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Catb. Not so, my lord, a twelve-month and a day,
I'll mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers say.
Come, when the King doth to my lady come;
Then if I have much love, I'll give you some.

Dum. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then.
Cath. Yet swear not, lest ye bę forsworn again.
Long. What says Maria ?

Mar. At the twelve-month's end,
I'll change my


gown for a faithful friend. Long. I'll itay with patience ; but the time is long. Mar. The liker you; few taller are so young.

Biron. Studies my lady? mistress, look on me,
Behold the window of my heart, mine eye,
What humble Suit attends thy answer there ;
Impose some service on me for thy love.

Rof. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Biron,
Before I saw you; and the world's large tongue
Proclaims you

for a man replete with mocks ;
Full of comparisons and wounding flouts ;
Which you on all estates will execute,
That lye within the mercy


To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain,
And therewithal to win me, if you please,
(Without the which I am not to be won ;)
You shall this twelve-month-term from day to day
Visit the speechless sick, and still converse
With groaning wretches ; and your task shall be,
With all the fierce endeavour of your wit,
T' enforce the pained Impotent to smile.

Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of death?
It cannot be, it is impossible :
Mirth cannot move a foul in

agony. Ros. Why, that's the way to choak a gibing spirit, Whose influence is begot of that loose grace, Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools: A jeft's prosperity lies in the ear of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it: then, if fickly ears, Deaft with the clamours of their own dear groans, Will hear your idle scorns ; continue then,


And I will have you, and that fault withal :
But if they will not, throw away that spirit;
And I shall find you empty of that fault,
Right joyful of your Reformation.
Biron. A twelve-month? well ; befall, what will be-

I'll jeft a twelve-month in an Hospital.
Prin. Ay, sweet my lord, and so I take my


[to the King. King. No, Madam ; we will bring you on your way. Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old Play ; Jack hath not Jill; these ladies courtesie Might well have made our sport a Comedy.

King. Come, Sir, it wants a twelve-month and a day, And then 'twill end.

Biron. That's too long for a Play.

Enter Armado.

Arm. Sweet Majesty, vouchsafe me
Prin. Was not that Hector ?
Dum. That worthy Knight of Troy.

Arm. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. I am a Votary ; I have vow'd to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her sweet love three years. But, most-esteem'd Greatness, will you hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled, in praise of the owl and the cuckow ? it should have follow'd in the end of our Show.

King. Call them forth quickly, we will do so.
Arm. Holla ! approach.

Enter all, for the Song. This fide is Hiems, winter. This Ver, the spring: the one maintain'd by the owl, The other by the cuckow. Ver, begin.

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The S O N G.

When daizies pied, and violets blue,

And lady-smocks all filver white,
And cuckow-buds of yellow bue,

Do paint the meadows with delight;
The cuckow then on every Tree
Mocks married men ; for thus fings. be,
Cuckow !

Cuckow ! cuckow ! O word of fear,
Unpleafing to a married ear!

When shepherds pipe on oaten firaws,

And merry.larks are ploughmens' clocks :
When turtles tread, and rooks and daws ;.

And maidens bleach their summer smocks ;
The cuckow then on every tree
Mocks married men i for thus fings. he,
Cuckow !

Cuckow ! cuckow ! O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!


When isicles hang by the wall,

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail;s
And Tom bears log's into the hall,

And milk comes frozen home in pail;.
When blood' is nipt, and ways be foul,.
Then nightly fings the faring owl
Tu-wbit! to-whoo!

A merry note,
While greafie Jone doth keel the pot.

When all aloud the wind doth blow,

And coughing drowns the Parson's far ;
And birds fit brooding in the snow,
And. Marian's nose looks red and raw ;


When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly fings the staring owl
Tu-whit! to-whoo!

A merry note,
While greafie Jone doth keel the pot.

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