The Complete Works of William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare (moboreader .TXT) 📕

would not love her-yes, for her two eyes. 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 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!

[Climbs into a tree]

 

Enter the KING, with a paper KING. Ay me!

BEROWNE. Shot, by heaven! Proceed, sweet Cupid; thou hast thump’d him with thy bird-bolt 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, As thy eye-beams, 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.

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.

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-Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here?

[Steps aside]

 

Enter LONGAVILLE, with a paper What, Longaville, and reading! Listen, car.

BEROWNE. Now, in thy likeness, one more fool appear!

LONGAVILLE. Ay me, I am forsworn!

BEROWNE. Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearing papers.

KING. In love, I hope; sweet fellowship in shame!

BEROWNE. One drunkard loves another of the name.

LONGAVILLE. Am I the first that have been perjur’d so?

BEROWNE. I could put thee in comfort: not by two that I know; Thou makest the triumviry, the corner-cap of society, The shape of Love’s Tyburn that hangs up simplicity.

LONGAVILLE. I fear these stubborn lines lack power to move.

O sweet Maria, empress of my love!

These numbers will I tear, and write in prose.

BEROWNE. O, rhymes are guards on wanton Cupid’s hose: Disfigure not his slop.

LONGAVILLE. This same shall go. [He reads the sonnet]

‘Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, ‘Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument, 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; Thy grace being gain’d cures all disgrace in me.

Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is; Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine, Exhal’st this vapour-vow; in thee it is.

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. This is the liver-vein, which makes flesh a deity, A green goose a goddess-pure, pure idolatry.

God amend us, God amend! We are much out o’ th’ way.

 

Enter DUMAIN, with a paper LONGAVILLE. By whom shall I send this?- Company! Stay.

[Steps aside]

BEROWNE. ‘All hid, all hid’- an old infant play.

Like a demigod here sit I in the sky, And wretched fools’ secrets heedfully o’er-eye.

More sacks to the mill! O heavens, I have my wish!

Dumain transformed! Four woodcocks in a dish!

DUMAIN. O most divine Kate!

BEROWNE. O most profane coxcomb!

DUMAIN. By heaven, the wonder in a mortal eye!

BEROWNE. By earth, she is not, corporal: there you lie.

DUMAIN. Her amber hairs for foul hath amber quoted.

BEROWNE. An amber-colour’d raven was well noted.

DUMAIN. As upright as the cedar.

BEROWNE. Stoop, I say;

Her shoulder is with child.

DUMAIN. As fair as day.

BEROWNE. Ay, as some days; but then no sun must shine.

DUMAIN. O that I had my wish!

LONGAVILLE. And I had mine!

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 passing fair

Playing in the wanton air.

Through the velvet leaves the wind, All unseen, can passage 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 fashion, Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion.

‘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. God 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 misdoubts 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 passion, 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 whoreson 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 pickpurses 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 vassal 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 passes praise; then praise too short doth blot.

A wither’d hermit, five-score winters worn, Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye.