Dumaine

King
Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives,
Live registered upon our brazen tombs,
And then grace us in the disgrace of death,
When, spite of cormorant devouring time,
Th’ endeavor of this present breath may buy
That honor which shall bate his scythe’s keen edge
And make us heirs of all eternity.

O,
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Berowne
What is the end of study, let me know?
King
Why, that to know which else we should not know.
Berowne
Things hid and barred, you mean, from common sense.
King
Ay, that is study’s godlike recompense.

Why, all delights are vain, and  that most vain
Which with pain purchased doth inherit pain

Berowne
Come on,
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King
What, did these rent lines show some love of thine?
Berowne
Did they, quoth you? Who sees the heavenly Rosaline
That, like a rude and savage man of Ind
At the first op’ning of the gorgeous East,
Bows not his vassal head and, strucken blind,
Kisses the base ground with obedient breast?
What peremptory eagle-sighted eye
Dares look upon the heaven of her brow
That is not blinded by her majesty?
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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 and a day,
And then ’twill end.
Berowne
That’s too long for a play.

Enter Braggart Armado.
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