Biron. And what to me, my love and what to me? A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest, Dum. But what to me, my love? but what to me? Dum. O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife? Dum. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then. Mar. Ros. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Birón, To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain; You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day With groaning wretches; and your task shall be, With all the fierce endeavour of your wit, To 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 soul in agony. Ros. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit, Whose influence is begot of that loose grace, Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools: A jest's prosperity lies in the ear Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it; then, if sickly ears, Deaf'd with the clamours of their own dear groans, 1 Stained. Right joyful of your reformation. Biron. A twelvemonth? well, befal what will befal, I'll jost a twelvemonth in an hospital. Prin. [To the King.] Ay, sweet my lord: and so I take my leave. 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' courtesy Might well have made our sport a comedy. King. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a day, And then 'twill end. Biron. That's too long for a play. Enter Armado. Arm. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me.-- Dum. The worthy knight of Troy. Arm. I will kiss thy royal finger and take leave: I am a votary; I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her sweet love three years. But, most esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled, in praise of the owl and the cuckoo? it should have followed in the end of our show. King. Call them forth quickly, we will do so. Arm. Holla! approach. Enter Holofernes, Nathaniel, Moth, Costard, and others. This side is Hiems, winter; this Ver, the spring; the one maintain'd by the owl, the other by the cuckoo. Ver, begin. SONG. SPRING. When daisies pied,1 and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue, Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men, for thus sings he, Cuckoo, cuckoo,-O word of fear, II. When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, Mocks married men, for thus sings he, Cuckoo, cuckoo,-O word of fear, III. WINTER. When icicles hang by the wall, 1 Variegated. And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail, Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note. IV. When all aloud the wind doth blow, Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. Arm. The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. You, that way; we, this way. 1 Scum. 2 Wild apples. [Exeunt. SCENE.-Partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the Seat of Portia, on the Continent. Act First. SCENE I. VENICE. A STREET. Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Salanio. Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad; And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean; Do overpeer the petty traffickers, That curt'sy to them, do them reverence, As they fly by them with their woven wings. The better part of my affections would Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still 1 Large trading vessels. Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt, Salar. And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks? And now worth nothing! Shall I have the thought Is sad to think upon his merchandize. Ant. Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it, My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate Upon the fortune of this present year: Therefore, my merchandize makes me not sad. Ant. Fie, fie! Salan. Not in love neither? Then let's say, you are sad, Because you are not merry and 'twere as easy For you, to laugh, and leap, and say, you are merry, Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus, Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time; Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano. Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, Gratiano, and Lorenzo: Fare you well; We leave you now with better company. Salar. I would have staid till I had made you merry, If worthier friends had not prevented me. Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard. I take it, your own business calls on you, And you embrace the occasion to depart. Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? Say, when? You grow exceeding strange: Must it be so? Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. [Exeunt Salarino and Salanio. 1 Lowering. |