William Shakespeare - The Complete Works of William Shakespeare

BEROWNE.

I can but say their protestation over;

So much, dear liege, I have already sworn,

That is, to live and study here three years.

But there are other strict observances:

As, not to see a woman in that term,

Which I hope well is not enrolled there:

And one day in a week to touch no food,

And but one meal on every day beside;

The which I hope is not enrolled there:

And then to sleep but three hours in the night

And not be seen to wink of all the day,—

When I was wont to think no harm all night,

And make a dark night too of half the day,—

Which I hope well is not enrolled there.

O! these are barren tasks, too hard to keep,

Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep.

KING.

Your oath is pass’d to pass away from these.

BEROWNE.

Let me say no, my liege, an if you please:

I only swore to study with your Grace,

And stay here in your court for three years’ space.

LONGAVILLE.

You swore to that, Berowne, and to the rest.

BEROWNE.

By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest.

What is the end of study? let me know.

KING.

Why, that to know which else we should not know.

BEROWNE.

Things hid and barr’d, you mean, from common sense?

KING. Ay, that is study’s godlike recompense.

BEROWNE.

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,

When I to feast expressly am forbid;

Or study where to meet some mistress fine,

When mistresses from common sense are hid;

Or, having sworn too hard-a-keeping oath,

Study to break it, and not break my troth.

If study’s gain be thus, and this be so,

Study knows that which yet it doth not know.

Swear me to this, and I will ne’er say no.

KING.

These be the stops that hinder study quite,

And train our intellects to vain delight.

BEROWNE.

Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain

Which, with pain purchas’d, doth inherit pain:

As painfully to pore upon a book,

To seek the light of truth; while truth the while

Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look.

Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile;

So, ere you find where light in darkness lies,

Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.

Study me how to please the eye indeed,

By fixing it upon a fairer eye;

Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed,

And give him light that it was blinded by.

Study is like the heaven’s glorious sun,

That will not be deep-search’d with saucy looks;

Small have continual plodders ever won,

Save base authority from others’ books.

These earthly godfathers of heaven’s lights

That give a name to every fixed star

Have no more profit of their shining nights

Than those that walk and wot not what they are.

Too much to know is to know nought but fame;

And every godfather can give a name.

KING.

How well he’s read, to reason against reading!

DUMAINE.

Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding!

LONGAVILLE.

He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the weeding.

BEROWNE.

The spring is near, when green geese are a-breeding.

DUMAINE.

How follows that?

BEROWNE.

Fit in his place and time.

DUMAINE.

In reason nothing.

BEROWNE.

Something then in rime.

LONGAVILLE.

Berowne is like an envious sneaping frost

That bites the first-born infants of the spring.

BEROWNE.

Well, say I am: why should proud summer boast

Before the birds have any cause to sing?

Why should I joy in any abortive birth?

At Christmas I no more desire a rose

Than wish a snow in May’s newfangled shows;

But like of each thing that in season grows;

So you, to study now it is too late,

Climb o’er the house to unlock the little gate.

KING.

Well, sit out; go home, Berowne; adieu.

BEROWNE.

No, my good lord; I have sworn to stay with you;

And though I have for barbarism spoke more

Than for that angel knowledge you can say,

Yet confident I’ll keep what I have swore,

And bide the penance of each three years’ day.

Give me the paper; let me read the same;

And to the strict’st decrees I’ll write my name.

KING.

How well this yielding rescues thee from shame!

BEROWNE. ‘Item. That no woman shall come within a mile of my court.‘Hath this been proclaimed?

LONGAVILLE.

Four days ago.

BEROWNE. Let’s see the penalty. ‘On pain of losing her tongue.’ Who devised this penalty?

LONGAVILLE.

Marry, that did I.

BEROWNE.

Sweet lord, and why?

LONGAVILLE.

To fright them hence with that dread penalty.

BEROWNE.

A dangerous law against gentility!

‘Item. If any man be seen to talk with a woman within

the term of three years, he shall endure such public shame as the

rest of the court can possibly devise.’

This article, my liege, yourself must break;

For well you know here comes in embassy

The French king’s daughter, with yourself to speak—

A mild of grace and complete majesty—

About surrender up of Aquitaine

To her decrepit, sick, and bedrid father:

Therefore this article is made in vain,

Or vainly comes th’ admired princess hither.

KING.

What say you, lords? why, this was quite forgot.

BEROWNE.

So study evermore is overshot:

While it doth study to have what it would,

It doth forget to do the thing it should;

And when it hath the thing it hunteth most,

‘Tis won as towns with fire; so won, so lost.

KING.

We must of force dispense with this decree;

She must lie here on mere necessity.

BEROWNE.

Necessity will make us all forsworn

Three thousand times within this three years’ space;

For every man with his affects is born,

Not by might master’d, but by special grace.

If I break faith, this word shall speak for me:

I am forsworn ‘on mere necessity.’

So to the laws at large I write my name; [Subscribes]

And he that breaks them in the least degree

Stands in attainder of eternal shame.

Suggestions are to other as to me;

But I believe, although I seem so loath,

I am the last that will last keep his oath.

But is there no quick recreation granted?

KING.

Ay, that there is. Our court, you know, is haunted

With a refined traveller of Spain;

A man in all the world’s new fashion planted,

That hath a mint of phrases in his brain;

One who the music of his own vain tongue

Doth ravish like enchanting harmony;

A man of complements, whom right and wrong

Have chose as umpire of their mutiny:

This child of fancy, that Armado hight,

For interim to our studies shall relate,

In high-born words, the worth of many a knight

From tawny Spain lost in the world’s debate.

How you delight, my lords, I know not, I;

But, I protest, I love to hear him lie,

And I will use him for my minstrelsy.

BEROWNE.

Armado is a most illustrious wight,

A man of fire-new words, fashion’s own knight.

LONGAVILLE.

Costard the swain and he shall be our sport;

And so to study three years is but short.

[Enter DULL, with a letter, and COSTARD.]

DULL.

Which is the duke’s own person?

BEROWNE.

This, fellow. What wouldst?

DULL. I myself reprehend his own person, for I am his Grace’s tharborough: but I would see his own person in flesh and blood.

BEROWNE.