Shakespeare's First Folio Part 121

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.

On a day, alack the day: Loue, whose Month is euery May, Spied a blossome pa.s.sing faire, Playing in the wanton ayre: Through the Veluet, leaues the winde, All vnseene, can pa.s.sage 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 aethiop 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 pa.s.sion.

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 away 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.

Iaqu. G.o.d 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 pa.s.sion, and therefore let's heare it

Dum. It is Berowns writing, and heere is his name

Ber. Ah you wh.o.r.eson 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?