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The king he is hunting the deer; I am coursing myself: they have pitched a toil; I am toiling in a pitch,--pitch that defiles: defile! a foul word. Well, set thee down, sorrow! for so they say the fool said, and so say I, and I the fool: well proved, wit! By the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax: it kills sheep; it kills me, I a sheep: well proved again o’ my side! I will not love: if I do, hang me; i’ faith, I will not. O, but her eye,--by this light, but for her eye, I would not love her; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, I do love: and it hath taught me to rhyme and to be melancholy; and here is part of my rhyme, and here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o’ my sonnets already: the clown bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady hath it: sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady! By the world, I would not care a pin, if the other three were in. Here comes one with a paper: God give him grace to groan!
The king is hunting deer; I’m chasing after myself: they’ve set a trap; I’m stuck in it,--a trap that’s dirty: dirty! What a horrible word. Well, sit down, sadness! because that’s what the fool said, and that’s what I say, and I am the fool: well done, intelligence! By God, this love is as crazy as Ajax: it kills sheep; it kills me, I am a sheep: well proven again on my side! I won’t love: if I do, hang me; really, I won’t. Oh, but her eye,--by this light, but for her eye, I wouldn’t love her; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing but lie, and lie through my teeth. By heaven, I do love: and it has taught me to rhyme and to be sad; and here is part of my rhyme, and here is my sadness. Well, she already has one of my sonnets: the clown delivered it, the fool sent it, and the lady has it: sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady! By the world, I wouldn’t care at all, if the other three were here. Here comes someone with a paper: God help him groan!
Ay me!
Oh no!
[Aside] Shot, by heaven! Proceed, sweet Cupid: thou hast thumped him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap. In faith, secrets!
[Aside] Shot, by heaven! Go ahead, sweet Cupid: you’ve hit him with your arrow right under the left chest. Really, secrets!
[Reads] So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows: Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright Through the transparent bosom of the deep, As doth thy face through tears of mine give light; Thou shinest in every tear that I do weep: No drop but as a coach doth carry thee; So ridest thou triumphing in my woe. Do but behold the tears that swell in me, And they thy glory through my grief will show: But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. O queen of queens! how far dost thou excel, No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell. How shall she know my griefs? I’ll drop the paper: Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here?
[Reads] No kiss is sweeter than the golden sun’s kiss on the fresh morning dew on a rose, like your eyes, when their fresh rays strike the dew on my cheeks: The silver moon doesn’t shine half as bright through the clear sea as your face does through my tears; You shine in every tear that I shed: No tear but carries you with it; So you ride, triumphant in my sorrow. Just look at the tears that swell in me, and they’ll show your glory through my grief: But don’t love yourself; then you’ll keep my tears as mirrors, making me keep weeping. Oh queen of queens! How far do you surpass, No thought can imagine, nor mortal tongue tell. How will she know my pain? I’ll drop the paper: Sweet pages, hide foolishness. Who is this coming?
What, Longaville! and reading! listen, ear.
What, Longaville! And reading! Listen up, ear.
Now, in thy likeness, one more fool appear!
Now, in your form, another fool shows up!
Ay me, I am forsworn!
Oh no, I am swearing falsely!
Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearing papers.
Why, he comes in like a liar, holding papers.
In love, I hope: sweet fellowship in shame!
In love, I hope: sweet company in shame!
One drunkard loves another of the name.
One drunkard loves another of the same kind.
Am I the first that have been perjured so?
Am I the first one to have sworn falsely like this?
I could put thee in comfort. Not by two that I know: Thou makest the triumviry, the corner-cap of society, The shape of Love’s Tyburn that hangs up simplicity.
I could comfort you. Not by two that I know: You make the ruling group, the top of society, The symbol of Love’s execution, which punishes simplicity.
I fear these stubborn lines lack power to move: O sweet Maria, empress of my love! These numbers will I tear, and write in prose.
I’m afraid these stubborn lines can’t move anyone: Oh sweet Maria, queen of my love! I’ll tear up these verses and write in prose instead.
O, rhymes are guards on wanton Cupid’s hose: Disfigure not his slop.
Oh, rhymes are like guards on playful Cupid’s outfit: Don’t ruin his costume.
This same shall go.
This one stays.
Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, ’Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument, Persuade my heart to this false perjury? Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment. A woman I forswore; but I will prove, Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee: My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love; Thy grace being gain’d cures all disgrace in me. Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is: Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine, Exhalest this vapour-vow; in thee it is: If broken then, it is no fault of mine: If by me broke, what fool is not so wise To lose an oath to win a paradise?
Didn’t the divine beauty in your eyes, Against whom the world cannot argue, Convince my heart to this false oath? Vows I broke for you don’t deserve punishment. I swore off women, but I will prove, Since you’re a goddess, I didn’t swear off you: My vow was earthly, but you’re a heavenly love; Your grace, once given, cures all shame in me. Vows are just breath, and breath is like vapor: So you, fair sun, that shine on my world, Release this vapor-vow; it’s in you: If it’s broken, it’s not my fault: If I broke it, what fool isn’t wise To break an oath to win a paradise?
This is the liver-vein, which makes flesh a deity, A green goose a goddess: pure, pure idolatry. God amend us, God amend! we are much out o’ the way.
This is the love-stricken vein, which turns flesh into a god, A simple fool into a goddess: pure, pure idolatry. God help us, God help! We’re way off track.
By whom shall I send this?--Company! stay.
Who should I send this to?--Wait, everyone!
All hid, all hid; an old infant play. Like a demigod here sit I in the sky. And wretched fools’ secrets heedfully o’ereye. More sacks to the mill! O heavens, I have my wish!
All hidden, all hidden; an old baby game. Like a demigod, here I sit up high. And I carefully watch the foolish secrets of others. More work for the mill! Oh heavens, I have my wish!
Dumain transform’d! four woodcocks in a dish!
Dumain transformed! Four fools in one dish!
O most divine Kate!
Oh most divine Kate!
O most profane coxcomb!
Oh most ridiculous fool!
By heaven, the wonder in a mortal eye!
By heaven, the wonder in a mortal’s eyes!
By earth, she is not, corporal, there you lie.
By earth, she’s not there, you’re lying.
Her amber hair for foul hath amber quoted.
Her blonde hair has been called dirty blonde.
An amber-colour’d raven was well noted.
A raven with the color of amber was well known.
As upright as the cedar.
As straight as a cedar tree.
Stoop, I say; Her shoulder is with child.
Bend down, I say; Her shoulder is pregnant.
As fair as day.
As beautiful as the day.
Ay, as some days; but then no sun must shine.
Yes, as some days are; but then no sun must shine.
O that I had my wish!
Oh, that I had my wish!
And I had mine!
And I had mine!
And I mine too, good Lord!
And I mine too, good Lord!
Amen, so I had mine: is not that a good word?
Amen, so I had mine: isn’t that a good word?
I would forget her; but a fever she Reigns in my blood and will remember’d be.
I would forget her; but a fever she Rules in my blood and will be remembered.
A fever in your blood! why, then incision Would let her out in saucers: sweet misprision!
A fever in your blood! Well, then cutting Would release her in small doses: sweet misunderstanding!
Once more I’ll read the ode that I have writ.
Once more I’ll read the poem that I wrote.
Once more I’ll mark how love can vary wit.
Once more I’ll notice how love can change someone’s intelligence.
[Reads] On a day--alack the day!-- Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair Playing in the wanton air: Through the velvet leaves the wind, All unseen, can passage find; That the lover, sick to death, Wish himself the heaven’s breath. Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow; Air, would I might triumph so! But, alack, my hand is sworn Ne’er to pluck thee from thy thorn; Vow, alack, for youth unmeet, Youth so apt to pluck a sweet! Do not call it sin in me, That I am forsworn for thee; Thou for whom Jove would swear Juno but an Ethiope were; And deny himself for Jove, Turning mortal for thy love. This will I send, and something else more plain, That shall express my true love’s fasting pain. O, would the king, Biron, and Longaville, Were lovers too! Ill, to example ill, Would from my forehead wipe a perjured note; For none offend where all alike do dote.
[Reads] On a day—alas, the day!— Love, whose month is always May, Saw a flower, wonderfully fair, Floating in the playful air: Through the soft leaves, the wind, Unseen, can find its way; So the lover, sick with longing, Wishes himself the breath of heaven. Air, he says, may your cheeks blow; Air, how I wish I could triumph like that! But alas, my hand is sworn Never to pick you from your thorn; Alas, the vow, for youth isn’t ready, Youth is too eager to pluck a sweet flower! Don’t call it a sin in me, That I’ve broken my vow for you; You, for whom Jove would swear That Juno is no more than a black woman; And deny himself for Jove, Becoming mortal for your love. This I will send, along with something more simple, That will show my true love’s painful fasting. Oh, if only the king, Biron, and Longaville, Were lovers too! That way, to set an example, I’d wipe away a false promise from my forehead; For no one sins when everyone loves the same way.
[Advancing] Dumain, thy love is far from charity. You may look pale, but I should blush, I know, To be o’erheard and taken napping so.
[Advancing] Dumain, your love is far from kind. You may look pale, but I’d blush, I know, If I were overheard and caught off guard like that.
[Advancing] Come, sir, you blush; as his your case is such; You chide at him, offending twice as much; You do not love Maria; Longaville Did never sonnet for her sake compile, Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart His loving bosom to keep down his heart. I have been closely shrouded in this bush And mark’d you both and for you both did blush: I heard your guilty rhymes, observed your fashion, Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion: Ay me! says one; O Jove! the other cries; One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other’s eyes:
[Advancing] Come on, sir, you’re blushing; your situation is just like his; You criticize him, but you’re doing the same thing, even worse; You don’t love Maria; Longaville Never wrote a sonnet for her, Never crossed his arms over his chest To hold down his heart with love. I’ve been hiding in this bush And I saw both of you, and I blushed for both of you: I heard your guilty rhymes, watched your behavior, Saw sighs pouring out of you, noticed your passion: “Oh me!” one says; “Oh Jupiter!” the other cries; One said her hair was gold, the other said her eyes were like crystal:
You would for paradise break faith, and troth;
You would break your promise for paradise;
And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath. What will Biron say when that he shall hear Faith so infringed, which such zeal did swear? How will he scorn! how will he spend his wit! How will he triumph, leap and laugh at it! For all the wealth that ever I did see, I would not have him know so much by me.
And Jupiter, for your love, would break an oath. What will Biron say when he hears That faith has been broken, which was sworn with such passion? How will he make fun of you! How will he use his wit! How will he laugh and leap with joy! For all the wealth I’ve ever seen, I wouldn’t want him to know so much about me.
Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy.
Now I step forward to expose hypocrisy.
Ah, good my liege, I pray thee, pardon me! Good heart, what grace hast thou, thus to reprove These worms for loving, that art most in love? Your eyes do make no coaches; in your tears There is no certain princess that appears; You’ll not be perjured, ’tis a hateful thing; Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting! But are you not ashamed? nay, are you not, All three of you, to be thus much o’ershot? You found his mote; the king your mote did see; But I a beam do find in each of three. O, what a scene of foolery have I seen, Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow and of teen! O me, with what strict patience have I sat, To see a king transformed to a gnat! To see great Hercules whipping a gig, And profound Solomon to tune a jig, And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys, And critic Timon laugh at idle toys! Where lies thy grief, O, tell me, good Dumain? And gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain? And where my liege’s? all about the breast: A caudle, ho!
Ah, good king, please forgive me! Good heart, what grace do you have, criticizing These guys for loving, when you’re the one most in love? Your eyes don’t make any magic; there’s no princess appearing in your tears; You won’t be lying under oath—it’s a terrible thing; Pfft, only musicians care about writing sonnets! But aren’t you ashamed? Aren’t all three of you, To be so completely out of line? You found his flaw; the king saw your flaw; But I see a major flaw in all three of you. Oh, what a ridiculous scene I’ve witnessed, With sighs, groans, sorrow, and distress! Oh me, how patiently I’ve sat, Watching a king turn into a little bug! Watching great Hercules play with a toy, And wise Solomon dancing to a tune, And Nestor playing children’s games, And critical Timon laughing at silly things! Where does your grief lie, good Dumain? And gentle Longaville, where’s your pain? And where does the king hurt? All around the chest: Someone bring a drink!
Too bitter is thy jest. Are we betray’d thus to thy over-view?
Your joke is too bitter. Are we really betrayed like this in front of you?
Not you to me, but I betray’d by you: I, that am honest; I, that hold it sin To break the vow I am engaged in; I am betray’d, by keeping company With men like men of inconstancy. When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme? Or groan for love? or spend a minute’s time In pruning me? When shall you hear that I Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye, A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist, A leg, a limb?
Not you to me, but I’m betrayed by you: I, who am honest; I, who think it’s a sin To break the vow I made; I am betrayed by spending time With men who are so inconsistent. When will you ever see me write anything in rhyme? Or groan over love? Or spend even a minute Grooming myself? When will you hear me Praise someone’s hand, foot, face, or eyes, Their posture, their presence, their brow, their chest, their waist, Their legs, their limbs?
Soft! whither away so fast? A true man or a thief that gallops so?
Hold on! Where are you rushing off to? Are you a true man or a thief running away?
I post from love: good lover, let me go.
I’m running away from love: let me go, good lover.
God bless the king!
God bless the king!
What present hast thou there?
What gift do you have there?
Some certain treason.
Some certain treason.
What makes treason here?
What’s the treason here?
Nay, it makes nothing, sir.
No, it’s nothing, sir.
If it mar nothing neither, The treason and you go in peace away together.
If it’s nothing, then The treason and you can just leave in peace together.
I beseech your grace, let this letter be read: Our parson misdoubts it; ’twas treason, he said.
I beg your grace, please let this letter be read: Our priest has doubts about it; he said it was treason.
Biron, read it over.
Biron, read it aloud.
Where hadst thou it?
Where did you get it?
Of Costard.
From Costard.
Where hadst thou it?
Where did you get it?
Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.
From Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.
How now! what is in you? why dost thou tear it?
What’s this! What’s wrong with you? Why are you tearing it?
A toy, my liege, a toy: your grace needs not fear it.
Just a joke, my king, just a joke: you don’t need to worry about it.
It did move him to passion, and therefore let’s hear it.
It made him upset, so let’s hear it anyway.
It is Biron’s writing, and here is his name.
It’s Biron’s handwriting, and here’s his name.
[To COSTARD] Ah, you whoreson loggerhead! you were born to do me shame. Guilty, my lord, guilty! I confess, I confess.
[To COSTARD] Ah, you idiot! You were born to embarrass me. Guilty, my lord, guilty! I admit it, I admit it.
What?
What?
That you three fools lack’d me fool to make up the mess: He, he, and you, and you, my liege, and I, Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die. O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more.
That you three idiots needed me to be the fool to complete the mess: He, he, and you, and you, my king, and I, Are thieves in love, and we deserve to die. Oh, get rid of this audience, and I’ll tell you more.
Now the number is even.
Now the numbers match.
True, true; we are four. Will these turtles be gone?
True, true; there are four of us. Will these lovers leave?
Hence, sirs; away!
Leave, gentlemen; go away!
Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay.
Let the honest people walk off, and let the traitors stay.
Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, let us embrace! As true we are as flesh and blood can be: The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his face; Young blood doth not obey an old decree: We cannot cross the cause why we were born; Therefore of all hands must we be forsworn.
Sweet lords, sweet lovers, oh, let’s embrace! We’re as true as flesh and blood can be: The sea will rise and fall, heaven will show his face; Young love doesn’t follow old rules: We can’t fight why we were born; So, by all means, we must be false to all oaths.
What, did these rent lines show some love of thine?
What, did these broken lines show some love of yours?
Did they, quoth you? Who sees the heavenly Rosaline, That, like a rude and savage man of Inde, At the first opening 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?
Did they, you ask? Who sees the heavenly Rosaline, Who, like a wild man from India, At the first light of the bright east, Doesn’t bow his servant head, blinded, And kisses the ground with a humble heart? What bold, sharp-eyed person Dares look upon the sky of her brow, Without being blinded by her majesty?
What zeal, what fury hath inspired thee now? My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon; She an attending star, scarce seen a light.
What passion, what fury has taken hold of you now? My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon; She’s a distant star, barely visible.
My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Biron: O, but for my love, day would turn to night! Of all complexions the cull’d sovereignty Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek, Where several worthies make one dignity, Where nothing wants that want itself doth seek. Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues,-- Fie, painted rhetoric! O, she needs it not: To things of sale a seller’s praise belongs, She passes praise; then praise too short doth blot. A wither’d hermit, five-score winters worn, Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye: Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born, And gives the crutch the cradle’s infancy: O, ’tis the sun that maketh all things shine.
Then my eyes are blind, and I am not Biron: Oh, but for my love, day would turn to night! Of all shades, the best is found, As in a fair, in her beautiful face, Where many worthy things come together in one, Where nothing is missing that desire seeks. Give me the charm of all sweet words,-- Ugh, empty words! Oh, she doesn’t need them: To things for sale, the seller gets praise, But she surpasses praise; when praise falls short, it tarnishes. An old hermit, worn by fifty winters, Could shake off fifty years, looking into her eyes: Beauty makes age look young again, And gives the crutch the strength of youth: Oh, it’s the sun that makes everything shine.
By heaven, thy love is black as ebony.
By heaven, your love is as dark as ebony.
Is ebony like her? O wood divine! A wife of such wood were felicity. O, who can give an oath? where is a book? That I may swear beauty doth beauty lack, If that she learn not of her eye to look: No face is fair that is not full so black.
Is ebony like her? Oh, divine wood! A wife made of such wood would be happiness. Oh, who can swear an oath? Where is a book? So I can swear that beauty lacks beauty, If she doesn’t learn how to look with her eyes: No face is beautiful that isn’t as dark as hers.
O paradox! Black is the badge of hell, The hue of dungeons and the suit of night; And beauty’s crest becomes the heavens well.
Oh, paradox! Black is the mark of hell, The color of dungeons and the cloak of night; But beauty’s crest fits well in heaven.
Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light. O, if in black my lady’s brows be deck’d, It mourns that painting and usurping hair Should ravish doters with a false aspect; And therefore is she born to make black fair. Her favour turns the fashion of the days, For native blood is counted painting now; And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise, Paints itself black, to imitate her brow.
Devils tempt the most when they look like angels. Oh, if my lady’s eyebrows are decorated in black, It’s sad that makeup and fake hair Should deceive fools with a false appearance; And that’s why she was born to make black look beautiful. Her beauty changes what’s considered fashionable, Because now natural skin is seen as painted; And that’s why red, which would normally be criticized, Paints itself black to imitate her brow.
To look like her are chimney-sweepers black.
To look like her, even chimney sweeps are black.
And since her time are colliers counted bright.
And since her time, coal miners are considered bright.
And Ethiopes of their sweet complexion crack.
And Ethiopians crack jokes about their sweet complexion.
Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light.
Dark doesn’t need candles now, because dark is light.
Your mistresses dare never come in rain, For fear their colours should be wash’d away.
Your ladies would never walk in the rain, For fear their makeup would wash away.
’Twere good, yours did; for, sir, to tell you plain, I’ll find a fairer face not wash’d to-day.
It would be good if they did; because, honestly, I’ll find a fairer face that isn’t washed today.
I’ll prove her fair, or talk till doomsday here.
I’ll prove she’s beautiful, or I’ll talk until doomsday.
No devil will fright thee then so much as she.
No devil will scare you as much as she does.
I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear.
I never knew a man value such worthless stuff so much.
Look, here’s thy love: my foot and her face see.
Look, here’s your love: my foot and her face—see for yourself.
O, if the streets were paved with thine eyes, Her feet were much too dainty for such tread!
Oh, if the streets were paved with your eyes, Her feet would be too delicate to walk on such a path!
O, vile! then, as she goes, what upward lies The street should see as she walk’d overhead.
Oh, disgusting! Then, as she walks, what lies above The street should be seen as she walks overhead.
But what of this? are we not all in love?
But what about this? Aren’t we all in love?
Nothing so sure; and thereby all forsworn.
Nothing is more certain; and because of that, we’re all swearing false oaths.
Then leave this chat; and, good Biron, now prove Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn.
Then stop this talk; and, good Biron, now prove That our love is lawful and our faith unbroken.
Ay, marry, there; some flattery for this evil.
Yes, indeed, there; some flattery for this wrong.
O, some authority how to proceed; Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil.
Oh, we need some guidance on how to move forward; Some tricks, some clever excuses, how to fool the devil.
Some salve for perjury.
Some way to cover up lying.
’Tis more than need. Have at you, then, affection’s men at arms. Consider what you first did swear unto, To fast, to study, and to see no woman; Flat treason ’gainst the kingly state of youth. Say, can you fast? your stomachs are too young; And abstinence engenders maladies. And where that you have vow’d to study, lords, In that each of you have forsworn his book, Can you still dream and pore and thereon look? For when would you, my lord, or you, or you, Have found the ground of study’s excellence Without the beauty of a woman’s face?
It’s more than necessary. Let’s go then, love’s soldiers on the attack. Think about what you first swore to, To fast, to study, and to avoid women; Flat-out treason against the youthful spirit. Tell me, can you fast? Your stomachs are too young; And fasting causes sickness. And where you swore to study, lords, In that each of you has broken your vow to your books, Can you still dream and pore over them? When would you, my lord, or you, or you, Have discovered the true excellence of study Without the beauty of a woman’s face?
Why, universal plodding poisons up The nimble spirits in the arteries, As motion and long-during action tires The sinewy vigour of the traveller. Now, for not looking on a woman’s face, You have in that forsworn the use of eyes And study too, the causer of your vow; For where is any author in the world Teaches such beauty as a woman’s eye? Learning is but an adjunct to ourself And where we are our learning likewise is: Then when ourselves we see in ladies’ eyes, Do we not likewise see our learning there? O, we have made a vow to study, lords, And in that vow we have forsworn our books. For when would you, my liege, or you, or you, In leaden contemplation have found out Such fiery numbers as the prompting eyes Of beauty’s tutors have enrich’d you with? Other slow arts entirely keep the brain; And therefore, finding barren practisers, Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil: But love, first learned in a lady’s eyes, Lives not alone immured in the brain; But, with the motion of all elements, Courses as swift as thought in every power, And gives to every power a double power, Above their functions and their offices. It adds a precious seeing to the eye; A lover’s eyes will gaze an eagle blind; A lover’s ear will hear the lowest sound, When the suspicious head of theft is stopp’d: Love’s feeling is more soft and sensible Than are the tender horns of cockl’d snails; Love’s tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste: For valour, is not Love a Hercules, Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? Subtle as Sphinx; as sweet and musical As bright Apollo’s lute, strung with his hair: And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. Never durst poet touch a pen to write Until his ink were temper’d with Love’s sighs; O, then his lines would ravish savage ears And plant in tyrants mild humility. From women’s eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; They are the books, the arts, the academes, That show, contain and nourish all the world: Else none at all in ought proves excellent. Then fools you were these women to forswear, Or keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools. For wisdom’s sake, a word that all men love, Or for love’s sake, a word that loves all men, Or for men’s sake, the authors of these women, Or women’s sake, by whom we men are men, Let us once lose our oaths to find ourselves, Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths. It is religion to be thus forsworn, For charity itself fulfills the law, And who can sever love from charity?
Why, universal hard work wears out The nimble spirit in the arteries, As long-lasting action tires The strength of the traveler. Now, by avoiding a woman’s face, You have, in that, sworn off the use of your eyes And study too, the cause of your vow; For where is there any author in the world Who teaches such beauty as a woman’s eye? Learning is just an addition to who we are And where we are, our learning is too: So when we see ourselves in a lady’s eyes, Do we not also see our learning there? Oh, we made a vow to study, lords, And in that vow, we’ve broken our books. For when would you, my lord, or you, or you, Have discovered such fiery brilliance As the glimmering eyes of beauty’s teachers? Other slow arts occupy the brain entirely; And thus, finding barren practitioners, Rarely show a harvest of their hard work: But love, first learned in a lady’s eyes, Does not stay confined to the brain; But, with the movement of all elements, Moves as quickly as thought in every part of us, And gives each part a double strength, Beyond their normal powers and duties. It adds a sharp vision to the eye; A lover’s eyes can blind an eagle; A lover’s ear will hear the faintest sound, When the head of theft is blocked: Love’s feeling is softer and more sensitive Than the delicate horns of overripe snails; Love’s tongue makes Bacchus seem crude in taste: For courage, is not Love a Hercules, Always climbing trees in the garden of the gods? Subtle as the Sphinx; as sweet and musical As bright Apollo’s lute, strung with his hair: And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods Makes heaven sleepy with its harmony. No poet ever dared write Until his ink was mixed with Love’s sighs; Oh, then his lines would ravish harsh ears And plant humility in tyrants. From women’s eyes this idea I take: They still sparkle with the true fire of inspiration; They are the books, the arts, the schools, That show, contain, and nourish all the world: Otherwise, nothing proves truly excellent. Then you were fools to forswear these women, Or, if you keep your vows, you will prove fools. For wisdom’s sake, a word all men love, Or for love’s sake, a word that loves all men, Or for men’s sake, the authors of these women, Or women’s sake, by whom we men are made men, Let us once break our oaths to find ourselves, Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths. It is righteous to be thus forsworn, For charity itself fulfills the law, And who can separate love from charity?
Saint Cupid, then! and, soldiers, to the field!
Saint Cupid, then! And soldiers, to the field!
Advance your standards, and upon them, lords; Pell-mell, down with them! but be first advised, In conflict that you get the sun of them.
Raise your banners, and come, lords; Rush in, down with them! But first, be warned, In battle, make sure you catch the light of them.
Now to plain-dealing; lay these glozes by: Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France?
Now, let’s be straightforward; drop these excuses: Shall we decide to court these French girls?
And win them too: therefore let us devise Some entertainment for them in their tents.
And win them too: so let’s come up with Some entertainment for them in their tents.
First, from the park let us conduct them thither; Then homeward every man attach the hand Of his fair mistress: in the afternoon We will with some strange pastime solace them, Such as the shortness of the time can shape; For revels, dances, masks and merry hours Forerun fair Love, strewing her way with flowers.
First, let’s lead them from the park; Then, each man take the hand of his beautiful mistress; In the afternoon We’ll entertain them with some fun games, Things that can be quickly arranged; For parties, dances, masks, and happy times Lead the way for fair Love, scattering flowers.
Away, away! no time shall be omitted That will betime, and may by us be fitted.
Let’s go, let’s go! No time will be wasted That can be used and is fitting for us.
Allons! allons! Sow’d cockle reap’d no corn; And justice always whirls in equal measure: Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn; If so, our copper buys no better treasure.
Let’s go! Let’s go! No crop from sowing cockle; And justice always balances the scales: Lighthearted women may be plagues to men who are unfaithful; If so, our money buys no better treasure.
LOVE’S LABOURS LOST
LOVE’S LABOURS LOST