Our wooing doth not end like an old play.
Jack hath not Jill. These ladies’ courtesy
Might well have made our sport a comedy.
Berowne (to Rosaline)
Studies my lady? Mistress, look on me.
Behold the window of my heart,
Nay, my good lord, let me o’errule you now.
That sport best pleases that doth least know how,
Where zeal strives to content,
Thus pour the stars down plagues for perjury.
Can any face of brass hold longer out?
Here stand I,
This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons peas,
And utters it again when God doth please.
He is wit’s peddler,
Fair ladies masked are roses in their bud.
Dismasked, their damask sweet commixture shown,
Are angels vailing clouds,
The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen
As is the razor’s edge invisible,
Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen;
We are wise girls to mock our lovers so.
They are worse fools to purchase mocking so.
Laus Deo, bone intelligo.
Bone? Bone for bene? Priscian a little scratched;
Have at you, then, affection’s men-at-arms!
O, we have made a vow to study, lords,
And in that vow we have forsworn our books.
What, did these rent lines show some love of thine?
Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, let us embrace.
As true we are as flesh and blood can be.
The sea will ebb and flow,
I fear these stubborn lines lack power to move.
O sweet Maria,
So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not
To those fresh morning drops upon the rose
As thy eyebeams,
I will something affect the letter, for it argues facility.
The preyful princess pierced and pricked a pretty pleasing pricket,
And I forsooth in love! I that have been love’s whip,
A very beadle to a humorous sigh,
Fetch hither the swain. He must carry me a letter.
A message well sympathized—a horse to be ambassador for an ass.
Master, will you win your love with a French brawl?
How meanest thou?
Another of these students at that time
Was there with him, if I have heard a truth.
The young Dumaine, a well-accomplished youth,
Of all that virtue love for virtue loved.
Most power to do most harm,
I know him, madam. At a marriage feast
Between Lord Perigort and the beauteous heir
Of Jaques Falconbridge,
Now, madam, summon up your dearest spirits.
Consider who the King your father sends,
To whom he sends,
I do affect the very ground (which is base)
where her shoe (which is baser) guided by her foot
(which is basest) doth tread.
We must of force dispense with this decree.
She must lie here on mere necessity.
Necessity will make us all forsworn
Three thousand times within this three years’ space;
Berowne is like an envious sneaping frost
That bites the firstborn infants of the spring.
Come on, then, I will swear to study so,
To know the thing I am forbid to know:
As thus—to study where I well may dine,
Why should proud summer boast
Before the birds have any cause to sing?
Why should I joy in any abortive birth?