Cath. Not fo, my lord, a twelve-month and a day, I'll mark no words that fmooth-fac'd wooers fay. Come, when the King doth to my lady come; Then if I have much love, I'll give you fome. Dum. I'll ferve thee true and faithfully till then. Cath. Yet fwear not, left ye be forfworn again. Long. What fays Maria ? Mar. At the twelve-month's end, I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend. Rof. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Biron, · of Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of death? It cannot be, it is impoffible: Mirth cannot move a foul in agony. Rof. Why, that's the way to choak a gibing spirit, Whofe influence is begot of that loofe grace, A jeft's profperity lies in the ear Of him that hears it, never in the tongue And And I will have you, and that fault withal : Biron. A twelve-month? well; befall, what will befall, I'll jeft a twelve-month in an Hofpital. Prin. Ay, sweet my lord, and so I take my leave. [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 fill; thefe ladies' courtefie Might well have made our fport 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 Majefty, vouchfafe me Dum. That worthy Knight of Troy. Arm. I will kifs thy royal finger, and take leave. I am a Votary; I have vow'd to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her fweet love three years. But, most-esteem'd Greatness, will you hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled, in praife of the owl and the cuckow? it fhould have follow'd in the end of our Show. King. Call them forth quickly, we will do fo. Enter all, for the Song. This fide is Hiems, winter. This Ver, the fpring: the one maintain'd by the owl, The other by the cuckow. Ver, begin. The The S O N G. SPRING. When daizies pied, and violets blue, Do paint the meadows with delight; Cuckow! Cuckow! cuckow! O word of fear, When Shepherds pipe on oaten fraws, And merry larks are ploughmens' clocks: Mocks married men for thus fings he,. Cuckow! cuckow! O word of fear, WINTE R. When ificles hang by the wall, And milk comes frozen home in pail; A merry note, While greafie Jone doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow, When When roafted crabs hifs in the bowl, A merry note, While greafie Jone doth keel the pot. Arm. The words of Mercury Are harsh after the Songs of Apollo: You, that way; we, this way. [Exeunt omnes iller) AS |