping hair
  Should ravish doters with a false aspect:                                            280
     And therefore is she born to make black fair.
  Her favor 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.                                            285
  DUMAINE
  To look like her are chimney-sweepers black.
  LONGAVILLE
     And since her time are colliers counted bright.
  KING
  And Ethiopes of their sweet complexion crack.
  DUMAINE
     Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light.
  BEROWNE
  Your mistresses dare never come in rain,                                          290
     For fear their colors should be washed away.
  KING
  ’Twere good yours did, for, sir, to tell you plain,
     I’ll find a fairer face not washed today.
  BEROWNE
  I’ll prove her fair, or talk till doomsday here.
  KING
     No devil will fright thee then so much as she.                               295
  DUMAINE
  I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear.
  LONGAVILLE, showing his shoe
     Look, here’s thy love; my foot and her face see.
  BEROWNE
  O, if the streets were pavèd with thine eyes.
     Her feet were much too dainty for such tread.
  DUMAINE
  O vile! Then as she goes, what upward lies                                       300
     The street should see as she walked overhead.
  KING
  But what of this? Are we not all in love?
  BEROWNE
     Nothing so sure, and thereby all forsworn.
  KING
  Then leave this chat, and, good Berowne, now prove
     Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn.                                       305
  DUMAINE
  Ay, marry, there, some flattery for this evil.
  LONGAVILLE
     O, some authority how to proceed,
  Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil.
  DUMAINE
     Some salve for perjury.
  BEROWNE '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 have 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 excellenceWithout 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 fireWhy, universal plodding poisons up
  The nimble spirits in the arteries,
  As motion and long-during action tiresThe sinewy vigour of the traveller.
  Now, for not looking on a woman's face,
  You have in that forsworn the use of eyesAnd 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 ourselfAnd 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,And in that vow we have forsworn our books.For when would you, my liege, or you, or you,In leaden contemplation have found outSuch fiery numbers as the prompting eyesOf beauty's 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 sensibleThan are the tender horns of cockl'd 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 musicalAs bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair:And when Love speaks, the voice of all the godsMakes heaven drowsy with the harmony.Never durst poet touch a pen to writeUntil his ink were temper'd with Love's sighs;O, then his lines would ravish savage earsAnd 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 ought proves excellent.Then fools you were these women to forswear,Or keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools.For wisdom's sake, a word that all men love,Or for love's sake, a word that loves all men,Or for men's sake, the authors of these women,Or women's sake, by whom we men are men,Let us once lose our oaths to find ourselves,Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths.It is religion to be thus forsworn,For charity itself fulfills the law,And who can sever love from charity?
  KING
  Saint Cupid, then, and, soldiers, to the field!                                     360
  BEROWNE
  Advance your standards, and upon them, lords.
  Pell-mell, down with them. But be first advised
  In conflict that you get the sun of them.
  LONGAVILLE Now to plain dealing. Lay these glozes by. Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France?                                 365
  KING
  And win them, too. Therefore let us devise
  Some entertainment for them in their tents.
  BEROWNE
  First, from the park let us conduct them thither.
  Then homeward every man attach the hand
  Of his fair mistress. In the afternoon                                                   370
  We will with some strange pastime solace them,
  Such as the shortness of the time can shape;
  For revels, dances, masques, and merry hours
  Forerun fair love, strewing her way with flowers.
  KING
  Away, away! No time shall be omitted 375That will betime and may by us be fitted.
  BEROWNE
  Allons! Allons! Sowed cockle reaped no corn,
     And justice always whirls in equal measure.
  Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn;
     If so, our copper buys no better treasure.                                        380
  They exit.