Love's Labour's Lost: Act 4. Scene 3 Translation

Enter Berowne with a paper in his hand, alone.

BEROWNE
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 5
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. 10
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 15
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.

He stands aside.

The King entereth with a paper.

KING
Ay me! 20

BEROWNE, aside
Shot, by heaven! Proceed, sweet
Cupid. Thou hast thumped him with thy birdbolt
under the left pap. In faith, secrets!

KING reads
So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not
To those fresh morning drops upon the rose 25
As thy eyebeams, 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. 30
Thou shin’st 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. 35
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. 40
Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here?

Enter Longaville, with papers. The King steps aside.

What, Longaville, and reading! Listen, ear.

BEROWNE, aside
Now, in thy likeness, one more fool appear!

LONGAVILLE
Ay me! I am forsworn.

BEROWNE, aside
Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearing papers! 45

KING, aside
In love, I hope! Sweet fellowship in shame.

BEROWNE, aside
One drunkard loves another of the name.

LONGAVILLE
Am I the first that have been perjured so?

BEROWNE, aside
I could put thee in comfort: not by two that I know.
Thou makest the triumviry, the corner-cap of 50
society,
The shape of love’s Tyburn, that hangs up simplicity.

LONGAVILLE
I fear these stubborn lines lack power to move.
Reads. O sweet Maria, empress of my love—
These numbers will I tear and write in prose. 55

He tears the paper.

BEROWNE, aside
O, rhymes are guards on wanton Cupid’s hose.
Disfigure not his shop!

LONGAVILLE, taking another paper
This same shall go.
(He reads the sonnet.)
"Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,
’Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument, 60
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. 65
Thy grace being gained cures all disgrace in me.
Vows are but breath, and breath a vapor is.
Then thou, fair sun, which on my Earth dost
shine,
Exhal’st this vapor-vow; in thee it is. 70
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?"

BEROWNE, aside
This is the liver vein, which makes flesh a deity,
A green goose a goddess. Pure, pure idolatry. 75
God amend us, God amend. We are much out o’ th’
way.

LONGAVILLE
By whom shall I send this?—Company? Stay.

He steps aside.

Enter Dumaine, with a paper.

BEROWNE, aside
All hid, all hid—an old infant play.
Like a demigod here sit I in the sky, 80
And wretched fools’ secrets heedfully o’ereye.
More sacks to the mill. O heavens, I have my wish.
Dumaine transformed! Four woodcocks in a dish.

DUMAINE
O most divine Kate!

BEROWNE, aside O most profane coxcomb! 85

DUMAINE
By heaven, the wonder in a mortal eye!

BEROWNE, aside
By Earth, she is not, corporal. There you lie.

DUMAINE
Her amber hairs for foul hath amber quoted.

BEROWNE, aside
An amber-colored raven was well noted.

DUMAINE
As upright as the cedar. 90

BEROWNE, aside Stoop, I say.
Her shoulder is with child.

DUMAINE
As fair as day.

BEROWNE, aside
Ay, as some days, but then no sun must shine.

DUMAINE
O, that I had my wish! 95

LONGAVILLE, aside And I had mine!

KING, aside
And mine too, good Lord!

BEROWNE, aside
Amen, so I had mine. Is not that a good word?

DUMAINE
I would forget her, but a fever she
Reigns in my blood, and will remembered be. 100

BEROWNE, aside
A fever in your blood? Why, then incision
Would let her out in saucers! Sweet misprision.

DUMAINE
Once more I’ll read the ode that I have writ.

BEROWNE, aside
Once more I’ll mark how love can vary wit.

DUMAINE reads his sonnet.
On a day—alack the day!— 105
"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; 110
That the lover, sick to death,
Wished himself the heaven’s breath.
'Air,' quoth he, 'thy cheeks may blow.
Air, would I might triumph so!'
But, alack, my hand is sworn 115
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— 120
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 125
That shall express my true love’s fasting pain.
O, would the King, Berowne, 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. 130

LONGAVILLE, coming forward
Dumaine, thy love is far from charity,
That in love’s grief desir’st society.
You may look pale, but I should blush, I know,
To be o’er-heard and taken napping so.

KING, coming forward
To Longaville. Come, sir, you blush! As his, your 135
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 wreathèd arms athwart 140
His loving bosom to keep down his heart?
I have been closely shrouded in this bush
And marked 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. 145
“Ay, me!” says one. “O Jove!” the other cries.
One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other’s eyes.
To Longaville. You would for paradise break faith
and troth,
To Dumaine. And Jove, for your love, would 150
infringe an oath.
What will Berowne say when that he shall hear
Faith 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! 155
For all the wealth that ever I did see,
I would not have him know so much by me.

BEROWNE, coming forward
Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy.
Ah, good my liege, I pray thee pardon me.
Good heart, what grace hast thou thus to reprove 160
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! 165
But are you not ashamed? Nay, are you not,
All three of you, to be thus much o’ershot?
To Longaville. You found his mote, the King your
mote did see,
But I a beam do find in each of three. 170
O, what a scene of fool’ry 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 transformèd to a gnat!
To see great Hercules whipping a gig, 175
And profound Solomon to tune a jig,
And Nestor play at pushpin with the boys,
And critic Timon laugh at idle toys.
Where lies thy grief, O tell me, good Dumaine?
And gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain? 180
And where my liege’s? All about the breast!
A caudle, ho!

KING
Too bitter is thy jest.
Are we betrayed thus to thy overview?

BEROWNE
Not you to me, but I betrayed by you. 185
I, that am honest, I, that hold it sin
To break the vow I am engagèd in.
I am betrayed by keeping company
With men like you, men of inconstancy.
When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme? 190
Or groan for Joan? 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— 195

Enter Jaquenetta, with a paper, and Clown Costard.

Berowne begins to exit.

KING
Soft, whither away so fast?
A true man, or a thief, that gallops so?

BEROWNE
I post from love. Good lover, let me go.

JAQUENETTA
God bless the King.

KING
What present hast thou there? 200

COSTARD
Some certain treason.

KING
What makes treason here?

COSTARD
Nay, it makes nothing, sir.

KING
If it mar nothing neither,
The treason and you go in peace away together. 205

JAQUENETTA
I beseech your Grace, let this letter be read.
Our person misdoubts it. ’Twas treason, he said.

KING
Berowne, read it over.

Berowne reads the letter.

To Jaquenetta. Where hadst thou it?

JAQUENETTA
Of Costard. 210

KING, to Costard
Where hadst thou it?

COSTARD
Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.

Berowne tears the paper.

KING, to Berowne
How now, what is in you? Why dost thou tear it?

BEROWNE
A toy, my liege, a toy. Your Grace needs not fear it.

LONGAVILLE
It did move him to passion, and therefore let’s hear 215
it.

DUMAINE, picking up the papers
It is Berowne’s writing, and here is his name.

BEROWNE, to Costard
Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, you were born to do
me shame.—
Guilty, my lord, guilty. I confess, I confess. 220

KING
What?

BEROWNE
That you three fools lacked me fool to make up
the mess.
He, he, and you—and you, my liege—and I
Are pickpurses in love, and we deserve to die. 225
O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more.

DUMAINE
Now the number is even.

BEROWNE
True, true, we are four.
Pointing to Jaquenetta and Costard. Will these
turtles be gone? 230

KING
Hence, sirs. Away.

COSTARD
Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay.

Jaquenetta and Costard exit.

BEROWNE
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; 235
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.

KING
What, did these rent lines show some love of thine?

BEROWNE
Did they, quoth you? Who sees the heavenly 240
Rosaline
That, like a rude and savage man of Ind
At the first op’ning of the gorgeous East,
Bows not his vassal head and, strucken blind,
Kisses the base ground with obedient breast? 245
What peremptory eagle-sighted eye
Dares look upon the heaven of her brow
That is not blinded by her majesty?

KING
What zeal, what fury, hath inspired thee now?
My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon, 250
She an attending star scarce seen a light.

BEROWNE
My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Berowne.
O, but for my love, day would turn to night!
Of all complexions the culled sovereignty
Do meet as at a fair in her fair cheek. 255
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. 260
She passes praise. Then praise too short doth blot.
A withered hermit, fivescore winters worn,
Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye.
Beauty doth varnish age, as if newborn,
And gives the crutch the cradle’s infancy. 265
O, ’tis the sun that maketh all things shine!

KING
By heaven, thy love is black as ebony.

BEROWNE
Is ebony like her? O word divine!
A wife of such wood were felicity.
O, who can give an oath? Where is a book, 270
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.

KING
O, paradox! Black is the badge of hell,
The hue of dungeons and the school of night, 275
And beauty’s crest becomes the heavens well.

BEROWNE
Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light.
O, if in black my lady’s brows be decked,
It mourns that painting and usurping hair
Should ravish doters with a false aspect: 280
And therefore is she born to make black fair.
Her favor 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. 285

DUMAINE
To look like her are chimney-sweepers black.

LONGAVILLE
And since her time are colliers counted bright.

KING
And Ethiopes of their sweet complexion crack.

DUMAINE
Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light.

BEROWNE
Your mistresses dare never come in rain, 290
For fear their colors should be washed away.

KING
’Twere good yours did, for, sir, to tell you plain,
I’ll find a fairer face not washed today.

BEROWNE
I’ll prove her fair, or talk till doomsday here.

KING
No devil will fright thee then so much as she. 295

DUMAINE
I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear.

LONGAVILLE, showing his shoe
Look, here’s thy love; my foot and her face see.

BEROWNE
O, if the streets were pavèd with thine eyes.
Her feet were much too dainty for such tread.

DUMAINE
O vile! Then as she goes, what upward lies 300
The street should see as she walked overhead.

KING
But what of this? Are we not all in love?

BEROWNE
Nothing so sure, and thereby all forsworn.

KING
Then leave this chat, and, good Berowne, now prove
Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn. 305

DUMAINE
Ay, marry, there, some flattery for this evil.

LONGAVILLE
O, some authority how to proceed,
Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil.

DUMAINE
Some salve for perjury.

BEROWNE 
O, ’tis more than need. 310
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.
For when would you, my liege, or you, or you,
In leaden contemplation have found out 315
Such fiery numbers as the prompting eyes
Of beauty’s tutors have enriched you with?
Other slow arts entirely keep the brain
And therefore, finding barren practicers,
Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil. 320
But love, first learnèd in a lady’s eyes,
Lives not alone immurèd 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, 325
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 stopped. 330
Love’s feeling is more soft and sensible
Than are the tender horns of cockled snails.
Love’s tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste.
For valor, is not love a Hercules,
Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? 335
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
Make heaven drowsy with the harmony.
Never durst poet touch a pen to write 340
Until his ink were tempered 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. 345
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. 350
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, 355
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?

KING
Saint Cupid, then, and, soldiers, to the field! 360

BEROWNE
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.

LONGAVILLE
Now to plain dealing. Lay these glozes by.
Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France? 365

KING
And win them, too. Therefore let us devise
Some entertainment for them in their tents.

BEROWNE
First, from the park let us conduct them thither.
Then homeward every man attach the hand
Of his fair mistress. In the afternoon 370
We will with some strange pastime solace them,
Such as the shortness of the time can shape;
For revels, dances, masques, and merry hours
Forerun fair love, strewing her way with flowers.

KING
Away, away! No time shall be omitted 375
That will betime and may by us be fitted.

BEROWNE
Allons! Allons! Sowed cockle reaped 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. 380

They exit.