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So flew'd, so sanded; and their heads are hung
With ears that sweep away the morning dew;
Crook-knee'd, and dew-lap'd like Thessalian bulls;
Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells,
Each under each. A cry more tuneable
Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn,
In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly:
Judge when you hear.- But, soft; what nymphs
are these?

Ege. My lord, this is my daughter here asleep:
And this, Lysander; this Demetrius is;
This Helena, old Nedar's Helena.

I wonder of their being here together.

The. No doubt they rose up early, to observe
The rite of May; and, hearing our intent,
Came here in grace of our solemnity.-
But, speak, Egeus; is not this the day
That Hermia should give answer of her choice?
Ege. It is, my lord.

The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their


Horns and shouts within. DEMETRIUS, LYSANDER,
HERMIA, and HELENA, wake and start up.
The. Good-morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is

Begin these wood-birds but to couple now?
Lys. Pardon, my lord.

"He and the rest kneel to THESEUS.
I pray you all, stand up.
I know you are two rival enemies;
How comes this gentle concord in the world,
That hatred is so far from jealousy,
To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity?

Lys. My lord, I shall reply amazedly,

Half sleep, half waking: But as yet, I swear
I cannot truly say how I came here:

But, as I think, (for truly would I speak,-
And now I do bethink me, so it is,)

I came with Hermia hither: our intent

Was, to be gone from Athens, where we might be
Without the peril of the Athenian law.



It seems to me,

Do not you think,
That yet we sleep, we dream
The duke was here, and bid us follow him?
Her. Yea; and my father.
And Hippolyta.

Lys. And he did bid us follow to the temple.
Dem. Why then, we are awake: let's follow


And, by the way, let us recount our dreams.

As they go out, BOTTOM awakes.


Bot. When my cue comes, call me, and I will
answer:- my next is, Most fair Pyramus.-- Hey,
ho!-Peter Quince! Flute, the bellows-mender
Snout, the tinker! Starveling! God's my life!
stolen hence, and left me asleep! I have had a
most rare vision. I have had a dream,-past the
wit of man to say what dream it was: Man is but
an ass, if he go about to expound this dream.
Methought I was- there is no man can tell what.
Methought I was, and methought I had,- But
man is but a patched fool, if he will offer to say
what methought I had. The eye of man hath
not heard, the ear of man hath not seen; man's
hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive,
nor his heart to report, what my dream was.
will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this
dream: it shall be called Bottom's Dream, because
it hath no bottom; and I will sing it in the latter
end of the play, before the duke! Peradventure, to
make it the more gracious, I shall sing it at her

SCENE II.-Athens. A Room in Quince's House.
Quin. Have you sent to Bottom's house? is he
come home yet?

Star. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt, he is transported.

Flu. If he come not, then the play is marred; It

Ege. Enough, enough, my lord; you have goes not forward, doth it?

I beg the law, the law, upon his head.-
They would have stol'n away, they would,


Quin. It is not possible: you have not a man in
all Athens, able to discharge Pyramus, but he.
Flu. No; he hath simply the best wit of any
Deme-handicraft man in Athens.

Thereby to have defeated you and me:
You, of your wife; and me, of my consent;
Of my consent that she should be your wife.
Dem. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth,
Of this their purpose hither to this wood;
And I in fury hither follow'd them;
Fair Helena in fancy following me.
But, my good lord, I wot not by what power,
(But by some power it is,) my love to Hermia,
Melted as doth the snow, seems to me now
As the remembrance of an idle gawd,
Which in my childhood I did dote upon:
And all the faith, the virtue of my heart,
The object, and the pleasure of mine eye,
Is only Helena. To her, my lord,
Was I betroth'd ere I saw Hermia:
But, like in sickness, did I loath this food;
Now do I wish it, love it, long for it,
And will for evermore be true to it.

The. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met:
Of this discourse we more will hear anon.-
Egeus, I will overbear your will;
For in the temple by and by with us,
These couples shall eternally be knit.
And, for the morning now is something worn,
Our purpos'd hunting shall be set aside.-
Away, with us, to Athens: Three and three,
We'll hold a feast in great solemnity.—
Come, Hippolyta.

[Exeunt THE., HIP., EGE., and train.
Dem. These things seem small and undistinguish-


Like far-off mountains turned into clouds.
Her. Methinks, I see these things with parted eye.
When every thing seems double.
So methinks:
And I have found Demetrius like a jewel,
Mine own, and not mine own.

The flews are the large chaps of a hound.

a Love.

Quin. Yea, and the best person too: and he is
a very paramour, for a sweet voice.
Flu. You must say paragon: a paramour is,
God bless us, a thing of nought.

Enter SNUG.

Snug. Masters, the duke is coming from the temple, an there is two or three lords and ladies more married: if our sport had gone forward, we had all been made men.

Flu. O sweet bully Bottom! Thus hath he lost six-pence a day during his life; he could not have 'scaped sixpence a-day: an the duke had not given him sixpence a-day for playing Pyramus, I'll be hanged; he would have deserved it: sixpence a-day, in Pyramus, or nothing.


Bot. Where are these lads? where are these hearts? Quin. Bottom!-0 most courageous day! O most happy hour!

Bot. Masters, I am to discourse wonders: but ask me not what; for, if I tell you, I am no true Athenian. I will tell you every thing, right as it fell out. Quin. Let us hear, sweet Bottom. All that I will tell you, Bot. Not a word of me. is, that the duke hath dined: Get your apparel together; good strings to your beards, new ribbons to your pumps; meet presently at the palace; every man look o'er his part; for, the short and the long is, our play is preferred. In any case let Thisby have clean linen; and let not him that plays the lion, pare his nails, for they shall hang out for the lion's claws. And, most dear actors, eat no onions, nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath; and, I do not doubt, but to hear them say, it is a sweet comedy. No more words; away; go, [Exeunt. away


SCENE I.-An Apartment in the Palace of

Lords, and Attendants.

Hip. "Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers

speak of.

The. More strange than true, I never may believe
These antique fables, nor these fairy toys.
Lovers, and madmen, have such seething brains,
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
More than cool reason ever comprehends.
The lunatic, the lover and the poet,

Are of imagination all compact:

One sees more devils than vast hell can hold;
That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic,
Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt:
The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,

Which makes it tedious: for in all the play
There is not one word apt, one player fitted.
And tragical, my noble lord, it is;
For Pyramus therein doth kill himself.
Which, when I saw rehears'd, I must confess,
Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears
The passion of loud laughter never shed.
The. What are they, that do play it?
Philost. Hard-handed men, that work in Athens

Which never labor'd in their minds till now;
And now have toil'd their unbreath'd memories
With this same play, against your nuptual.
The. And we will hear it.

No, my noble lord,
It is not for you: I have heard it over,
And it is nothing, nothing in the world;
Unless you can find sport in their intents,

Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to Extremely stretch'd and conn'd with cruel pain,


And, as imagination bodies forth

The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing

A local habitation and a name.

Such tricks hath strong imagination;
That, if it would but apprehend some joy,
It comprehends some bringer of that joy;
Or, in the night, imagining some fear,
How easy is a bush suppos'd a bear?

Hip. But all the story of the night told over,
And all their minds transfigur'd so together,
More witnesseth than fancy's images,
And grows to something of great constancy;
But, howsoever, strange and admirable.


The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth,-
Joy, gentle friends! joy, and fresh days of love,
Accompany your hearts!

More than to us
Wait on your royal walks, your board, your bed!
The. Come now; what masks, what dances shall
we have,

To wear away this long age of three hours,
Between our after-supper, and bed-time?
Where is our usual manager of mirth!
What revels are in hand? Is there no play,
To ease the anguish of a torturing hour?
Call Philostrate.

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to be sung,

By an Athenian eunuch to the harp.
We'll none of that: that have I told my love,
In glory of my kinsman Hercules.

The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals,
Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage.
That is an old device; and it was play'd
When I from Thebes came last a conqueror.

The thrice three Muses mourning for the death
Of learning, late deceas'd in beggary.
That is some satire, keen, and critical,
Not sorting with a nuptual ceremony.

A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus,
And his love Thisbe: very tragical mirth.
Merry and tragical? Tedious and brief?
That is, hot ice, and wonderous strange snow.
How shall we find the concord of this discord?
Philost. A play there is, my lord, some ten words

Which is as brief as I have known a play:
But by ten words, my lord, it is too long;

• Compacted, made.

Pastime. Short account.

To do you service,
I will hear that play;
For never anything can be amiss,
When simpleness and duty tender it.
Go, bring them in;-and take your places, ladies.
Hip. I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharg'd,
And duty in his service perishing.

The. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such

Hip. He says, they can do nothing in this kind.
The. The kinder we to give them thanks for noth-


Our sport shall be, to take what they mistake:
And what poor duty can do,

Noble respect takes it in might, not merit.
Where I have come, great clerks have purposed
To greet me with premeditated welcomes;
Where I have seen them shiver and look pale,
Make periods in the midst of sentences,
Throttle their practised accent in their fears,
And, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off,
Not paying me a welcome: Trust me, sweet,
Out of this silence, yet, I pick'd a welcome;
And in the modesty of fearful duty

I read as much, as from the rattling tongue
Of saucy and audacious eloquence.
Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity,
In least, speak most, to my capacity.


Philost. So please your grace, the prologue is addrest.

The. Let him approach. [Flourish of trumpets.

Enter Prologue.

Prol. If we offend, it is with our good-will.
But with good-will. To show our simple skill,
That you should think, we come not to offend,
Consider then, we come but in despite.
That is the true beginning of our end.
We do not come as minding to content you.
Our true intent is. All for your delight,
We are not here. That you should here repent


The actors are at hand; and by their show,
You shall know all, that you are like to know.

The. This fellow doth not stand upon points.
Lys. He hath rid his prologue like a rough colt;
he knows not the stop. A good moral, my lord:
It is not enough to speak, but to speak true.

Hip. Indeed he hath played on this prologue, like a child on a recorder; a sound, but not in government.

The. His speech was like a tangled chain; nothing impaired but all disordered. Who is next? Enter PIRAMUS and THISBE, Wall, Moonshine, and Lion, as in dumb show.

Prol. "Gentles, perchance, you wonder at this

A musical instrument.

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"To whisper; at the which let no man wonder. "This man with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn, "Presenteth moon-shine: for, if you will know, "By moon-shine did these lovers think no scorn

"To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo. "This grisly beast, which by name lion hight, "The trusty Thisby, coming first by night, Did scare away, or rather did affright: And, as she fled, her mantle she did fall; "Which lion vile with bloody mouth did stain: "Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth, and tall, "And finds his trusty Thisby's mantle slain: "Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade, "He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast; "And, Thisby tarrying in mulberry shade,

"His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest, "Let lion, moonshine, wall, and lovers twain, "At large discourse, while here they do remain." [Ex. Prol., PYR., THISBE, Lion, and Moonshine. The. I wonder if the lion be to speak. Dem. No wonder, my lord: one lion may, many asses do.

Pyr. "Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me


This." Tide life, tide death, I come without delay." Wal!." Thus have 1, wall, my part discharged so; "And, being done, thus wall away doth go."

[Exeunt Wall, PYRAMUS, and THISBE. The. Now is the mural down between the two neighbors. Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear without warning.

Hip. This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard. The. The best in this kind are but shadows: and the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them. Hip. It must be your imagination then, and not theirs.

The. If we imagine no worse of them, than they of themselves, they may pass for excellent men. Here come two noble beasts in, a moon, and a lion. Enter Lion and Moonshine.

Lion. "You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear "The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor,

"May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here, "When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar. "Then know, that I, one Snug the joiner, am "A lion fell, nor else no lion's dam:

64 when

Wall. "In this same interlude, it doth befall, "That I, one Snout by name, present a wall: "And such a wall, as I would have you think, "That had in it a cranny'd hole, or chink, "Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby, "Did whisper often very secretly. "This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth show,

"That I am that same wall; the truth is so: "And this the cranny is, right and sinister, "Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper." The. Would you desire lime and hair to speak better?

Dem. It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard discourse, my lord.

The. Pyramus draws near the wall: silence!

Pyr. "O grim-look'd night! O night with hue so black!

"O night, which ever art, when day is not! "O night, Ó night, alack, alack, alack,

"I fear my Thisby's promise is forgot! "And, thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall, "That stand'st between her father's ground and mine!

"Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall, "Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyne. [Wall holds up his fingers. "Thanks, courteous wall: Jove shield thee well for this!

"But what see I? No Thisby do I see. "O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss; "Curst be thy stones for thus deceiving me!" The. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse again.

Pyr. No, in truth, sir, he should not. Deceiving me, is Thisby's cue: she is to enter now, and I am to spy her through the wall. You shall see, it will fall pat as I told you:- Yonder she comes.


This."O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans, "For parting my fair Pyramus and me: "My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones; "Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee." Pyr. "I see a voice: now will I to the chink, "To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face. "Thisby!"

This. "My love, thou art my love, I think." Pyr."Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's grace; "And like Limander am I trusty still."

This. "And I like Helen, till the fates me kill."
Pyr. "Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true."
This. "As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you."
Pyr. "O, kiss me through the hole of this vile

This. "I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all."

• Called.

For if I should as lion come in strife "Into this place, 'twere pity on my life."

The. A very gentle beast and of a good conscience. Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I saw.

Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valor. The. True; and a goose for his discretion. Dem. Not so, my lord: for his valor cannot carry his discretion; and the fox carries the goose.

The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valor; for the goose carries not the fox. It is well: leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to the moon.

Moon. "This lantern doth the horned moon present:-"

Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head. The. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible within the circumference.

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Moon. This lantern doth the horned moon present;

Myself the man i'the moon do seem to be."

The. This is the greatest error of all the rest: the man should be put into the lantern: How is it else the man i'the moon?

Dem. He dares not come there for the candle: for you see, it is already in snuff.1

Hip. I am aweary of this moon: Would, he would change!

The. It appears, by his small light of discretion, that he is in the wane: but yet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must stay the time.

Lys. Proceed, moon.

Moon. All that I have to say, is, to tell you, that the lantern is the moon: I, the man in the moon; this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush; and this dog, iny dog. Dem. Why all these should be in the lantern; for they are in the moon. But, silence; here comes Thisbe.

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"What dreadful dole is here? "Eyes, do you see?

"How can it be?

"O dainty duck! O dear! "Thy mantle good,

"What, stain'd with blood? "Approach, ye furies fell!

O fates! come, come;

46 Cut thread and thrum;2 "Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!"

The. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad.

Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. Pyr. "O, wherefore, nature, didst thou lions frame?

"Since lion vile hath here deflour'd my dear: "Which is no, no-which was the fairest dame, "That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd "with cheer."

"Come, tears, confound; "Out, sword, and wound

"The pap of Pyramus:


Ay, that left pap,

"Where heart doth hop:

"Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. Now am I dead, "Now am I fled,

"My soul is in the sky:

Tongue, lose thy light! "Moon, take thy flight!

"Now die, die, die, die, die."

[Dies-Exit Moonshine.

Dem. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one. Lys. Less than an ace, man; for he is dead; he is nothing.

The. With the help of a surgeon, he might yet recover, and prove an ass.

Hip. How chance moonshine is gone, before Thisbe comes back and finds her lover?

The. She will find him by star-light.-Here she comes; and her passion ends the play.

. Enter THIS BE.

Hip. Methinks, she should not use a long one, for such a Pyramus: I hope she will be brief. Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes.

Dem. And thus she moans, videlicet.

This." Asleep, my love?
"What, dead, my dove?

"O Pyramus, arise,

"Speak, speak. Quite dumb?
"Dead, dead? A tomb
"Must cover thy sweet eyes.
"These lily brows,
"This cherry nose,
"These yellow cowslip cheeks,
"Are gone, are gone:
"Lovers, make moan!
"His eyes were green as leeks.
"O sisters three,

"Come, come, to me,
"With hands as pale as milk;
"Lay them in gore,
"Since you have shore

"With shears, his thread of silk.
"Tongue, not a word :-
"Come, trusty sword;

"Come, blade, my breast imbrue:

"And farewell, friends;

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The. Moonshine and lion are left to bury the dead. Dem. Ay, and wall too.

Bot. No, I assure you; the wall is down that parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance, between two of our company?

The. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse; for when the players are all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it, had play'd Pyramus, and hanged himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy: and so it is truly; and very notably discharged. But come, your Bergomask: let your epilogue alone. [Here a dance of Clowns. • Countenance.

a Coarse yarn.

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Puck. Now the hungry lion roars,
And the wolf behowls the moon;
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
All with weary task fordone.
Now the wasted brands do glow,
Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud,
Puts the wretch, that lies in woe,

In remembrance of a shroud.
Now it is the time of night,

That the graves all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite,

In the church-way paths to glide:
And we fairies, that do run

By the triple of Hecate's team,
From the presence of the sun,

Following darkness like a dream,
Now are frolic; not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallow'd house:
I am sent, with broom, before,

To sweep the dust behind the door.

Enter OBERON and TITANIA, with their Train.
Obe. Through this house give glimmering light,
By the dead and drowsy fire:
Every elf, and fairy sprite,

Hop as light as bird from brier;
And his ditty, after me,

Sing, and dance it trippingly.

Tita. First, rehearse this song by rote:
To each word a warbling note,
Hand in hand, with fairy grace,
Will we sing, and bless this place.


Obe. Now, until the break of day,
Through this house each fairy stray.
To the best bride-bed will we,
Which by us shall blessed be;
And the issue, there create,
Ever shall be fortunate.
So shall all the couples three
Ever true in loving be;
And the blots of nature's hand
Shall not in their issue stand;
Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar,
Nor mark prodigious, such as are
Despised in nativity,

Shall upon their children be.-
With this field-dew consecrate,
Every fairy take his gait;

And each several chamber bless,
Through this palace with sweet peace:
E'er shall it in safety rest,

And the owner of it blest.

Trip away;

Make no stay;

Meet me all by break of day.

Exeunt OBERON, TITANIA, and Train.

Puck. If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, (and all is mended,)
That you have but slumbered here,
While these visions did appear,
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream
Gentles, do not reprehend;
If you pardon, we will mend.
And, as I am honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
How to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends, ere long:
Else the Puck a liar call.

So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends. [Exit.
• Overcome.
• Portentous.
6 Way.

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And not to be seen to wink of all the day;
(When I was wont to think no harm all night,
And make a dark night too of half the day ;)
Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there:

King. Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep;
Live register'd upon our brazen tombs,

And then grace us in the disgrace of death
When, spite of cormorant devouring time,
The endeavor of this present breath may buy
That honor, which shall bate his scythe's keen edge,
And make us heirs of all eternity.

Therefore, brave conquerors:-for so you are,
That war against your own affections,
And the huge army of the world's desires,-
Our late edict shall strongly stand in force:
Navarre shall be the wonder of the world;
Our court shall be a little Academe,
Still and contemplative in living art.
You three, Birón, Dumain, and Longaville,
Have sworn for three years' term to live with me,
My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes,
That are recorded in this schedule here:
Your oaths are past, and now subscribe your names;
That his own hand may strike his honor down,
That violates the smallest branch herein;
If you are arm'd to do, as sworn to do,
Subscribe to your deep oath and keep it too.
Long. I am resolv'd: 'tis but a three years' fast;
The mind shall banquet, though the body pine:
Fat paunches have lean pates; and dainty bits
Make rich the ribs, but bank'rout quite the wits.
Dum. My loving lord, Dumain is mortified;
The grosser manner of these world's delights
He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves:
To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die;
With all these living in philosophy.

Biron. I can but say their protestation over,
So much, dear liege, I have already sworn,
That is, To live and study here three years.
But there are other strict observances:
As, not to see a woman in that term;
Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there:
And, one day in a week to touch no food:
And but one meal on every day beside;
The which, I hope, is not enrolled there;
And then to sleep but three hours in the night,

Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep.

King. Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these.
Biron. Let me say no, my liege, an if you please?
I only swore, to study with your grace,
And stay here in your court for three years' space.
Long. You swore to that, Birón, and to the rest.
Biron. By yea and nay sir, then I swore in jest.—
What is the end of study? let me know.
King. Why, that to know, which else we should
not know.

Biron. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from
common sense?

King. Ay, that is study's god-like recompense.
Biron. Come on then, I will swear to study so,
To know the thing I am forbid to know:
As thus-To study where I well may dine,
When I to feast expressly am forbid;
Or study where to meet some mistress fine,
When mistresses from common sense are lud:
Or, having sworn too hard-a-keeping oath,
Study to break it, and not break my troth.
If study's gain be thus, and this be so,
Study knows that, which yet it doth not know:
Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say, no.

King. These be the stops that hinder study quite,
And train our intellects to vain delight.

Biron. Why, all delights are vain; but that most

Which with pain purchas'd, doth inherit pain:
As, painfully to pore upon a book,

To seck the light of truth; while truth the while
Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look:

Light, seeking light, both light of light beguile
So, ere you find where light in darkness lies,
Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.
Study me how to please the eye indeed,

By fixing it upon a fairer eye;
Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed,
And give him light that was it blinded by.

Study is like the heaven's glorious sun,

That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks;

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