Enter Dumain.

Long. By whom fhall I fend this?-Company! stay.

[Stepping afide. Biron. [Afide.] i All hid, all hid, an old infant play : Like a demy-god here fit I in the sky,

And wretched fools' fecrets heedfully o'er eye.

More facks to the mill! O heavens, I have my wifh;
Dumain transform'd, four woodcocks in a dish!

Dum. O moft divine Kate!

Biron. O most prophane coxcomb!

Dum. By heaven, the wonder of a mortal eye!
Biron. By earth, fhe is not not * corporal; there

[Afide.

you

lie.

[Afide.

Dum. Her amber hair for foul hath amber' coted. Biron. An amber-colour'd raven was well noted. [Afide. Dum. As upright as the cedar.

Biron. Stoop, I fay;

Her fhoulder is with child.

[Afide.

Dum. As fair as day.

Biron. Ay, as fome days; but then no fun must shine.

Biron. Amen, fo I had mine: Is not that a good word?

[Afide.

Dum. I would forget her; " but a fever fhe

Reigns in my blood, and will remembred be.

j All bid, all bid,]-The phrafe at bide and feck.

corporal]-not corporeal (fwear that) and there you lie-corporalbrother corporal, of Cupid's file.

coted]-marked, stampt; outstript, foiled it upon comparison.

we coted them on the way." HAMLET, A& II, S. 2. Rof.. m but a fever &c.]-" For like the hectic in my blood he rages." HAMLET, A& IV, S. 3. King. Biron.

Pp2

Biron. A fever in your blood! why, then incifion Would let her out in fawcers; Sweet mifprifion! [Afide. Dum. Once more I'll read the ode that I have writ. Biron. Once more I'll mark how love can vary wit.

Love, whofe month "is ever May,
Spy'd a bloffom, passing fair,
Playing in the wanton air:

Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unfeen, 'gan passage find;
That the lover, fick to death,
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.

Air, (quoth he) thy cheeks may blow;

Air, would I might triumph fo!

But, alack, my hand is fworn,

Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet;
Youth fo apt to pluck a sweet.
Do not call it fin in me,

That I am forfworn for thee:

Thou, for whom even Jove would fwear,

Juno but an Ethiope were;

And deny himself for Jove,

Turning mortal for thy love.

This will I fend; and fomething else more plain,
That fhall exprefs my true love's ' fasting pain.
O, would the king, Biron, and Longaville,
Were lovers too! ill, to example ill,

Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd note;
For none offend, where all alike do dote.

[Afide.

was -POEMS, 731.

• Ab!

Pfafting]-longing-lafting.

Long.

Long. Dumain, thy love is far from charity, That in love's grief defir'ft fociety:

[coming forward.

You may look pale, but I fhould blush, I know,

To be o'er-heard, and taken napping fo.

King. Come, fir, you blush; 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 mark'd 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 me! fays one; O Jove! the other cries;
One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other's eyes:
You would for paradise break faith and troth; [To Long.
And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath.

;

[To Dumain.
What will Biron fay, when that he shall hear
A faith infringed, which fuch zeal did swear?
How will he fcorn? how will he spend his wit?
How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it?
For all the wealth that ever I did fee,.

I would not have him know fo much by me.
Biron. Now ftep I forth to whip hypocrify.-
Ah, good my liege, I pray thee, pardon me:

[Coming forward.
Good heart, what grace haft thou, thus to reprove
Thefe worms for loving, that art most in love?
Your eyes do make no coaches; in your tears,
There is no certain princefs that appears?

૧ no coaches ;]-alluding to a line in the King's fonnet. "No drop but as a coach doth carry thee." Pp 3

You'll

You'll not be perjur'd, 'tis a hateful thing;
Tush, none but minstrels like of fonneting.
But are you not afham'd? nay, are you not,
All three of you, to be thus much o'er-fhot;
You found his mote; the king your mote did fee
But I a beam do find in each of three.

O, what a scene of foolery I have seen,

Of fighs, of groans, of forrow, and of teen!
O me, with what ftri&t patience have I fat,
To fee a king transformed to a 'gnat!
To fee great Hercules whipping a gigg,
And profound Solomon tuning a jigg,

And Neftor play at push-pin with the boys,
And critic Timon laugh at idle toys!

S

Where lyes thy grief? O tell me, good Dumain!
And, gentle Longaville, where lyes thy pain?
And where my liege's? all about the breast:-
A caudle ho!

King. Too bitter is thy jeft.

Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view?

Biron. Not you by me, but I betray'd to you:
I, that am honeft; I, that hold it fin

To break the vow I am engaged in;

I am betray'd by keeping company

t

With men like men, of ftrange inconftancy.
When shall you fee me write a thing in rhime!
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,

t

1

gnat!]-a fonnetteer, from its hum-knot-a fmall, filly bird, eafily taken. s critic]-cynic. men like men,]-mere menvane-like men-blown with all winds-moon-like menen-fickle, changeable. pruning me?]-dreffing myfelf, fetting off my períon to advantage. "Which makes him prune himself, &c.

u

HENRY IV. Part I. A&t I, S. 1.

Weft.

A gait

"

A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist,

A leg, a limb?

King. Soft; Whither away fo faft?

A true man, or a thicf, that gallops fo?

Biron. I poft from love; good lover let me go.

Enter Jaquenetta and Coftard.

Jaq. God bless the king!

King. What present haft thou there?
Coft. Some certain treason.

King. What makes treafon here?

Coft. Nay, it makes nothing, fir.
King. If it mar nothing neither,

The treafon, and you, go in peace away together.
Jaq. I beseech your grace, let this letter be read;

W

Our parfon mifdoubts it; it was treason, he said.

King. Biron read it over.

Where hadft thou it?

Jaq. Of Coftard.

King. Where hadst thou it ?

t

[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.

W

mijdoubts]-fufpects.

Pp 4

He,