Our wooing doth not end like an old play

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.

Armado
Sweet Majesty, vouchsafe me—
Princess
Was not that Hector?
Dumaine
The worthy knight of Troy.
Armado
I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. I
am a votary; I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold the
plow 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.

The 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,
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 plowmen'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 Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail;
When blood is nipped, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl
“Tu-whit to-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-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.
They all exit.