Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

For all the wealth that ever I did fee,
I would not have him know so much by me.
Biron. Now step I forth to whip hypocrifie.
Ah, good my Liege, I pray thee, pardon me.
[coming forward.
Good heart, what grace haft 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 fonnetting.
But are you not afham'd? nay, are you not
All three of you, to be thus much o'er-fhot?
You found his mote, the King your mote did fee:
But I a beam do find in each of three.

O, what a scene of fool'ry have I seen,
Of fighs, of groans, of forrow, and of teen?
O me, with what ftrict patience have I fat,
To fee a King transformed to a Knot!
To fee great Hercules whipping a gigg,
And profound Solomon tuning a jigg!
And Neftor play at pufh-pin with the boys,
And Cynic Timon laugh at idle toys!

Where lyes thy grief? O tell me, good Dumain;
And gentle Longaville, where lyes thy pain?
And where my Liege's? all about the breast?
A candle, hoa!

King. Too bitter is thy jeft.

Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view?

Biron. Not you by me, but I betray'd by you. I, that am honeft; I, that hold it fin

To break the vow I am engaged in.

I am betray'd by keeping company

8 With vane-like men, of ftrange inconftancy.

7

-CRITIC Timon] ought evidently to be CYNIC.

8 With MEN like men,-] This is a ftrange fenfeless line, and fhould be read thus,

With VAN & like men, of frange inconftancy.

When

When shall you fee me write a thing in rhime?
Or groan for Joan? or spend a minute's time
In pruning me? when fhall you hear, that I
Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye,
A gate, a state, a brow, a breast, a waste,
A leg, a limb?

King. Soft, whither away fo faft?

A true man or a thief, that gallops fo?

Biron. I poft from love; good lover, let me go.
Enter Jaquenetta and Coftard.

Faq. God bless the King!

King. What Present haft thou there?
Coft. Some certain Treason.
King. What makes treason here?
Coft. Nay, it makes nothing, Sir,
King. If it mar nothing neither,

The treafon and you go in peace away together.
Faq. I beseech your Grace, let this letter be read,
Our Parson mifdoubts it: it was treason, he faid.
King. Biron, read it over.

Where hadft thou it?

Faq. Of Coftard.

King. Where hadst thou it?

[He reads the letter.

Coft, Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio

King. How now, what is in you? why doft thou tear it?

Biron. A toy, my Liege, a toy: your Grace needs not fear it.

Long. It did move him to paffion, and therefore let's hear it.

Dum. It is Biron's writing, and here is his name. Biron. Ah, you whorefon loggerhead, you were born to do me shame. [To Coftard. Guilty, my lord, guilty: I confefs, I confess.

King. What?

Biron. That you three fools lack'd me fool to make

up the mess.

VOL. II.

R

He,

He, he, and you; and you, my liege, and I
Are pick-purfes in love, and we deferve to die.
O, difmifs this Audience, and I fhall tell you more
Dum. Now the number is even.

Biron. True, true; we are four:

Will these turtles begone?

King. Hence, Sirs, away.

Coft. Walk afide the true folk, and let the traitors

ftay.

[Exeunt Coft. and Jaquen.

Biron. Sweet lords, fweet lovers, Q, let us embrace: As true as we are, as flesh and blood can be. The fea will ebb and flow, heaven will fhew his face: Young blood doth not obey an old decree. We cannot cross the cause why we were born, Therefore of all hands muft we be forfworn.

King. What, did thefe rent lines fhew fome love of
thine?

Biron. Did they, quoth you? Who fees the heavenly
Rofaline,

That (like a rude and favage man of Inde,

At the firft opening of the gorgeous caft) Bows not his vaffal head, and, ftrucken blind,

Kiffes the base ground with obedient breaft? What peremptory eagle-fighted eye

Dares look upon the heaven of her brow,

That is not blinded by her Majefty?

King. What zeal, what fury, hath inspir'd thee now?

My love (her miftrefs) is a gracious moon;

She (an attending star) scarce feen a light.

Biron. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Biron.
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 feveral worthies make one dignity; Where nothing wants, that want it self doth feek.

Lend

Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues;
Fie, painted rhetorick! O, fhe needs it not:
To things of fale a feller's praise belongs:

She paffes praife; the praife, too short, doth blot, A wither'd hermit, fivefcore 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 fun, that maketh all things fhine.
King. By heav'n, thy love is black as ebony.
Biron. Is ebony like her? O wood divine!
A wife of fuch wood were felicity.

O, who can give an oath? where is a book,
That I may fwear, Beauty doth beauty lack,
If that he learn not of her eye to look?

1

No face is fair, that is not full fo black? King. O paradox, black is the badge of hell: The hue of dungeons, and the fcowl of night; And beauty's crete becomes the heavens well. Biron. Devils fooneft tempt, resembling fpirits of

light:

[ocr errors]

9 Is ebony like her? O WORD divine! ] We should read, O wood divine.

[blocks in formation]

The hue of dungeons, and the SCHOOL of night;] We fhould read, the scowL of night, i. e. the frown.

2 And beauty's CREST becomes the heavens well.] This is a contention between two lovers about the preference of a black or white beauty. But, in this reading, he who is contending for the white, takes for granted the thing in difpute; by faying, that white is the creft of beauty. His adverfary had just as much reafon to call black fo. The queftion debated between them being which was the creft of beauty, black or white. Shakespear could never write fo abfurdly: Nor has the Oxford Editor at all mended the matter by substituting dress for creft. We should read,

And beauty's CRETE becomes the heavens well,

i, e. beauty's white from creta. In this reading the third line is a VOL. II. R 2 proper

O, if in black my lady's brow be deckt,

It mourns, that Painting and ufurping Hair Should ravish doters with a falfe afpect:

And therefore is fhe born to make black fair. Her favour turns the fashion of the days,

For native blood is counted painting now; And therefore red, that would avoid difpraife, Paints itfelf black to imitate her brow.

Dum. To look like her, are chimney-fweepers black.

Long. And fince her time, are colliers counted bright.

King. And Ethiops of their fweet complexion crack. Dum. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light.

Biron. Your mistreffes dare never come in rain,

For fear their colours fhould be wash'd away. King. 'Twere good, yours did: for, Sir, to tell you plain,

I'll find a fairer face not wash'd to day.

Biron. I'll prove her fair, or talk 'till dooms-day here.

King. No devil will fright thee then so much as fhe.

Dum. I never knew man hold vile ftuff fo dear. Long. Look, here's thy love; my foot and her face fee.

Biron. O, if the ftreets were paved with thine

eyes,

Her feet were much too dainty for fuch tread. Dum. O vile! then as fhe goes, what upward lies The street should fee as the walkt over head.

proper antithefis to the firft. I fuppofe the blunder of the tranfcriber arofe from hence, the french word crefte in that pronunciation and orthography is créte, which he understanding, and knowing nothing of the other fignification of crete from creta, critically altered it to the English way of spelling, crefte.

« ZurückWeiter »