[Wish’d] himself the heavens’ 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 Ethiop 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.
Long. [Advancing.]
Dumaine, 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 Dumaine.]
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.
Ber.
Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy.
[Descending and advancing.]
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 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 Salomon 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 Dumaine?
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?
Ber.
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?
Ber.
I post from love; good lover, let me go.
Enter Jaquenetta and Clown [Costard].
Jaq.
God bless the King!
King.
What present hast thou there?
Cost.
Some certain treason.
King.
What makes treason here?
Cost.
Nay, it makes nothing, sir.
King.
If it mar nothing neither,
The treason and you go in peace away together.
Jaq.
I beseech your Grace let this letter be read:
Our person misdoubts it; ’twas treason, he said.
King.
Berowne, read it over.
He [Berowne] reads the letter.
Where