The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 301

KING. And I mine too,.good Lord!

BEROWNE. Amen, so I had mine! Is not that a good word?

DUMAIN. I would forget her; but a fever she Reigns in my blood, and will rememb'red be.

BEROWNE. A fever in your blood? Why, then incision Would let her out in saucers. Sweet misprision!

DUMAIN. Once more I'll read the ode that I have writ.

BEROWNE. Once more I'll mark how love can vary wit.

DUMAIN. [Reads]

'On a day-alack the day!- Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom pa.s.sing fair Playing in the wanton air.

Through the velvet leaves the wind, All unseen, can pa.s.sage find; That the lover, sick to death, Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.

"Air," quoth he "thy cheeks may blow; Air, would I might triumph so!

But, alack, my hand is sworn 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; 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 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 perjur'd note; For none offend where all alike do dote.

LONGAVILLE. [Advancing] Dumain, 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'erheard and taken napping so.

KING. [Advancing] Come, sir, you blush; as his, your 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 wreathed arms athwart His loving bosom, to keep down his heart.

I have been closely shrouded in this bush, And mark'd you both, and for you both did blush.

I heard your guilty rhymes, observ'd your fas.h.i.+on, Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your pa.s.sion.

'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 Dumain] And Jove for your love would 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!

For all the wealth that ever I did see, I would not have him know so much by me.

BEROWNE. [Descending] 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 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 perjur'd; 'tis a hateful thing; Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting.

But are you not ashamed? Nay, are you not, All three of you, to be thus much o'ershot?

You found his mote; the King your mote did see; But I a beam do find in each of three.

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 transformed to a gnat!

To see great Hercules whipping a gig, And profound Solomon to tune a jig, And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys, And critic Timon laugh at idle toys!

Where lies thy grief, O, tell me, good Dumain?

And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain?

And where my liege's? All about the breast.

A caudle, ho!

KING. Too bitter is thy jest.

Are we betrayed thus to thy over-view?

BEROWNE. Not you by me, but I betrayed to you.

I that am honest, I that hold it sin To break the vow I am engaged in; I am betrayed by keeping company With men like you, men of inconstancy.

When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme?

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- 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.

Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTARD

JAQUENETTA. G.o.d bless the King!

KING. What present hast thou there?

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.

JAQUENETTA. I beseech your Grace, let this letter be read; Our person mis...o...b..s it: 'twas treason, he said.

KING. Berowne, read it over. [BEROWNE reads the letter]

Where hadst thou it?

JAQUENETTA. Of Costard.

KING. Where hadst thou it?

COSTARD. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.

[BEROWNE tears the letter]

KING. 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 pa.s.sion, and therefore let's hear it.

DUMAIN. It is Berowne's writing, and here is his name.

[Gathering up the pieces]

BEROWNE. [ To COSTARD] Ah, you wh.o.r.eson loggerhead, you were born to do me shame.

Guilty, my lord, guilty! I confess, I confess.

KING. What?

BEROWNE. That you three fools lack'd me fool to make up the mess; He, he, and you- and you, my liege!- and I Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die.

O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more.

DUMAIN. Now the number is even.

BEROWNE. True, true, we are four.

Will these turtles be gone?

KING. Hence, sirs, away.

COSTARD. Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay.

Exeunt COSTARD and JAQUENETTA 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; 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 Rosaline That, like a rude and savage man of Inde At the first op'ning of the gorgeous east, Bows not his va.s.sal 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 now?

My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon; 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 cull'd 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- Fie, painted rhetoric! O, she needs it not!

To things of sale a seller's praise belongs: She pa.s.ses 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 s.h.i.+ne!

KING. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony.

BEROWNE. 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.