Love's Labor's Lost (Quarto 1, 1598)
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¶King. O paradox, Blacke is the badge of Hell,
¶The hue of dungions, and the Schoole of night:
1605And beauties crest becomes the heauens well.
¶O if in blacke my Ladyes browes be deckt,
¶It mournes, that painting vsurping haire
1610And therefore is she borne to make blacke fayre.
¶Her fauour turnes the fashion of the dayes,
¶For natiue blood is counted paynting now:
¶Paintes it selfe blacke, to imitate her brow.
¶Duma. Darke needes no Candles now, for darke is light.
¶Ile finde a fayrer face not washt to day.
¶Her feete were much too daintie for such tread.
¶King. But what of this, are we not all in loue?
¶King. Then leaue this chat, and good Berowne now proue
¶Our louing lawfull, and our fayth not torne.
¶Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheate the diuell.
¶Ber. O tis more then neede.
1640Haue at you then affections men at armes,
F2
Consi-
A pleasant conceited Comedie:
