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 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 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?
BEROWNE.
Not you by me, but I betray’d by 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 men, men of inconstancy.
When shall you see me write a thing in rime?
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 parson misdoubts it; ‘twas treason, he said.
KING.
Berowne, read it over.
[Giving the letter to him.]
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.
DUMAINE.
[Picking up the pieces.]
It is Berowne’s writing, and here is his name.
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 pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die.
O! dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more.
DUMAINE.
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