Love's Labour's Lost Part 16

KATHARINE. Yet swear not, lest ye be forsworn again.

LONGAVILLE. What says Maria?

MARIA. At the twelvemonth's end I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend.

LONGAVILLE. I'll stay with patience; but the time is long.

MARIA. The liker you; few taller are so young.

BEROWNE. Studies my lady? Mistress, look on me; Behold the window of my heart, mine eye, What humble suit attends thy answer there.

Impose some service on me for thy love.

ROSALINE. Oft have I heard of you, my Lord Berowne, Before I saw you; and the world's large tongue Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks, Full of comparisons and wounding flouts, Which you on all estates will execute That lie within the mercy of your wit.

To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain, And therewithal to win me, if you please, Without the which I am not to be won, You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day Visit the speechless sick, and still converse With groaning wretches; and your task shall be, With all the fierce endeavour of your wit, To enforce the pained impotent to smile.

BEROWNE. To move wild laughter in the throat of death?

It cannot be; it is impossible; Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.

ROSALINE. 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, 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, And I shall find you empty of that fault, Right joyful of your reformation.

BEROWNE. A twelvemonth? Well, befall what will befall, I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE. [To the King] Ay, sweet my lord, and so I take my leave.

KING. No, madam; we will bring you on your way.

BEROWNE. 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 an' a day, And then 'twill end.

BEROWNE. That's too long for a play.

Re-enter ARMADO

ARMADO. Sweet Majesty, vouchsafe me- PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Was not that not Hector?

DUMAIN. The worthy knight of Troy.

ARMADO. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. I am a votary: I have vow'd to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her sweet love three year. 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.

ARMADO. Holla! approach.

[Enter All]

This side is Hiems, Winter; this Ver, the Spring- the one maintained by the Owl, th' other by the Cuckoo. Ver, begin.

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, The cuckoo then on every tree Mocks married men, for thus sings he: 'Cuckoo; Cuckoo, cuckoo'- O word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear!

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks; When turtles tread, and rooks and daws, And maidens bleach their summer smocks; The cuckoo then on every tree Mocks married men, for thus sings he: 'Cuckoo; Cuckoo, cuckoo'- O word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear!

WINTER

When icicles hang by the wall, And d.i.c.k the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail, When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl: 'Tu-who; Tu-whit, Tu-who'- A merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl: 'Tu-who; Tu-whit, To-who'- A merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

ARMADO. The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo.

You that way: we this way. Exeunt

THE END