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. Rosa. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing Whose influence is begot of that loose grace, 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, 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, Biron. A twelvemonth? well, befal what will befal, I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital. Prin. Ay, sweet my lord; and so I take my [To the King. 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. I 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. Enter Holofernes, Nathaniel, Moth, Costard, 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, and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue, Do paint the meadows with delight, Cuckoo, cuckoo,—O word of fear, II. When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, Cuckoo, cuckoo,—O word of fear, III. Winter. When icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And milk comes frozen home in pail, Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. IV. When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, |