Naso, but for smelling out the odoriferous flow-
ers of fancy, the jerks of invention? Imitari is
nothing so doth the hound his master, the ape
his keeper, the tired horse his rider. But, damo- 130
sella virgin, was this directed to you?

Jaq. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Biron, one of the

strange queen's lords.

Hol. I will overglance the superscript:

To the snow-white hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosaline.' I will look again on the intellect of the letter, for the nomination of the party writing to the person written unto: Your ladyship's in all desired employment, BIRON.' Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of the votaries with 140 the king; and here he hath framed a letter to a sequent of the stranger queen's, which accidentally, or by the way of progression, hath miscarried. Trip and go, my sweet; deliver this paper into the royal hand of the king: it may concern much. Stay not thy compliment; I forgive thy duty adieu.

Jaq. Good Costard, go with me. Sir, God save your

life!

Cost. Have with thee, my girl.

[Exeunt Cost. and Jaq. Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, 150 very religiously; and, as a certain father saith,Hol. Sir, tell not me of the father; I do fear colourable colours. But to return to the verses: did they please you, Sir Nathaniel?

Nath. Marvellous well for the pen.

Hol. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain pupil of mine: where, if, before repast, it shall please you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, on

my privilege I have with the parents of the fore-
said child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto; 160
where I will prove those verses to be very un-
learned, neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor
invention: I beseech your society.

Nath. And thank you too; for society, saith the text,
is the happiness of life.

Hol. And, certes, the text most infallibly concludes it. [To Dull] Sir, I do invite you too; you shall not say me nay: pauca verba. Away! the gentles are at their game, and we will to our 169 recreation. [Exeunt.

Scene III.

The same.

Enter Biron, with a paper.

Biron. The king he is hunting the deer; I am coursing myself: they have pitched a toil; I am toiling in a pitch,-pitch that defiles: defile! a foul word. Well, set thee down, sorrow! for so they say the fool said, and so say I, and I the fool: well proved, wit! By the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax: it kills sheep; it kills me, I a sheep well proved again o' my side! I will not love: if I do, hang me; i' faith, I will not. O, but her eye, by this light, but for her eye, I would not love her; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, I do love: and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to be melancholy; and here is part of my rhyme, and here my melan

ΙΟ

choly. Well, she hath one o' my sonnets al-
ready: the clown bore it, the fool sent it, and the
lady hath it; sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest
lady! By the world, I would not care a pin, if
the other three were in. Here comes one with a 20
paper; God give him grace to groan! [Stands aside.

Enter the King, with a paper.

King. Ay me!

Biron. [Aside] Shot, by heaven! Proceed, sweet Cupid; thou hast thumped him with thy birdbolt under the left pap. In faith, secrets!

King. [Reads]

So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not

To those fresh morning drops upon the rose,
As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote
The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows;
Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright

Through the transparent bosom of the deep,
As doth thy face through tears of mine give light;
Thou shinest in every tear that I do weep:
No drop but as a coach doth carry thee;

So ridest thou triumphing in my woe.
Do but behold the tears that swell in me,

And they thy glory through my grief will show:
But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep
My tears for glasses, and still make we weep.

30

40

O queen of queens! how far dost thou excel,
No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell.
How shall she know my griefs? I'll drop the

paper :

Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here?
[Steps aside.

DUMAIN: "Once more I'll read the ode that I have writ' LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST Act IV Scene 3