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’ the way.
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.
[Enter DUMAINE, with a paper.]
Dumain transformed: four woodcocks in a dish!
DUMAINE.
O most divine Kate!
BEROWNE.
O most profane coxcomb!
DUMAINE.
By heaven, the wonder in a mortal eye!
BEROWNE.
By earth, she is but corporal; there you lie.
DUMAINE.
Her amber hairs for foul hath amber quoted.
BEROWNE.
An amber-colour’d raven was well noted.
DUMAINE.
As upright as the cedar.
BEROWNE.
Stoop, I say;
Her shoulder is with child.
DUMAINE.
As fair as day.
BEROWNE.
Ay, as some days; but then no sun must shine.
DUMAINE.
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?
DUMAINE.
I would forget her; but a fever she
Reigns in my blood, and will remember’d be.
BEROWNE.
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.
Once more I’ll mark how love can vary wit.
DUMAINE.
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, ‘gan 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 e’en 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 rimes, 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.
Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy.
[Descends from the tree.]
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 asham’d? 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 foolery