Love's Labor's Lost (Folio 1, 1623)
Not Peer Reviewed
¶
Enter Ladies.
¶If fairings come thus plentifully in.
1890A Lady wal'd about with Diamonds: Look you, what I
¶haue from the louing King.
¶Qu. Nothing but this: yes as much loue in Rime,
¶As would be cram'd vp in a sheet of paper
1895Writ on both sides the leafe, margent and all,
¶That he was faine to seale on Cupids name.
¶Rosa. That was the way to make his god-head wax:
¶For he hath beene fiue thousand yeeres a Boy.
¶word?
¶Kat. A light condition in a beauty darke.
¶Ros. We need more light to finde your meaning out.
1910Therefore Ile darkely end the argument.
¶Kat. So do not you, for you are a light Wench.
¶Ros. Indeed I waigh not you, and therefore light.
¶Ka. You waigh me not, O that's you care not for me.
¶But Rosaline, you haue a Fauour too?
¶Who sent it? and what is it?
¶Ros. I would you knew.
1920And if my face were but as faire as yours,
¶Nay, I haue Verses too, I thanke Berowne,
¶The numbers true, and were the numbring too,
1925I am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs.
¶O he hath drawne my picture in his letter.
¶Qu. Any thing like?
1930Kat. Faire as a text B. in a Coppie booke.
¶My red Dominicall, my golden letter.
¶O that your face were full of Oes.
1935But Katherine, what was sent to you
¶From faire Dumaine?
¶Kat. Madame, this Gloue.
¶Kat. Yes Madame: and moreouer,
¶Vildly compiled, profound simplicitie.
¶The Letter is too long by halfe a mile.
¶The Chaine were longer, and the Letter short.
1950That same Berowne ile torture ere I goe.
¶O that I knew he were but in by th'weeke,
¶How I would make him fawne, and begge, and seeke,
¶And spend his prodigall wits in booteles rimes.
¶And make him proud to make me proud that iests.
¶That he shold be my foole, and I his fate.
1960As Wit turn'd foole, follie in Wisedome hatch'd:
¶Hath wisedoms warrant, and the helpe of Schoole,
¶And Wits owne grace to grace a learned Foole?
¶As grauities reuolt to wantons be.
¶As fool'ry in the Wise, when Wit doth dote:
¶Since all the power thereof it doth apply,
¶To proue by Wit, worth in simplicitie.
¶
Enter Boyet.
1970Qu. Heere comes Boyet, and mirth in his face.
¶Qu. Thy newes Boyet?
¶Boy. Prepare Madame, prepare.
¶Arme Wenches arme, incounters mounted are,
¶Armed in arguments, you'll be surpriz'd.
¶Or hide your heads like Cowards, and flie hence.
¶Qu. Saint Dennis to S. Cupid: What are they,
¶When lo to interrupt my purpos'd rest,
1985The King and his companions: warely
¶I stole into a neighbour thicket by,
¶And ouer-heard, what you shall ouer-heare:
¶That by and by disguis'd they will be heere.
¶Their Herald is a pretty knauish Page:
¶Action and accent did they teach him there.
¶And euer and anon they made a doubt,
¶The Boy reply'd, An Angell is not euill:
¶With that all laugh'd, and clap'd him on the shoulder,
2000Making the bold wagg by their praises bolder.
¶One rub'd his elboe thus, and fleer'd, and swore,
¶Another with his finger and his thumb,
¶Cry'd via, we will doo't, come what will come.
2005The third he caper'd and cried, All goes well.
¶The fourth turn'd on the toe, and downe he fell:
¶With that they all did tumble on the ground,
¶That in this spleene ridiculous appeares,
¶Boy. They do, they do; and are apparel'd thus,
¶Their purpose is to parlee, to court, and dance,
2015And euery one his Loue-feat will aduance,
¶For Ladies; we will euery one be maskt,
2020And not a man of them shall haue the grace
¶And then the King will court thee for his Deare:
¶Hold, take thou this my sweet, and giue me thine,
¶Woo contrary, deceiu'd by these remoues.
¶Kath. But in this changing, What is your intent?
¶They doe it but in mocking merriment,
¶And mocke for mocke is onely my intent.
2035Vpon the next occasion that we meete,
¶Quee. No, to the death we will not moue a foot,
¶Nor to their pen'd speech render we no grace:
2040But while 'tis spoke, each turne away his face.
¶Boy. Why that contempt will kill the keepers heart,
¶And quite diuorce his memory from his part.
¶Quee. Therefore I doe it, and I make no doubt,
¶The rest will ere come in, if he be out.
¶To make theirs ours, and ours none but our owne.
¶And they well mockt, depart away with shame.
Sound.
2050come.
¶
Enter Black moores with musicke, the Boy with a speech,
¶Ber. Beauties no richer then rich Taffata.
¶their backes to mortall viewes.
¶
The Ladies turne their backes to him.
¶Ber. Their eyes villaine, their eyes.
¶Pag. That euer turn'd their eyes to mortall viewes.
2060Out
¶Boy. True, out indeed.
¶Not to beholde.
¶Ber. Once to behold, rogue.
2065Pag. Once to behold with your Sunne beamed eyes,
¶With your Sunne beamed eyes.
¶You were best call it Daughter beamed eyes.
¶Pag. They do not marke me, and that brings me out.
¶Know their mindes Boyet.
¶If they doe speake our language, 'tis our will
2075Know what they would?
¶Boyet. What would you with the Princes?
¶Is in one mile? If they haue measur'd manie,
¶How many inches doth fill vp one mile?
2095Of many wearie miles you haue ore-gone,
¶Are numbred in the trauell of one mile?
¶That we may doe it still without accompt.
¶Rosa. My face is but a Moone and clouded too.
2105(Those clouds remooued) vpon our waterie eyne.
¶Rosa. O vaine peticioner, beg a greater matter,
¶Not yet no dance: thus change I like the Moone.
¶Kin. Will you not dance? How come you thus e-
¶stranged?
2115changed?
¶it: Our eares vouchsafe it.
¶Wee'll not be nice, take hands, we will not dance.
¶Kin. Why take you hands then?
¶Rosa. Onelie to part friends.
¶Kin. That can neuer be.
¶Twice to your Visore, and halfe once to you.
¶Kin. If you denie to dance, let's hold more chat.
¶Ros. In priuate then.
¶Qu. Hony, and Milke, and Suger: there is three.
¶Methegline, Wort, and Malmsey; well runne dice:
¶There's halfe a dozen sweets.
¶Ile play no more with you.
2145Qu. Gall, bitter.
¶Ber. Therefore meete.
¶Mar. Name it.
¶Dum. Faire Ladie:
¶Take you that for your faire Lady.
¶As much in priuate, and Ile bid adieu.
¶Mar. What, was your vizard made without a tong?
¶Mar. Veale quoth the Dutch-man: is not Veale a
2160Calfe?
¶Long. A Calfe faire Ladie?
¶Mar. No, a faire Lord Calfe.
¶Long. Let's part the word.
¶Mar. No, Ile not be your halfe:
2165Take all and weane it, it may proue an Oxe.
¶mockes.
¶Mar. Then die a Calfe before your horns do grow.
2170Lon. One word in priuate with you ere I die.
¶Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen
¶As is the Razors edge, inuisible:
¶Seemeth their conference, their conceits haue wings,
¶Fleeter then arrows, bullets wind, thoght, swifter things
¶Rosa. Not one word more my maides, breake off,
¶breake off.
¶wits.
Exeunt.
¶puft out.
¶Qu. O pouertie in wit, Kingly poore flout.
¶Will they not (thinke you) hang themselues to night?
2190Or euer but in vizards shew their faces:
¶This pert Berowne was out of count'nance quite.
¶The King was vveeping ripe for a good word.
¶And trow you vvhat he call'd me?
¶Qu. Qualme perhaps.
2200Kat. Yes in good faith.
¶But {w}ill you heare; the King is my loue sworne.
¶Qu. And quicke Berowne hath plighted faith to me.
¶Immediately they will againe be heere
¶In their owne shapes: for it can neuer be,
¶Qu. Will they returne?
¶Boy. They will they will, God knowes,
¶And leape for ioy, though they are lame with blowes:
¶Therefore change Fauours, and when they repaire,
¶Qu. How blovv? how blovv? Speake to bee vnder-
¶stood.
2220Are Angels vailing clouds, or Roses blowne.
¶If they returne in their owne shapes to wo?
¶Rosa. Good Madam, if by me you'l be aduis'd,
2225Let vs complaine to them {w}hat fooles {w}ere heare,
¶And wonder what they were, and to what end
¶And their rough carriage so ridiculous,
2230Should be presented at our Tent to vs.
¶Boyet. Ladies, withdraw: the gallants are at hand.
¶Quee. Whip to our Tents, as Roes runnes ore Land.
¶
Exeunt.
¶
Enter the King and the rest.
¶Boy. Gone to her Tent.
¶And vtters it againe, when Ioue doth please.
¶He is Wits Pedler, and retailes his Wares,
¶This Gallant pins the Wenches on his sleeue.
¶Had he bin Adam, he had tempted Eue.
¶He can carue too, and lispe: Why this is he,
2250This is the Ape of Forme, Monsieur the nice,
¶That when he plaies at Tables, chides the Dice
¶In honorable tearmes: Nay he can sing
¶Mend him who can: the Ladies call him sweete.
¶This is the flower that smiles on euerie one,
¶To shew his teeth as white as Whales bone.
¶And consciences that wil not die in debt,
¶Pay him the dutie of honie-tongued Boyet.
¶That put Armathoes Page out of his part.
¶
Enter the Ladies.
¶Ber. See where it comes. Behauiour what wer't thou,
¶Till this madman shew'd thee? And what art thou now?
¶Qu. Faire in all Haile is foule, as I conceiue.
2270To leade you to our Court, vouchsafe it then.
¶Nor God, nor I, delights in periur'd men.
¶King. Rebuke me not for that which you prouoke:
¶The vertue of your eie must breake my oth.
¶For vertues office neuer breakes men troth.
¶Now by my maiden honor, yet as pure
¶A world of torments though I should endure,
¶So much I hate a breaking cause to be
¶Of heauenly oaths, vow'd with integritie.
¶Qu. I in truth, my Lord.
¶My Ladie (to the manner of the daies)
¶We foure indeed confronted were with foure
¶And talk'd apace: and in that houre (my Lord)
¶I dare not call them fooles; but this I thinke,
¶When they are thirstie, fooles would faine haue drinke.
¶By light we loose light; your capacitie
¶Is of that nature, that to your huge stoore,
¶Ber. I am a foole, and full of pouertie.
¶Ros. But that you take what doth to you belong,
¶It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue.
¶Ros. All the foole mine.
¶Ros. Which of the Vizards what it that you wore?
¶Ber. Where? when? What Vizard?
2315Why demand you this?
¶They'l mocke vs now downeright.
¶Que. Amaz'd my Lord? Why lookes your Highnes
¶sadde?
¶you pale?
¶Cut me to peeces with thy keene conceit:
¶And I will wish thee neuer more to dance,
2335Nor to the motion of a Schoole-boies tongue.
¶Nor neuer come in vizard to my friend,
¶Nor woo in rime like a blind-harpers songue,
¶Three-pil'd Hyperboles, spruce affection;
¶Haue blowne me full of maggot ostentation.
¶By this white Gloue (how white the hand God knows)
¶And to begin Wench, so God helpe me law,
¶Ber. Yet I haue a tricke
2350Of the old rage: beare with me, I am sicke.
¶Write Lord haue mercie on vs, on those three,
¶They are infected, in their hearts it lies:
¶They haue the plague, and caught it of your eyes:
¶For the Lords tokens on you do I see.
¶Ber. Peace, for I will not haue to do with you.
¶Were you not heere but euen now, disguis'd?
¶Kin. Madam, I was.
¶Qu. And were you well aduis'd?
2370Kin. I was faire Madam.
¶Qu. When you then were heere,
¶What did you whisper in your Ladies eare?
2375her.
¶King. Vpon mine Honor no.
¶Qu. Peace, peace, forbeare:
¶your oath once broke, you force not to forsweare.
¶As precious eye-sight, and did value me
¶Aboue this World: adding thereto moreouer,
2385That he vvould Wed me, or else die my Louer.
¶Qu. God giue thee ioy of him: the Noble Lord
¶Most honorably doth vphold his word.
¶King. What meane you Madame?
¶By my life, my troth
¶Ros. By heauen you did; and to confirme it plaine,
¶you gaue me this: But take it sir againe.
¶I knew her by this Iewell on her sleeue.
¶And Lord Berowne (I thanke him) is my deare.
¶What? Will you haue me, or your Pearle againe?
¶Ber. Neither of either, I remit both twaine.
2400Knowing aforehand of our merriment,
¶That smiles his cheeke in yeares, and knowes the trick
¶Told our intents before: which once disclos'd,
¶The Ladies did change Fauours; and then we
¶Now to our periurie, to adde more terror,
2410We are againe forsworne in will and error.
¶Much vpon this tis: and might not you
¶Do not you know my Ladies foot by'th squier?
¶And laugh vpon the apple of her eie?
¶Holding a trencher, iesting merrilie?
¶You put our Page out: go, you are alowd.
¶You leere vpon me, do you? There's an eie
2420Wounds like a Leaden sword.
¶Boy. Full merrily hath this braue manager, this car-
¶reere bene run.
¶
Enter Clowne.
2425Welcome pure wit, thou part'st a faire fray.
¶Whether the three worthies shall come in, or no.
¶Ber. What, are there but three?
2430For euerie one pursents three.
¶Ber. And three times thrice is nine.
2435Ber. Is not nine.
¶doth amount.
¶Ber. By Ioue, I alwaies tooke three threes for nine.
2440liuing by reckning sir.
¶Ber. How much is it?
¶will shew where-vntill it doth amount: for mine owne
¶part, I am (as they say, but to perfect one man in one
2445poore man) Pompion the great sir.
¶Ber. Art thou one of the Worthies?
¶the great: for mine owne part, I know not the degree of
¶the Worthie, but I am to stand for him.
¶care.
¶Let them not approach.
¶companie.
¶Qu. Nay my good Lord, let me ore-rule you now;
¶Where Zeale striues to content, and the contents
¶Dies in the Zeale of that which it presents:
¶Their forme confounded, makes most forme in mirth,
¶When great things labouring perish in their birth.
¶
Enter Braggart.
¶royall sweet breath, as will vtter a brace of words.
¶Too too vaine, too too vaine. But we wil put it (as they
¶most royall cupplement.
¶He presents Hector of Troy, the Swaine Pompey ye great,
¶the Parish Curate Alexander, Armadoes Page Hercules,
2480the Pedant Iudas Machabeus: And if these foure Wor-
¶habites, and present the other fiue.
¶Foole, and the Boy,
¶Abate throw at Novum, and the whole world againe,
¶Cannot pricke out fiue such, take each one in's vaine.
2490
Enter Pompey.
¶Clo. I Pompey am.
¶Ber. You lie, you are not he.
¶Clo. I Pompey am.
¶Boy. With Libbards head on knee.
¶I must needs be friends with thee.
¶Du. The great.
2500That oft in field, with Targe and Shield,
¶ And trauailing along this coast, I heere am come by chance,
¶_France.
¶La. Great thankes great Pompey.
¶fect. I made a little fault in great.
¶Ber. My hat to a halfe-penie, Pompey prooues the
2510best Worthie.
¶
Enter Curate for Alexander.
¶Curat. When in the world I liu'd, I was the worldes Com-
¶_mander:
2515My Scutcheon plaine declares that I am Alisander.
¶For it stands too right.
¶ling Knight.
¶Proceede good Alexander.
¶Cur. When in the world I liued, I was the worldes Com-
¶mander.
2525Ber. Pompey the great.
¶queror: you will be scrap'd out of the painted cloth for
¶stoole, will be giuen to Aiax. He will be the ninth wor-
¶thie. A Conqueror, and affraid to speake? Runne away
2535He is a maruellous good neighbour insooth, and a verie
¶little ore-parted. But there are Worthies a comming,
Exit Cu.
2540
Enter Pedant for Iudas, and the Boy for Hercules.
¶Whose Club kil'd Cerberus that three-headed Canus,
¶And when he was a babe, a childe, a shrimpe,
¶Thus did he strangle Serpents in his Manus:
2545Quoniam, he seemeth in minoritie,
¶Ergo, I come with this Apologie.
Exit Boy
¶Ped. Iudas I am.
¶Dum. A Iudas?
¶Iudas I am, ycliped Machabeus.
¶Dum. Iudas Machabeus clipt, is plaine Iudas.
¶Ped. Iudas I am.
¶Ber. Well follow'd, Iudas was hang'd on an Elder.
2560Ped. I will not be put out of countenance.
¶Ped. What is this?
¶Boi. A Citterne head.
¶Dum. The head of a bodkin.
2565Ber. A deaths face in a ring.
¶Ber. S. Georges halfe cheeke in a brooch.
2570Dum. I, and in a brooch of Lead.
¶Ber. I, and worne in the cap of a Tooth-drawer.
¶And now forward, for we haue put thee in countenance
¶Ped. You haue put me out of countenance.
2575Ped. But you haue out-fac'd them all.
¶Dum. For the latter end of his name.
¶way.
¶Ped. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble.
¶may stumble.
2585Que. Alas poore Machabeus, how hath hee beene
¶baited.
¶
Enter Braggart.
¶Ber. Hide thy head Achilles, heere comes Hector in
¶Armes.
2590Dum. Though my mockes come home by me, I will
¶now be merrie.
¶Boi. But is this Hector?
2595Lon. His legge is too big for Hector.
¶Dum. More Calfe certaine.
¶Ber. This cannot be Hector.
¶Dum. He's a God or a Painter, for he makes faces.
2600Brag. The Armipotent Mars, of Launces the almighty,
¶gaue Hector a gift.
¶Dum. A gilt Nutmegge.
¶Ber. A Lemmon.
¶Lon. Stucke with Cloues.
2605Dum. No clouen.
¶Brag. The Armipotent Mars of Launces the almighty,
¶Gaue Hector a gift, the heire of Illion;
¶A man so breathed, that certaine he would fight: yea
¶From morne till night, out of his Pauillion.
2610I am that Flower.
¶Dum. That Mint.
¶Long. That Cullambine.
¶Brag. Sweet Lord Longauill reine thy tongue.
2615gainst Hector.
¶Dum. I, and Hector's a Grey-hound.
¶Sweet chuckes, beat not the bones of the buried:
¶But I will forward with my deuice;
¶
Berowne steppes forth.
¶Qu. Speake braue Hector, we are much delighted.
¶Boy. Loues her by the foot.
2625Dum. He may not by the yard.
¶
The partie is gone.
¶on her way.
¶in her belly alreadie: tis yours.
2635Thou shalt die.
¶is quicke by him, and hang'd for Pompey, that is dead by
¶him.
2640Boi. Renowned Pompey.
¶Ber. Greater then great, great, great, great Pompey:
¶Pompey the huge.
¶Dum. Hector trembles.
2645them, or stirre them on.
¶Dum. Hector will challenge him.
¶Ber. I, if a'haue no more mans blood in's belly, then
¶will sup a Flea.
¶Brag. By the North-pole I do challenge thee.
2650Clo. I wil not fight with a pole like a Northern man;
¶row my Armes againe.
¶meane you? you will lose your reputation.
¶Brag. Gentlemen and Souldiers pardon me, I will
2660not combat in my shirt.
¶Du. You may not denie it, Pompey hath made the
¶challenge.
¶Brag. Sweet bloods, I both may, and will.
¶I go woolward for penance.
¶Boy. True, and it was inioyned him in Rome for want
¶a dishclout of Iaquenettas, and that hee weares next his
2670heart for a fauour.
¶
Enter a Messenger, Monsieur Marcade.
¶our merriment.
¶heauie in my tongue. The King your father
¶Qu. Dead for my life.
¶Ber. Worthies away, the Scene begins to cloud.
2680Brag. For mine owne part, I breath free breath: I
¶haue seene the day of wrong, through the little hole of
¶
Exeunt Worthies
2685Qu. Boyet prepare, I will away to night.
¶For all your faire endeuours and entreats:
¶If ouer-boldly we haue borne our selues,
¶Was guiltie of it.) Farewell worthie Lord:
2695A heauie heart beares not a humble tongue.
¶Kin. The extreme parts of time, extremelie formes
2700And often at his verie loose decides
¶And though the mourning brow of progenie
¶The holy suite which faine it would conuince,
¶As to reioyce at friends but newly found.
¶For your faire sakes haue we neglected time,
¶Plaid foule play with our oaths: your beautie Ladies
2715Hath much deformed vs, fashioning our humors
¶Euen to the opposed end of our intents.
¶And what in vs hath seem'd ridiculous:
¶As Loue is full of vnbefitting straines,
¶All wanton as a childe, skipping and vaine.
2720Form'd by the eie, and therefore like the eie.
¶Varying in subiects as the eie doth roule,
¶To euerie varied obiect in his glance:
2725Put on by vs, if in your heauenly eies,
¶Haue misbecom'd our oathes and grauities.
¶Suggested vs to make: therefore Ladies
¶Our loue being yours, the error that Loue makes
¶By being once false, for euer to be true
¶To those that make vs both, faire Ladies you.
¶Thus purifies it selfe, and turnes to grace.
2735Qu. We haue receiu'd your Letters, full of Loue:
¶And in our maiden counsaile rated them,
¶As bumbast and as lining to the time:
¶Haue we not bene, and therefore met your loues
¶In their owne fashion, like a merriment.
¶Lon. So did our lookes.
¶Grant vs your loues.
¶To make a world-without-end bargaine in;
2750No, no my Lord, your Grace is periur'd much,
¶You will do ought, this shall you do for me.
2755To some forlorne and naked Hermitage,
¶Remote from all the pleasures of the world:
¶Haue brought about their annuall reckoning.
2760Change not your offer made in heate of blood:
¶But that it beare this triall, and last loue:
¶Then at the expiration of the yeare,
¶Raining the teares of lamentation,
2770For the remembrance of my Fathers death.
¶If this thou do denie, let our hands part,
¶Neither intitled in the others hart.
¶Kin. If this, or more then this, I would denie,
¶Hence euer then, my heart is in thy brest.
¶Ber. And what to me my Loue? and what to me?
¶You are attaint with faults and periurie:
2780Therefore if you my fauor meane to get,
¶Du. But what to me my loue? but what to me?
¶Come when the King doth to my Ladie come:
2790Then if I haue much loue, Ile giue you some.
¶Mari. At the tweluemonths end,
2795Ile change my blacke Gowne, for a faithfull friend.
¶Behold the window of my heart, mine eie:
¶Ros. Oft haue I heard of you my Lord Berowne,
¶Before I saw you: and the worlds large tongue
¶Proclaimes you for a man repleate with mockes,
2805Full of comparisons, and wounding floutes:
¶Which you on all estates will execute,
¶That lie within the mercie of your wit.
¶To weed this Wormewood from your fruitfull braine,
¶And therewithall to win me, if you please,
2810Without the which I am not to be won:
¶You shall this tweluemonth terme from day to day,
¶With all the fierce endeuour of your wit,
2815To enforce the pained impotent to smile.
¶Ber. To moue wilde laughter in the throate of death?
¶Mirth cannot moue a soule in agonie.
¶Which shallow laughing hearers giue to fooles:
¶Of him that heares it, neuer in the tongue
¶Of him that makes it: then, if sickly eares,
2825Deaft with the clamors of their owne deare grones,
¶Will heare your idle scornes; continue then,
¶And I will haue you, and that fault withall.
¶But if they will not, throw away that spirit,
¶And I shal finde you emptie of that fault,
2830Right ioyfull of your reformation.
¶Ber. A tweluemonth? Well: befall what will befall,
¶King. No Madam, we will bring you on your way.
2835Ber. Our woing doth not end like an old Play:
¶Might wel haue made our sport a Comedie.
¶And then 'twil end.
2840Ber. That's too long for a play.
¶
Enter Braggart.
¶Qu. Was not that Hector?
¶Dum. The worthie Knight of Troy.
¶I am a Votarie, I haue vow'd to Iaquenetta to holde the
¶Learned men haue compiled, in praise of the Owle and
2850the Cuckow? It should haue followed in the end of our
¶shew.
¶Brag. Holla, Approach.
¶
Enter all.
2855This side is Hiems, Winter.
¶This Ver, the Spring: the one maintained by the Owle,
¶Th'other by the Cuckow.
¶Ver, begin.
¶
The Song.
2860
When Dasies pied, and Violets blew,
¶And Cuckow-buds of yellow hew:
¶Do paint the Medowes with delight.
¶The Cuckow then on euerie tree,
2865Mockes married men, for thus sings he,
¶Cuckow.
¶Cuckow, Cuckow: O word of feare,
¶Vnpleasing to a married eare.
¶When Shepheards pipe on Oaten strawes,
2870And merrie Larkes are Ploughmens clockes:
¶When Turtles tread, and Rookes and Dawes,
¶The Cuckow then on euerie tree
¶Mockes married men; for thus sings he,
2875Cuckow.
¶Cuckow, Cuckow: O word of feare,
¶Vnpleasing to a married eare.
¶Winter.
¶
When Isicles hang by the wall,
2880And Dicke the Sphepheard blowes his naile;
¶And Tom beares Logges into the hall,
¶And Milke comes frozen home in paile:
¶When blood is nipt, and waies be fowle,
2885Tu-whit to-who.
¶
A merrie note,
¶While greasie Ione doth keele the pot.
¶
When all aloud the winde doth blow,
2895
A merrie note,
¶While greasie Ione doth keele the pot.
¶Brag. The Words of Mercurie,
¶You that way; we this way.
2900
Exeunt omnes.
¶
FINIS.
